One Fine Day (standard:drama, 1999 words)
Author: Andrew Dayton	Added: Jun 07 2005	Views/Reads: 4078/2632	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A Busdriver of middling ambition gets an important wake up call.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

"I know, I know, a lot of people got it worse.  At least I've got my
health and all that crap.  Ahh, forget it."  I really wasn't in the 
mood, but to be honest, I was too depressed to put any real heat behind 
it. Then he did something odd.  He turned, a quick little movement, 
faced me squarely and plucked the hat from my hands.  All in one 
motion.  He  started turning the hat over in his hands, running his 
fingers around the brim. He was regarding me calmly, but I had the 
notion he was trying to make up his mind about something. 

While he considered, I took a closer look at this guy.  He looked pretty
well set up, if you know what I mean.  Like he could take care of 
himself.  The brief impulse to make an issue of the hat died and I 
started looking at him with curious eyes. His brown hair was starting 
to gray and he wore it short, almost military.  He had a plaid shirt 
and jeans on.  Looking at the hands that held the hat, I saw they were 
scarred.  Scars upon scars, a latticework of healed cuts.  But it was 
his face that gave him away for being older than he first appeared.  He 
had the build of a fit 30-year-old, but his face was worn.  He had what 
my grandma used to call grief lines.  He could have been 60 with that 
mug.  But all the same, when I looked at the eyes I thought I didn't 
better look away. 

He seemed to come to some sort of agreement with himself and started
talking.  "Yeah, believe it or not things could be a whole lot worse.  
Shoot, I've had good health all my life but it hasn't made anything any 
easier for me.  Hasn't kept me from losing everything I own, kept me 
warm or kept the bill collectors away. Good health alone doesn't do 
that for a guy.  What matters is that you don't let it get you down 
when things look bad. That's what I mean." I snorted, "Sure, and if 
you're telling me...." He looked up at a tall building across the 
street and continued ,  "I've seen this city from one end to the other. 
 I've loved it and I've hated it.  I've thrived on the crowds and hated 
the people.  For all the city offers, it sure does wear a man down." 

I didn't feel like I was being lectured, more like he was trying to
confess something.  So I started doing something my momma wouldn't 
believe:  I listened to the man. 

He brushed his fingers over the NY Transit emblazoned on the bill and
said, "But the city doesn't do it to you.  The bad cops, the criminals, 
the pollution and the noise, they don't do it to you, either.  When a 
man stops believing in himself, those are all excuses.  Look at the 
homeless man on the bench over there.  What's easier, to say he lives 
that way because he's just a drunk, so who cares- Or to wonder at his 
misfortune and take a lesson from it. Up until four years ago, he was a 
pretty good guy who drove a delivery truck down in this neighborhood.  
Then one day he just decided he didn't want to struggle any more.  He 
chose to leave his responsibilities and drink all day instead.  Maybe 
his worries wore him out.  Maybe he didn't have the stuff inside to 
create a dream." He shrugged his shoulders.  "I've been in battles I 
still can't believe and I lost some, sure.  But I always got back up.  
There's only one thing that can make you do that and that's what you 
got inside." The hat was moving faster in his hands and I don't think 
he was even aware of it.  He was, in fact, really starting to work it 
over. 

"Everyone has responsibility  to themselves and to the city they live
in.  And if the best you can do is be a good citizen, then you're not 
doing too bad.  Or maybe you've got it good and what happens down here 
won't ever affect you.  But too many people forget that with power and 
privilege comes even greater responsibility.  The difference between 
doing what you have to do and doing what you want to do isn't how much 
cash you've got, it's the sense of duty you've got." Either this guy 
was a mind reader- or he'd been through it.  He looked pretty tough so 
I wasn't betting on the mind reader angle. 

He straightened up, gesturing toward the tire. "So you might think this
is your battle and maybe it is, or maybe it's a lot more.  But you have 
to ask yourself: What are you going to do about it?  Not tomorrow, but 
right now.  You have a choice, friend." And that was all.  He looked 
down at the hat and let out a chuckle and with that the grimness just 
slipped off his face.  "What I'm doing is leaving.  Now.  Today.  I've 
got a job waiting for me, working for a newspaper somewhere that wants 
a good photographer.  See, I can leave who I am behind, not because I'm 
giving up, but because I earned it.  But I'm guessing you don't have 
that choice, am I right?" He reached out a hand without waiting for an 
answer and I shook it automatically.  Now that IS unusual for me, but 
there was something about this guy.  The hand that grasped mine felt 
like it was a whisper away from being able to bust my fingers like 
pencils. 

"I'm sorry about the tire, man.  But I'm glad we met." 

"Yeah, me too."  And I meant it. 

He started away and then looked back.  "You mind if I keep this hat,
maybe as a souvenir?" I nodded.  Sure.  I didn't suppose I would be 
needing it anymore, anyway.  Not after today, and I wasn't thinking of 
the flat tire, either. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a 
balled up piece of red cloth and tossed it to me.  "Trade for a trade," 
he said grinning. I straightened my back and took a breath.  I watched 
him walk away with a lightness in his step, and just before he turned 
the corner he looked back for only an instant, and flashed me the peace 
sign. 

Well, that day was almost three years ago.  I have one more year of
night classes to get my degree, and there're days I'm pretty sure I'll 
make it.  It would be nice to have a good career and a chance to enjoy 
my life. And I think it'll come.  The end of the tunnel is closer now 
and I think more about making a difference than making a living.  Do I 
think it will all be easy?  I doubt it, but then I really don't know. 

What I do know is that on those days when I wake up early and look at
the mask hanging over my desk I think about how one guy, earnest, 
honest and walking with his eyes open, can create a change.  
Remembering the conversation with that sad-faced guy I think yes, I 
could have had it worse, a hell of a lot worse.  And I wonder if I'm 
the only person to have met Spiderman without his mask on. 

Andy Dayton 8/10/2000 


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