Owwwww

From the instant I see his face as he hauls himself aboard the bus during the evening rush home, I know he's my subject for today's post.

A distinctly large man, he is dressed like an office professional - tan dress pants, shirt, tie, and suspenders to give him the help a belt would not be able to provide. Everything matches perfectly; even the auburn colour of his neatly cut hair seems as if it had been coordinated to blend in with the outfit.

But he's in significant pain as he heads to the first available two seats he can see, opposite the rear doors. Wincing with every step, his face is drawn back as he breathes with short, shallow bursts. He collapses into the seats (both of them) but still retains his tension. His shoulders are hunched, and his hand lightly grips the support bar beside him.

It seems like more than just physical pain. He is bearing the weight of his workday and the stresses of a job that is wringing the life out of him. I remember what that's like, and feel a surge of sympathy for him.

He keeps his gaze down. Whatever his pain is, it includes a headache - he lifts his free hand and massages his temples, eyes closed ever so loosely as he tries to push away the throbbing.

As the bus rumbles along, he seems to be shunting the full force of his will into its continued motion. The delay of each stop to pick up or drop off passengers taunts him. Once he gets home, I suspect that he'll down a bunch of ibuprofen and recline on his sofa with a sigh of relief. The comfort of home will offer more healing balm than the medicine.

Until that moment though, every ticking second is raging agony.

There's my stop. Sorry, buddy.