A Most Neutral Being

I stand at the bus stop. 

A row of beech trees flanks the sidewalk on the opposite side. 

I look straight ahead, past the thin branches that intertwine with one another, past the wooden webwork weaved by the hand of God. 

In the distance I see a mountain range throbbing in the horizon like a purple wound. And behind the tallest summit, the sun prepares to ascend and usurp its throne.

    - O how I wish the darkness would remain! I despise the sun just as much as I despise the tedium of life! 

I say my thoughts aloud. An act innocent in and of itself, but disturbing to the man who stands by my side. 

-What are you talking about man? Are you okay?! 

I look to my left and see an ordinary man in a navy blue jacket. Suddenly, it occurs to me how strange it is that two people who have never met are now connected, just because they happen to be standing at the same bus stop.  

-O there is nothing wrong! I am only mesmerized by the beauties of Mother Nature, and I feel it necessary to talk of my musings, for many a men forget to appreciate the simple intricacies of nature! 

- Yeah I know what you mean. I guess people are too busy to notice these things. 

A moment or two goes by in silence. To ease the awkward pause that often settles between intervals of daily chitchat, the man clears his throat and asks a trivial question. 

-So I'm assuming you're getting on the same bus? 

I stare into his tar black eyes and say nothing at first. What is it to this man whether we get on the same bus or not? He is neither my friend nor an acquaintance, just a mere annoyance. Yet I feel obligated to reply. 

-O my friend, I indeed am boarding the same vehicle as you! I wonder, however, why you ask that question. Would you perhaps like to make my acquaintance?

While he prepares his answer, I attempt to take in with one look all his features. Yet the only thing that holds my gaze is the constant twitching of his lips. 

-No reason man. Sorry to bother you. 

And then he turns away. My reply puts between us some distance, a reply not too harsh to offend the listener, but stern enough to let him know to stop talking. 

Uninterrupted by the man’s words, his wandering gaze now fixed on the street in anticipation of the bus, I finally get the chance to analyze his physical features. But to my disappointment, there is nothing noteworthy about his appearance: a navy blue jacket, plain jeans, brown boots to keep water from soaking his feet (for the clouds in the sky prophesize a rainy day), and a leather satchel around his shoulder. Finding no redeeming qualities in his clothes, I move my eyes toward his face. Here, too, I find nothing to write about, and I fail to conjure up adjectives that would explain the simplicity of his facial features. 

The geology of the landscape in which we reside, although artificial and man-made, is much more interesting than the man himself. 

Thus I look to the meandering stream of cars and motorbikes that move in all directions, thinking how mankind, whose outward display can be so dull and tedious, is capable of constantly progressing, adapting, and evolving. 

-Man, what’s your problem? Why do you keep staring at me? 

This sudden interruption of thought makes me realize that my gaze had shifted once again toward the man, an occurrence of which I took no notice. The man, on the other hand, has sensed my curiosity. He is agitated by my demanding presence. Or perhaps intimidated. 

-O, I apologize to you my dear friend! I was merely absorbed by the way you present yourself. It speaks of your indifference toward what others think of you, but it also creates the image that you care enough about yourself to buy clothing from a decent store. 

My fake yet tender tone alleviates the momentary tension. He refuses to smile, but nodes nevertheless, whispers a thank you, and turns his face once more to the street. 

A blue dot appears behind the queue of cars. That must be the bus. Will this man start talking to me again once we are on the bus? The mere thought of having to spend another second with him weighs me down, like a prisoner thrown into a deep well with ball and chain tied to his ankles. 

Yet when I step onto the bus, the man refuses to move. So I guess you are not boarding the same bus after all. The thought of shouting at him and reaching out my hand crosses my mind, but I remain silent and seated, and in the last second before the bus pulls away, I see in the stained glass my own reflection: an average man with an average build, wearing a navy blue jacket, plain jeans, brown boots, and a leather satchel around his shoulder. 

A reflection vague yet familiar. 

A reflection of a most neutral being.