Look at him. Dead. Those lights that he used so that oncoming traffic could see him are still on. They're still doing their job long after it matters. He never saw the car and conversely the car never saw him. As the bus where I had seen him a million times before pulls around the scene of the accident I can't help but wonder what went so terribly wrong on this foggy and damp morning.
I've seen this guy maybe 100 times prior to today in this very neighborhood, and the surrounding neighborhoods, always riding that bike. Most of the time when I had seen him though it was right here on the number 44 bus, at this same stop, always at 4:33 AM. He would always fasten his bike down on the rack in front of the bus then get on the bus with a bag. That's over with now because he is gone. His life was snuffed out by a 1984 Chysler Lebaron, smoke gray. I often wondered when I used to see him what his deal was. He seemed to be a nice enough guy. He was middle aged, south Pacific islander descent, maybe Asian. He was always really friendly with the bus driver. He was always wearing sweatpants, a helmet, and lights. OH I CAN'T FORGET ABOUT THOSE GOOFY ASS LIGHTS! I almost expected him to one day try to convince me that visitors from outer space were going to land on the Golden Gate Bridge and mate with our women. But he never spoke to me. Not even once. We exchanged a friendly nod or two but that's it.
Some months went by and I became less and less curious about him and the circumstances surrounding his demise. The demands of my own life had filed away my naturally inquisitive nature. This particular morning I found myself alone with the bus driver. We exchanged pleasantries and made small talk when we came to the subject of what happened to that nice fellow with the bicycle who used to ride this bus. We went through the usual "damn shames" and "too youngs". Then after a brief moment of silence the bus driver admitted to me that he knew the guy quite well. His eyes became glassy with tears. He had actually spent some time with him and had gotten to know he and his family outside of this bus. After the accident he had an opportunity to talk with some members of the man's family. I don't know why he felt compelled to tell me all this seeing as how I didn't know the guy at all. But I still listened. Maybe I was just being nosey. Scratch that... I absolutely was just being nosey but I couldn't bring myself to stop him.
The bus driver told me: "He and his wife of 17 years had a big blowout that morning. She wanted to leave him for another woman. Things got out of hand. A little physical even. Before it could escalate further he got out of there. Quickly. The last thing his wife saw of him was him blazing down his street on his bicycle, then disappearing into the fog."
The bus driver, in full tears now, says to me he understands why the car might not have seen him but why he didn't see the car he couldn't understand. The guy is usually so damn careful on that bike. The bus driver collects himself and is decidedly quiet for the remainder of the trip and so was I. Though this was a sad set of affairs my life must go on. I use the time to look out the window and reflect. It's really dangerous riding your bicycle in the dark with tears in your eyes.
I'm the Black Steven King (hopefully better looking though).
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