Broadway or Bus?

This is supposed to be Will’s bus blog post. You know—the one I insisted he write because of his noncompliance with TV Turnoff Week. Only he’s also being noncompliant with my blog-writing assignment, so I’m writing it for him. You probably think I’m just another enabling spouse. More on that later, but first, a bit about the bus:

The back-story is that Will attended a conference in Washington, D.C., last week. He left Saturday afternoon, and he was supposed to arrive back by plane Tuesday evening. But heavy fog grounded his connecting flight from NYC. Now, if I were “stuck” in New York for a night, you can bet I’d be On Broadway! I’d make a few phone calls, find a place to stay in ‘the city that never sleeps,’ book Amtrak for the next day, and secure myself a theater seat—stat!

I tried to talk Will into this route, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He’s not a seasoned traveler, so the prospect of maneuvering through Manhattan unnerved him. Plus, he planned to come home that night, and the airline people said they’d reimburse him for bus fare, so Greyhound it was—simple as that. Besides, for Will, the bus ride offered a chance to get to know some new, ordinary, interesting people. I think that’s what he loves best in the world. He’s fascinated by human beings.

Sure enough, when he arrived home shortly after 3 the following morning, he started sharing his seatmates’ stories. There was the boy from the Bronx headed back upstate after a break from Job Corps training. He finds quiet country life refreshing. Then there was the very young passenger who looked like Will Smith’s son in The Pursuit of Happyness. He kept wandering the aisle, hugging random strangers’ knees, until the gruff bus driver threatened him with a “whoopin’”. There was the octogenarian woman who slept most of the trip, snoring loudly. When she wasn’t snoring loudly, she was calling out to the driver: “Turn up the heat!” Most of the riders were stripped down to their shirtsleeves, accommodating the old lady. “I’m not God,” the driver rebuffed, “I can’t please everyone.”

Such tales and tidbits commonly come home with Will. He loves observing people, not just for his job as a journalist, but as a way of life. The fact that he sometimes drags his feet on little projects like my blog request doesn’t bother me because he is, overall, genuinely, quietly, faithfully helpful and good. I don’t consider myself his enabler, but his helpmate. And I am blessed. I’m grateful to God and to Greyhound for bringing him home, safe and sound.

And now for an almost pertinent Broadway tune to complete the post! Another one from Les Miserables (click here to see and hear a soulful rendition by Colm Wilkinson):

Bring Him Home

God on high, hear my prayer
In my need, you have always been there
He is young, he's afraid
Let him rest, heaven blessed.
Bring him home, bring him home,
Bring him home.
He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die, one by one
How soon they fly, on and on
And I am old, and will be gone.
Bring him peace, bring him joy
He is young, he is only a boy
You can take, you can give
Let him be, let him live
If I die, let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.