Despair in Denver

May 17, 2008

The bus is rolling along, swaying with each turn. Its job is to go up and down the 16th street mall, picking up drunkards and shoppers. It smells like perfume and puke mixed with the diesel of the roaring bus. There is a quiet black couple standing next to me. Their faces are both mangled from some sort of confrontation. Blood was dropping from the man’s eyebrow, filling his glasses with crimson gel. His wife’s face was puffy and swollen and any time she made eye contact with someone, she would turn her face and cover it. She was ashamed of something that she most likely had no control over.

The bus moved on a few stops and with a roar, a drunken doctor boarded the bus. He looked obnoxious and annoying. He stumbled over to the humble black couple. They exchanged a few words, and the doctor took off the man’s glasses to inspect his wound. Incoherently, he tried to give some advice. His voice carried over every conversation in the bus, demanding attention. “YOU NEED TO GET TO AN E.R.” he shouted. The black man’s response was “Look man, do you have a couple dollars or not?” I felt as if a confrontation was coming to a boil. Suddenly, the doctor marched off the vehicle, extended his middle finger and stumbled down the concrete sidewalk. The black couple held each other close and shook their heads in hopelessness.

As my shoulders took the pressure of the curving bus, I thought about how this world passes by us so fast that we forget about the people with actual need. Where is my mind?


One comment

  1. this is deeply moving. thank you for being so honest.

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