The Bible says that God created the universe by speaking words. "Let there be light," etc. As a final crown on his creation, he breathed life into Adam, and I sit here eons later as a reproduction of that divine breath. You can't speak words without breath.
The one thing we have in common with God is the power to create. Be it life, technology (from the wheel to the nanorobotic surgeon), or art, we alone among all of creation have the ability to look at nothing, and to be inspired to do something about it.
As I compose this post, this blog is blank. I assure you it will not remain so. I am an author; a wordsmith; a crafter of clever clauses: I intend to populate these pages with prose drawn from my exposure to the raw humanity that rides the various city buses of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.
A taste, to whet your appetite:
Three plump souls scrunch against each other at the bus stop near the Wal-Mart, waiting for the #14. Native Americans, Aboriginals, first-born ones - call them what you may - but their palominos are long gone, and there are no buffalo to hunt on the wide plains of Ellice Avenue.
As the bus approaches the stop, I can see more details. The man in the middle exists in a wheelchair. His hand is bandaged with oodles of white guaze, and his eyes twinkle with the faintest glow of delight and entitlement as his friends wheel him towards the bus. I think he's new at this.
Their hopes are dashed: this bus has three steps to climb before one is granted the blessing of a ride. Half of Winnipeg Transit's fleet is wheelchair accessible, but the other half is not. This trio drew the short stick.
The driver lurches the bus to a stop, then opens the doors only to call out, "I don't know how you're gonna get him on. The next bus is a low-ride."
Somewhat embarrassed, they nod and quickly back away as the driver thumbs the doors shut and accelerates away. For a moment, I wonder at his apparent lack of empathy. So what if you've got a schedule to follow? But the mathematician in my mind does some quick calculations and I see that not only are there steps which would make loading awkward, but the doors don't open wide enough to admit a wheelchair.
The Natives will have to wait 15 minutes for the next bus. I trust that the driver knows the route and his co-drivers well enough to make that statement as assertively as he did, and that he's not simply a bold-faced liar.
Am I good at this stuff? Who knows, and who cares? It's an experiment, to see if stories exist to be told. I'm convinced that they do, and I'm determined to tell them. Stay tuned.
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