It was the last seat on the bus, and nobody wanted to give it up.
By six thirty, the bus was full.
People stood wherever there was space.
A schoolboy held his bag against his chest. A woman balanced two grocery bags between her feet. Someone’s phone played a video without headphones.
At the next stop, an older woman climbed in.
She held the rail with both hands and looked down the aisle.
There was one empty seat.
A young man had put his backpack on it.
He looked at the woman.
She looked at the seat.
Neither said anything.
The bus moved.
The woman held tighter.
Then a girl standing nearby reached over, picked up the backpack and put it on the young man’s lap.
“Sit, aunty.”
The woman sat.
“Thank you.”
“It’s okay.”
The young man looked embarrassed.
“Sorry,” he said.
The girl shrugged.
“Your bag is sitting very comfortably.”
The woman laughed.
So did the young man.
For the rest of the journey, nobody spoke about the seat.
At the next stop, the woman got down.
Before leaving, she turned to the girl.
“Where are you going?”
“College.”
“Study well.”
“Okay.”
The woman stepped off.
The bus moved again.
The girl looked out of the window.
The young man moved his backpack to the floor.
At the next stop, another older passenger got on.
He stood up.
“You can sit.”
The man smiled.
“Thank you.”
The girl looked at the window again.
She pretended not to notice.
Read this when a small kindness reminds you that people are still paying attention.
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About the Author
I’m the writer behind The Quiet Things, where I write about love, family, memory, healing, regret and the quiet moments people rarely put into words.
One response to “The Last Seat on the Bus”
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