To Waiting

I've told this story a lot. How Chapman can wait forever. How he doesn't know what waiting is yet, so he'll hang loose enjoying the scenery wherever we are. Meanwhile I "wait for the bus."

Before I tell the story----again, I want to share one of my favorite poems. Until recently, I thought it was a serious and meaningful poem. I'm now hearing and feeling its humor and paradoxical tones. It is a funny one, or one that makes fun of us if only we would lighten up. If only we will. It's called To Waiting and it's written by W.S. Merwin.

Here it is.

To Waiting

You spend so much of your time
expecting to become
someone else
who will be different
someone to whom a moment
whatever moment it may be
at last has come
and who has been
met and transformed
into no longer being you
and so has forgotten you

meanwhile in your life
you hardly notice
the world around you
lights changing
sirens dying along the buildings
your eyes intent
on a sight you do not see yet
not yet there
as long as you
are only yourself

with whom as you
recall you were
never happy
to be left along for long

What do you think? Is waiting this way familiar to you? Can you remember not knowing what waiting is?

So here's the story:

Chapman loves the bus. He ogles and giggles, smiles and anticipates riding the bus. A sense of wonder takes over his face, and his body constricts and his chest might burst. He's imagining the bus, Oh the bus. I'm talking the RTA bus, the New Orleans' Public Bus System bus.

With the blessing of his parents, I got to take Chapman on his first bus ride about 5 months ago. We were on our way home from the Aquarium. I was driving Mary Ashley's SUV which sits high enough so that when a bus pulled up beside us on Magazine Street from the back seat Chapman was knee high to the bus passengers. He could actually see inside the bus. And he gestured, "Me, bus, on," as he does sometimes with vehicles he wants to sit or ride on. He'll point at the vehicle and then press his palm on his chest saying "Me, On." Your heart breaks and mends when he does this. If you can do it, you are hero or heroine, saving the day. If you can't, you feel the pain inside and try not to show it.

But I knew I could, when Beau and MA said "Sure". So we had a date, me and C-man, to ride the bus. Upon my arrival at his house, he was decked out in his bus-riding outfit running to the door, his hat, his batman sunglasses. MA gave me packets of WetOnes for his hands along the way, touching railings and all. Beau offered to drive us to the bus stop, but I didn't want to pass up the walk, holding Chapman's hand for five whole blocks. If it took us an hour to get to the stop, the better.

Our walk started steady, one-handed down his front steps. We were on our own once we left the gate, and I remember a wide sense of responsibility and awakeness come over me. He was in my care, and I felt trusted in a broader way than I've felt in a while, if ever.

Chapman looked at birds, pointed at hanging plants on neighbors' porches, shouted at big trucks, also known as Doo-doos (Chapman's word for trucks) that passed by as we walked. Each step was a step in the direction toward the bus. My mind started wondering about our timing. Would we wait for a bus for two minutes? Would we wait for ten or twenty? Would people stare at us as we waited? How long would we have to wait?

Hand in hand, we walked. Chapman's hand grasped mine for assurance; mine grasped his for the same reason. We were a pair of travelers, our legs and toes, our arms and hearts our rutter and sail. I remember feeling adrift; it had been a long time since I had walked to the bus stop, putting myself in the hands of a bus driver. Do you know anybody who rides the bus for fun? Or because they have to? I also remember feeling scared, no one would know us on the bus; no one knew us as we walked the blocks. Why that felt so scary I don't know.

So we reached the corner at State Street and Magazine and I picked Chapman up so that he could be closer to and under the yellow "Bus Stop" sign. He, wide-eyed, laughed with blue eyes glowing, his cheeks and his nose and his belly laughed too at the sign or at the marvel of everything (I can't say for sure what he was laughing at, but I'd like to think it was the marvel of everything, so I do.) We were "waiting" for the bus.

Only as I watched and noticed Chapman, he wasn't waiting for the bus the way I was. His inquiry into everything glowed. He was in my arms happy to be there, without waiting for anything. His moment in being glowed. Open, he waited for nothing, everything available and perfect. Seeing this in him I experienced it myself for split seconds; and then I'd poke my head out far into the street, looking for the bus. Waiting for the bus. Where's the bus?

One or two other people waited at the bus stop with us. They smiled at us; drivers passing by did too. I think others sensed Chapman's innocence and wonder; perhaps they intuited this was a fun bus ride, not a way of life. I don't know.

The bus, the bus, there's the bus, Chapman. We could both see it three or four blocks away. Its big window, high presence off the street, wide girth approaching. Again, Chapman's eyes widen, his giggles gurgle, his energy mounts; we can not believe our eyes! Approaching, it gets closer and closer and closer. And it's bigger and bigger and bigger as it moves toward us.

Its auditory presence could not be mistaken; its loudness, roaring tires and big engine noise awakened us further to its presence. The bus had arrived; we wouldn't be waiting anymore! The big doors divided and all of sudden, Chapman was standing on the bus, a whole new world. A driver, other passengers, purple seats (that held him bucketlike) that hold many sized people. Where were we going to sit was the first of many questions that occurred to me once we were on the bus. We had a marvelous ride and an incredible day that day, MA met us downtown and the three of us had lunch and walked around Jackson Square. It's a day I won't soon forget, and
obviously it's a story that I will build from as Chapman and Sadie, Beau and MA's children influence my life, and mine theirs.

How free I felt with this child, and yet, paradoxically, how responsible I had to be. More responsible and more aware and more conscious and awake than I normally am. With Chapman in my care, all of a sudden, I was waiting for nothing and there was nowhere to be but here where I am.