Jacob Lawrence, "Surgery, Harlem Hospital" (`953)

Jacob Lawrence, Surgery, Harlem Hospital (1953)

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A San Diego city bus.

Before the fare machine. Vibrant afternoonlight dapples the interior with strong shadows.

The driver sits in a high-backed chair with a plastic seat cover.
A fare machine will accept your coins.

[Exits: e, s]

<look driver>

Fortyish, balding, beer-belly. He's polite but emotionally guarded.

The driver wears a tan-colored uniform on his legs.
The driver wears a tan-colored uniform on his body.
The driver wears a pair of black leather work shoes on his feet.
The driver holds a transfer.

<look machine>

Standard aluminum fare machine with instructions printed in white-on-blue letters.

<look instructions>

'Exact change only'.

<look north>

Bright sunlight streams through the bus' forward-looking windows. Genessee Avenue leads toward the University of California and the University of California Medical Center.

<look east>

Two aluminum steps with anti-stick surface lead out to the street.

<look south>

An aisle of anti-stick surface runs between faux leather seats. At the far end, traffic on Governor Drive is visible through the bus' back window.

<look west>

Traffic sounds and sunlight enter through the driver's open window, partly shaded by a pull-down screen.

<look up>

Advertising posters; greenish fluorescent tubes running the length of the aisle.

<look down>

A rubberish anti-stick mat helps you keep your feet.

<give transfer driver>

You give your transfer to the driver.

The driver tells you, "Thank you."

<nod driver>

You nod to the driver.

<move south>

You move south.

Depression is like a fog that falls between the world and your senses. You know there's a man sitting with his legs in the aisle. Yet putting your own feet forward one after the next requires so much conscious exertion that you fail to pay attention to him. For a moment you trip, catching hold of a seat back to keep your balance.

An aisle between faux leather seats.

Side-facing seats are reserved for the elderly and handicapped. The standard faux-leather is a little worse for wear and tear. Vertical aluminum poles provide support for standing passengers.

An anonymous passenger keeps to herself.
The happy man smiles a friendly smile.
Faux leather seats line both sides of the aisle.

[Exits: n, s]

<look passenger>

Hispanic, pregnant, braids. Probably on her way to UC Med.

The passenger wears a floral print dress over all.
The passenger wears a rosary around her neck.
The passenger wears a pair of black leather work shoes on her feet.

<look seats>

Chewing gum, cigarette burns, graffiti.

<look man>

Gray eyes under tangled, laughing eyebrows. Large hands palm-down on long thighs. Receding hair greased back over the top of a large peasant head, slightly pink from sunburn. Alert, interested: his eyes follow the passengers with undisguised curiosity. Smile: friendly, frank, curious.

The happy man wears baggy brown corduroy pants on his legs.
The happy man wears a loose brown western jacket on his body.
The happy man wears a tattered pair of brown leather work shoes on his feet.
The happy man wears a red western string tie around his neck.

The happy man rocks gently in his seat, forward and backward.

The happy man looks at you.

The happy man tells you, "Pardon me, Buster. I'm sorry about that."

The happy man shakes your hand.

Limp hand, despite his evident sincerity. Regular. Sits in the same place, forward left behind the driver, following the passengers with his frank gray eyes.

<nod man>

You nod your head at the happy man.

A heavyset woman with a large wicker purse arrives from the north.

A heavyset woman with a large wicker purse mutters something about clumsy people being in the way.

The happy man extends a friendly greeting to a heavyset woman with a large wicker purse.

A heavyset woman with a large wicker purse glares at you.

<frown>

You frown.

<move south>

You move south.

An aisle between faux leather seats.

The standard faux-leather seats are a little worse for wear and tear. Vertical aluminum poles provide support for standing passengers.

An anonymous passenger keeps to herself (x2).
An anonymous passenger keeps to himself (x2).
Faux leather seats line both sides of the aisle.

[Exits: n, s]

<move south>

You move south.

The back of the bus.

Side-facing seats are reserved for the elderly and handicapped. The standard faux-leather seats are a little worse for wear and tear. Vertical aluminum poles provide support for standing passengers.

Sven looks ironically at the world.
Susan looks naively at the world.
Faux leather seats line both sides of the aisle.

[Exits: n]

<look sven>

Lanky. Light brown hair trimmed neat. Intelligent, curious eyes behind thick glasses with black plastic frames. An ironic smile plays across his lips.

Sven wears creased brown slacks on his legs.
Sven wears an ironed cotton shirt on his body.
Sven wears a pair of comfortable running shoes on his feet.
Sven holds a book: Nadja, by Andre Breton.

<look susan>

Dirty-blond hair in that blow-dried '70s feather cut. Pale blue eyeshadow. Pretty, in a big-eyed way.

Susan wears a denim skirt on her legs.
Susan wears a soft cotton shirt on her body.
Susan wears a pair of platform clogs on her feet.

Sven tells you, "Well. Hello-hello!"

<put books seat>

You put your books down into an empty seat.

<sit seat>

You sit down in an empty seat.

Sven tells you, "Berserkness. Sheer berserkness!"

<look north>

An aisle of anti-stick surface runs between faux leather seats. At the far end, traffic on Genessee Avenue is visible through the bus' front windows.

<tell sven huh?>

You tell Sven, "Huh?"

<look east>

A bus stop is visible through a closed window.

Sven tells you, "Dragging yourself onto the bus only to be tripped-up by Prince Myshkin in the front seat. Berserkness."

<look south>

Traffic on Governor Drive is visible through the back window.

<tell sven oh>

You tell Sven, "Oh."

<close eyes>

You close your eyes.

Someone giggles.

<open eyes>

You open your eyes.

Susan smiles at you.

Sven tells you, "You remember Susan, yes?"

<look west>

Traffic sounds and sunlight enter through an open window.

<tell sven oh, sure.>

You tell Sven, "Oh, sure."

Sven tells you, "You've met her at a couple of parties."

<look up>

Advertising posters; greenish fluorescent tubes running the length of the aisle.

<tell sven of course.>

You tell Sven, "Of course."

<tell susan hello Susan.>

You tell Susan, "Hello Susan."

Susan tells you, "Hi."

Susan giggles.

Susan tells you, "I'm surprised you remember me."

<look susan>

Dirty-blond hair styled in that blow-dried '70s feather cut. Pale blue eyeshadow, thick mascara. Pretty, in a big-eyed way.

Susan wears a denim skirt on her legs.
Susan wears a soft cotton shirt on her body.
Susan wears a pair of platform clogs on her feet.

<tell susan why?>

You tell Susan, "Why?"

Susan tells you, "I'm surprised you remember *anything* from those parties."

Sven throws his head back and roars with laughter.

People expect you to perform for them. They don't know how to relate to you unless you entertain them. She's nice. She's pretty. So, you do.

<tell susan what parties?>

You tell Susan, "What parties?"

Susan laughs.

She expects you to flirt with her now.

<tell susan actually, all I remember are the really worthwhile things.>

You tell Susan, "Actually, all I remember are the really worthwhile things."

<lean forward.>

You lean forward.

<tell susan in fact, you seem to be the only clear memory I have.>

You tell Susan, "In fact, you seem to be the only clear memory I have."

Susan blushes.

Sven throws his head back and roars with laughter.

<tell susan you must have done something *outrageous*, to be in my mind like that.>

You tell Susan, "You must have done something *outrageous*, to be in my mind like that."

Susan tells you, "Oh sure. That was me who got so wasted I walked into the glass doors and nearly killed myself."

She deflects. Wants to talk about you. Why does she care? It's not real, it's superficial curiosity. Watch, now. She'll bounce across the surface of your various performances without acknowledging their artificiality.

<look down>

A rubberish anti-stick mat helps you keep your feet.

<tell susan you just *had* to remind me.>

You tell Susan, "You just *had* to remind me."

Susan giggles.

Susan tells you, "Uh-huh. What would have happened if you'd hit them any harder?"

<thoughtful>

You look thoughtful.

<tell susan sven would have made me pay for the glass.>

You tell Susan, "Sven would have made me pay for the glass."

Susan laughs.

You're thinking about something else. Your attention drifts up the aisle. Heads of people in the left-hand seats, unhappy, defeated. They remind you of convicts in a chain gang.

At the front a highschool girl drops coins into the fare machine, turns to look for a seat.

"Hello, Buster," says the happy man. He nods to her, with his frank, friendly smile. She seems threatened.

"Hello," she replies, hesitant.

"Nice day today." Smiles.

"Yes," she says, and dashes past him as if she were vaulting a snake pit.

Sven tells you, "*Well.* How are we doing in school?"

<look down>

A rubberish anti-stick mat helps you keep your feet.

<mumble>

You mumble something inaudible.

He continues with a woman next to him. "I like days like this, don't you? Sun, sea breeze." Rocks forward and backward. "It's good to be out where you can experience it."

Woman looks at him, blinking.

"Don't you?," he asks her.

"Oh," she says. "Yes." He looks away, content. She shakes her head to herself, like saying, "Jeez. Nutcase."

<frown>

You frown.

Sven tells you, "What?"

<look sven>

Lanky. Light brown hair trimmed neat. Intelligent, curious eyes behind thick glasses with black plastic frames. An ironic smile plays across his lips.

Sven wears creased brown slacks on his legs.
Sven wears a cotton shirt on his body.
Sven wears a pair of comfortable running shoes on his feet.
Sven holds a book: Nadja, by Andre Breton.

<tell sven what?>

You tell Sven, "What?"

He continues with the driver. "You must enjoy days like this," he says. The driver spins his big wheel into traffic, ignoring him.

Sven looks at you.

Sven tells you, "I didn't hear you. How's school?"

<absent>

You look absent.

Rocking back and forth, he says, "If I was driving I think I'd like every day. It's good to take people where they need to be. Work, school, home." He looks thoughtful. "Outside where you can see the world happen." He looks thoughtful. "You're lucky to have this route, you know. Wide streets in the suburbs, and this open mesa unspoiled. I'd feel lucky to drive a route like this."

Sven pokes you in the ribs.

<tell sven fucked. It's fucked. School's fucked.>

You tell Sven, "Fucked. It's fucked. School's fucked."

Sven laughs.

Sven tells you, "We wouldn't care to elaborate on our enlightening statement?"

<look down>

A rubberish anti-stick mat helps you keep your feet.

<mumble hmm?>

You mumble, "Hmm?"

Sven tells you, "Never mind!"

Sven laughs.

A shy-looking small man in a checkered suit has been listening. "I was a bus driver," he says, timidly. People nearby shoot daggers from their eyes. The happy man smiles like a child. "But not now?" he asks.

"My wife didn't feel the job was worth as much as you suggest," he says with a shy smile.

The happy man stops rocking, looks thoughtful. "Well," he says. "Maybe you could have brought her along once, to see for herself. Maybe her mind would have changed."

The shy man laughs ruefully. "Not sure I'd have enjoyed that," he says. "If she liked it too much, she might have come along every day."

The happy man beams in his gentle, enthusiastic way, rocks for a moment in his seat. "I don't know. That might have been kind of nice, maybe."

A student frowns, looking up from his books. The bus rattles to a stop.

Susan leans toward Sven.

Susan points toward you.

Susan whispers to Sven, "Is he *always* loaded?"

Sven shrugs.

Susan whispers to Sven, "Why?"

Sven shrugs.

An old, bent woman with silver-white hair climbs the stairs, fumbling for change.

"Hello Buster, how are you this morning?," asks the happy man.

She narrows her eyes at the unexpected greeting. She's not a regular. "I'm fine," she replies guardedly. "How are you?"

The happy man beams his sweet smile, rocks forward and backward, delighted to be asked. Atop his thick strong neck his head rolls to one side. "Why," he says, beaming, "I'm fine. Thank you ma'am." Smiles warmly and sincerely. The bus lurches into traffic.

Sits up rigid in his seat. "Wait!," he says urgently, tapping the driver's shoulder. "Someone else gets on here."

Loud swish of air brakes as the driver pulls over. Heavyset man in overalls puffs through the doors, red-faced, breathless. "Thank you," he tells the driver, flashing his bus pass. Driver nods.

"Hello," smiles the happy man. "Good morning." The red-faced puffing man looks at him mistrustfully.

He nods. "Good morning," he says crisply. Looks for a seat away from the happy man, whose naive attention follows him warmly down the aisle. Chooses a seat in front of you. As he does, the happy man's eyes meet yours and smile.

Sven turns to you.

Sven tells you, "Why are you always loaded?"

<frown>

You frown.

<mumble>

You mumble something inaudible.

Sven laughs.

Sven casts a meaningful glance at Susan.

Susan casts a meaningful glance at Sven.

<look down>

A rubberish anti-stick mat helps you keep your feet.

The happy man is everything you're not. Genuine, friendly, thrilled with life and his own place in it. You don't want him to know you're here. You feel you don't deserve his attention.

Sven throws his head back and roars with laughter.

Sven tells you, "So. Watching the Happy Man, eh? He puts on a show for us every day."

Susan looks puzzled.

Susan tells Sven, "He's strange. But he's nice, isn't he? He's friendly."

Sven throws his head back and roars with laughter.

Sven tells Susan, "He's a Christian soul."

<glare sven>

You glare at Sven.

<tell sven fuck you.>

You tell Sven, "Fuck you."

Sven throws his head back and roars with laughter.

Susan giggles.

Susan tells Sven, "They both are."

<turn away.>

You turn away.

The bus stops with a lurch and a blast of air brakes. The happy man stands to leave.

"Well, Buster," he says, shaking hands with the driver. "Thanks for the good driving. Appreciate it. Have a good day." Smiles, nods to the other passengers. Stops in the doorway, turns back, says, as you've heard him say many times before, "But bus drivers always have good days, don't they?" The pregnant woman follows a few steps behind as they walk toward the hospital.

Sven chuckles sarcastically.

Sven tells you, "If you look close you can see the lobotomy scars."

Sven points to his temples.

Sven smiles a vacant smile.

Susan giggles.

<tell sven fuck you.>

You tell Sven, "Fuck you."

<turn away.>

You turn away.

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