Bus Ride

We’re on the Q53 bus, passing under the J train station at Myrtle Avenue. Laurence tells me that if we got off here, we could buy cheese perogies like grandmas at a European market. He went there one Saturday when I was working.

“Iglesia Christiana Jesus Vive,” reads the storefront church sign outside the window. The young husband and father besides me works hard and his head falls towards my shoulder as he slumbers on the bus. Laurence is bouncing in the back row. The family is exiting at the next stop, so he moved up beside me. Some get off. Others get on here at the A train stop, and a Muslim couple dressed in white walks down the street. I wonder what white signifies.

We’re coming to Howard Beach where we’ve stopped with friends at New Park Pizza after an outing to the sea. We’ve celebrated at Lenny’s an Italian restaurant in Howard Beach. The Italians are family oriented and fun, but sadly they also have a label for being prejudiced.

The Bay. O the Bay. I stop writing when we reach the bay. Across the way, planes take off from JFK. Fishermen fish and sometimes, we see kite sailing.

Next stop: “Jamaica Wildlife Refuge.” That wild, serene place brings peace to the chaos of city living. This is our destination tonight. Berniece