Darn It

Every morning, he's there on my bus to work.

He's a young man with Down's syndrome (aren't they all young?), drinking his coffee. Sometimes it's Tim Horton's, sometimes it's Starbucks, sometimes it's a generic styrofoam mug from a place with a name like "Gerry's Confectionery" or "Coffee Stop."

Today is no different; he's there, and he has his coffee. He's wearing khakis, black running shoes, a brown leather jacket, and his distinctive Firebird ball cap.

As he sits down, the coffee sloshes out of the thin lid's sip-hole and spills down the side of the styrofoam cup, and logically it runs onto the hand that's holding the cup. For myself this morning, I selected a travel mug with a lid that I can slide shut when I'm not sipping, thus guaranteeing me a spill-proof bus ride.

"Darn it," he mutters. "I made a mess of myself." He bends over the cup and slurps at the coffee accumulated on the lid, and wipes his hand on his pants. "There, that's better," he observes.

A loud sneeze erupts from near the middle of the bus. "Gesundheit," he calls out.

He repeats the name of each bus stop we approach as the driver announces them over the loudspeaker. "Wall." "Wall." "Sargent." "Sargent." "St. James." "St. James."

He mumbles something under his breath and bursts out in laughter at his own joke. A few minutes later, he lets out a playful roar, like a lion playing with its cubs.

Most people on the bus don't notice me observing them, but suddenly his eye catches mine, and neither of us is willing to break the gaze. I raise my own coffee mug towards him in salute of the morning and the taste of a finely ground bean, and he returns the salute, capping it off with a child-like wave of his free hand.

My mug is nearly empty, and as I silently tip it up to welcome the last sip, he makes a slurping sound on my behalf. Then, as I lower my mug I feel something wet on my hand. It's coffee. Somehow it dribbled out of my spill-proof mug and down my hand.

"Darn it," I mutter, with no little irony. "I made a mess of myself."

There's my stop.