Last night, the mother met me at the bus depot where I usually switch buses to grab the one that drives right in front of the house. We were heading for the other side of the river last night so this is a plan that usually works well.
Before I even got to the car, the mother was walking toward me. “The turn signal is burned out on the right.” I got into the driver’s seat to confirm and then flipped the glovebox open to see if I did have a spare left from my adventures in replacing the other side’s light some weeks back. Yeah! One left. I popped the trunk and scurried back to switch it out.
As I prepared to remove the idled bulb, I hear: “Need some help?” There stood my bus mother. You know, the one who is always watching for me. I always tell Teri when I'm taking vacation or driving to work so she doesn't look for me. I grinned and turned to the mother.
“Bus mother, meet birth mother,” at which point we all started laughing.
“I just love your daughter,” says bus mother. To which the mother says, “Thanks, I do, too.”
They chatted for a few minutes while I changed the bulb. A small wire hasp that holds the bulb firmly in place – something missing from the other side – dealt me a fit at first. Once I had it off though, the job was done in less than a minute.
I had to practically drag the mother away as the two had gotten onto the election, one of the mother’s favorite topics, reminding both of them that the virtually deserted bus station wasn’t a good place to be hangin’ after dark, and it nearly was dark. Almost as if to prove my point, a small group of somewhat scary folks began approaching from the far side of the lot. We said our goodbyes and jumped in our cars.
“She seems like a very nice lady,” says the mother as we pulled off. “And It’s good to have someone else watching out for you.”
No argument there.