Sick on the Bus

The Number 17 Bus stops a block away from our apartment in downtown Portland and goes thirteen miles out to Sauvie Island, which is a rural paradise in the Columbia River. You can pick your own berries there. I rode my bicycle out to Sauvie Island Saturday morning but was not quite up to another ten miles around the island itself. The ride out was along an industrial area, not exactly beautiful, but I could have taken the bus and just cruised the island. Portland buses have bicycle racks on the front. Portland buses are amazing.

We can ride the 17 to Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, where we went to church yesterday morning. It is located in the northwest section of the city, near the Pearl District, where the arts are concentrated.

We caught the bus at about 9:25. I asked the driver the nearest stop to 19th and Glisan (pronounced Gleeson) and she smiled, "19th and Glisan." "Close enough," I said. The bus drivers here are incredibly friendly and helpful. A few stops along, she turned and said to an elderly man seated behind her and said, "This is your stop." But it the ride became even more remarkable.

Soon after we turned on Glisan, somewhere around 13th Avenue, we stopped at a light. A homeless man--or at least he looked homeless, and not at all well--had gotten on a stop before. He had that grizzled look of a hard life, a crusty white beard, sunken cheeks, pants gathered at his waist with a long belt. He shuffled as he walked. There were not many people on the bus. He sat somewhere behind us. At the light, he scuttled to the front and spoke to the driver.

"You have to be sick?" she asked. "Ok, go out. I'll wait."

The man got off the bus and threw up on the dirt at the base of a tree. He came back and thanked the driver.

"That's ok," she said. "Let me know if you have to be sick again."

He started back to his seat but, before the bus began moving, returned quickly.

"You have to be sick again," the driver asked. He nodded. She opened the door. He got out, doubled over. You could see that he was holding vomit to avoid throwing up on the bus. He spewed a yellowish liquid at the base of the tree and returned to the bus, which had been standing at a green light, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

The driver said, "Ok now?"

"Yeah."

"Medication?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. Let me know if you have to be sick again. I'll stop. We'll wait for you. And thanks for not getting sick on the bus. I appreciate that."

We all did.

This was definitely not New York City or perhaps any other city in the country. The man was considerate of the rest of us. When he vomited, it was not on the sidewalk. The driver was concerned for his well being and acted on that concern. No one in the bus got upset at having to sit through two lights while a homeless man was sick.

We went on to church, but we both felt that we had already been there. On the bus.