The 57
By Pat Gallagher
I didn’t notice her when I got on. It is my first time riding the #57 bus in our new neighborhood. Figuring out the cost of the trip and digging in my purse for the correct change preoccupies me. As the bus lurches into action I grab the pole, struggle to keep my balance, and fling myself into the nearest vacant seat. Fumbling with extra coins, I toss them into my purse and hear a voice nearby. “Excuse me,” she says. I look up. She is sitting to my right, on a seat reserved for the elderly or disabled. “Excuse me,” she says again, leaning forward. “Would you take some advice from an old lady?”