Gray Man

On a public bus, the benches in the back form a U (or a C depending on your point of view). The bench against the back wall seats four. The two benches sitting perpendicular to this rear bench face one another and seat three each.

The other night, on the ride home, I sat on the perpendicular bench on the right, occupying the seat nearest the exit. Two men sat on the rear bench, one at each end. I don't remember the man on the right very well, but that's okay, because it's the man on the left I want to focus on.

He was Hispanic, maybe in his mid-forties, reclined in the seat with his eyes closed. He wore gray baggy pants, a gray jacket two sizes too big, an olive green t-shirt and a pale yellow baseball cap. Gray peppered his black hair and mustache and gray stubble covered his face. To simplify life, I'll call him Gray Man

We were heading south, out of San Jose, on a two-lane road through open farmland. The road was smooth and flat. The driver was skilled and kept the bus at a steady speed, masterfully hitting the green lights spaced every two miles or so.

We had completed a third of the trip when Gray Man decided he was done reclining. He hunched forward, with his head behind the left bench, the back of the seat supporting his right shoulder. He dozed off again. At least it seemed that way until I heard a gurgling sound followed by a splash. Since I was reading, I didn't actually see anything, but I've seen enough movies to know what off-screen vomiting sounds like.

I glanced up from my book and right up at the ceiling, suppressing the urge to look at the floor underneath the bench. When I first boarded, I had noticed the emergency roof hatch had been opened for ventilation. With outside being so chilly, I had been tempted to close it. Now, I was glad I had left it open. We were going to need all the ventilation it could provide.

I returned my gaze to the pages in front of me, still avoiding the messy sight I was certain was just beyond the book covers. By the way, I'm reading The Imagineering Way, a book about creativity written by Disney Imagineers. It's a great read and a fine distraction when somebody decides to hurl in a confined space.

After the first round of puking, there was a brief moment of silence. A frantic thought flashed through my head and I slowly raised my booted feet off the floor. Gray Man was taking deep breaths, trying to settle his stomach, but his stomach won and the second round came.

We were, by this time, only a few hundred feet from the next stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gray Man raise his head from behind the bench. I dared a glance at him. He seemed to have recovered and was attempting to act as if nothing had happened. He pulled the stop request cord and when the bus came to a halt, he lurched from his seat, staggered past me and off the bus.

We weren't back on the road for more than a few seconds when I thought it wise to sit somewhere else, somewhere away from the barf zone. As I changed seats, I glanced back to see if the man seated at the other end of the bench was moving. He wasn't. He was motionless, looking out the window, seemingly oblivious to what had transpired. He either had a high tolerance for such things or a bad sense of smell.

When we finally reached my stop, I was only too happy to escape (through the rear door, not the emergency roof hatch) and inhale some fresh air.