The 54 Bus

 

Ahmed watched everyone at the bus stop sweat. The day was rather warm for early November, even for Los Angeles being from Egypt he had experienced much worse so this was nothing he could not handle.

​Some of the people at the bus stop this day included a black woman at least one hundred pounds overweight and sweating buckets. She was wearing a blue flower print dress that draped her lie a tent. Ahmed felt sorry for her because the woman was suffering and worse had a crowded bus to look forward to.

​At the edge of the waiting crowd was a balding man with tan skin that Ahmed guessed was not natural but the result of a tanning bed. The man was wearing a tank top t-shirt and faded gray pants. Ahmed thought the man’s hygiene needed improvement which the other man seemed to confirm when he scratched his sweating armpits, a sight for no eyes.

​The bus while visible was still a block away and was taking what felt like forever to get to their stop. Ahmed checked his watch, the 54 bus was on time, so again it just seemed like it was behind.

​Number 54 pulled up to the bus stop where Ahmed, the black woman, the man with the false tan and sweaty armpits, along with the others who had been waiting, climbed single file onto the bus. The unofficial rule was that you entered at the driver and exited through the rear, a rule no one ever followed this exiting through the nearest door. Seemed like more passengers left through the front entrance more than the rear.

​The driver had a protruding stomach that nearly rested on the steering wheel. His name tag read Andy. Ahmed had never bothered to learn his name before, even though the man drove the 54 Bus for three of the five days he took it each week.

​On this day the bus was crowded too almost overflowing, Ahmed was one of the lucky ones finding a seat, although it was at the center of the bus, hardly ideal. He was on the aisle even though he would have preferred the window, but chose to be thankful that he had found one at all. The black woman had also gotten a seat although near the front. The man with the sweaty armpits was left to stand.

​Ahmed found himself sitting next to a kindly woman that he guessed was in her sixties and was probably someone’s grandmother. They both exchanged pleasantries then returned to their own private worlds.

​According to his schedule the bus was keeping time and had even appeared to have picked up a few minutes. Ahmed had ridden with the fat bus driver enough to know that meant he would stop at the McDonald’s along the way for something to eat, leaving the passengers to roast inside the bus. He felt the bus driver’s actions were rude and was sure the other passenger’s who had experienced it shared his sentiments.

​His fears were soon confirmed.

​“Why does he do that? Every time. He should eat before he leaves home,” someone growled.

​The woman kindly woman sitting next to Ahmed opened a conversation.

​“Where are you going today?” she asked.

​From the book bag resting n his lap she could see that he was a college student but it was a good opening line to establish communication.

​“School.”

​“Do you mind if I ask where?” she asked.

​She was a nice lady and Ahmed decided that talking to her was not a bad way to pass this hot and miserable ride.

​“USC. I’m pre-med. My goal is to become a cardiothoracic surgeon.”

​The older woman looked impressed. The mention of becoming a doctor always made people’s faces light up. It meant they saw the potential in a person who wanted to go into a line of work that hard.

​“What made you chose medicine. It seems so hard, and you always have to be studying.”

​She was correct on that. Ahmed had tie for only two things, studying and mosque. Allah had gotten him into college but the hard work was up to him.

​Ahmed’s father was a doctor back in Cairo. He had also gone to USC, and had told his son about what a great experience before going on to UCLA medical school, across town. He now lived a comfortable life back in Egypt. Ahmed wanted the same for himself in both undergraduate and med school.

​His father had been pleased when Ahmed had chosen to follow in his footsteps and become a doctor. His eyes had danced with visions of his son returning to Egypt and going into practice with him.

​Upon arriving in Los Angeles, Ahmed had felt like a stranger in a strange land. The new city was not only larger but even more busting than Cairo. The people here were so open, wearing clothes that showed more skin than he had ever seen. The women were beautiful and the temperature while hot, was still preferable to Egypt’s stifling heat.

​The woman sitting next to him said that she was on her way to visit her grandson. He was four years old and was so smart, everyone said so. She told him about how her grandson was always banging with a spoon on top of an oatmeal box, she thought he could grow up to be a great musician.

​Ahmed enjoyed listening to the older lady regale him with tales of her grandson, she spoke of him with such love. He had never had a grandmother both having died before he was born. Until listening to her he had never understood exactly what he had missed out on, it was natural to feel cheated.

​Ahmed and the grandmother talked for another four blocks before they reached her stop, wishing him good luck. Ahmed had liked the woman and hoped she had an enjoyable day.

​As the bus progressed Ahmed thought about all he had accomplished. Hard work and a dedication to staying a step ahead of everyone was why he had some of the highest grades in the senior class. As his father before him, he had been accepted at the UCLA School of Medicine, starting in the Fall.

​Perhaps with his place in medical school could have afforded to slack off a little, but chose not to. Once you lighten up it becomes easier to do it the next time. Better to keep your nose to the grindstone, as the saying went.

​The noise on the bus was starting to raise the ire of some of the passengers, some were talking too loudly while others listened to music with no regard for others. Passengers continued to get on and off, the ones getting off continuing to do so from the nearest door. In the four years he had ridden the 54 bus he wondered why the transportation authority never did anything about it. Pointless to worry about it now, some things never change.

​Traffic was lighter today, good, Los Angeles traffic was unpredictable on it’s best day. Today being Thursday, no one was in a hurry to start the work week or leaving early they way they would on a Friday. If Ahmed had been on the way to an exam. he’d have been excited because that meant he would not arrive late and have had time for a last look over his study materials.

​“I wish this damn thing would get where It’s going,” someone said from one of the seats farther up.

​Ahmed looked toward the front trying to identify the source of the outburst, but could not. Looking around he noticed that the two who had gotten on the bus with him, the fat black woman and the balding man with sweaty armpits were still on the bus. The man with the sweaty armpits once again scratched them as he had at the bus stop, almost like some form of visual torture for Ahmed having noticed him in the first place. Was this man that unaware how disgusting his actions were? Even the others who saw this appeared disgusted.

​Ahmed gripped his book bag thinking about his last visit the mosque two day before. He cherished his time spent worshipping Allah; God helped give him focus in life. His time in the west while expanding his world view had also made him appreciate his roots in Egypt in a way that he had not before.

​When he had first arrived in the United States, all of the different cultures he was suddenly exposed to had been overwhelming for Ahmed, Mexican, Armenian, Greek, Jewish and so many more. The Asian cultures had seemed to blend so thoroughly together that they all appeared the same to him. He wondered if that was how the people felt when visiting ancient Rome.

​So many talked about how diversity was such a wonderful thing but he did not think so. When there were too many different cultures in one place it only led to the breakdown of the predominate one, history was proof of that, whether the people in this country wanted to admit it or not.

​The Romans were perfect examples of this. There came a time when Rome had absorbed so many different peoples into the empire, some the barbarian tribes of Germany that the point of no return was finally reached when there were more people inside the borders of foreign birth than there were native Romans themselves. Many natural born Romans became more interested in being individuals, duty always being a task for someone else. It was no wonder the city would be overrun and sacked so many times. Weakness and decadence always led to the downfall of great nations.

​That was the way of America now. They had become the new Rome. The giant had briefly awoken some years ago but it was now asleep again. All of the people had once more split into their different tribes and as before paid more attention to themselves than the entire nation as a whole. Such a pity.

​Ahmed noticed the fat black woman in the blue get up, holding on to the rail. She would be getting off at one of the next two stops. Ahmed was sorry for the woman, so terribly overweight and miserable from the heat. He was thankful when she did get off at the next stop, watching her until she went into a shop and disappeared from sight.

​Ahmed’s stop was soon. Climbing out of his seat the armpit scratcher immediately replaced him in it. The man had that look of self-interest that told anyone who saw it that under no circumstance was anyone going to have the seat before him.

​When the 54 Bus arrived at the USC campus and Ahmed who had placed his bookbag across his shoulder readying himself. As the bus the bus inched toward the stop, Ahmed, reached inside his bag andmoved the books aside. The explosives hidden underneath them appeared to be in working order. Then taking one final look around the crowded bus, removed the hand-held detonator from his pocket and pressed the button.