at the old cafe

Friday, August 14, 2015

Today I drove out south of the city for a meeting about a potential wedding venue. I drove back a different way, avoiding the clogged highways. I ended up on Barbur Blvd, a street I used to catch the bus on when I lived on Grover St.

Now I'm sitting at this tiny little cafe, Ross Island Grocery, which was the first coffee place that ever felt like mine, back when I could walk here in the mornings from my first apartment.

As I was driving today behind a bus, I remembered this bus driver who drove the 20 up Burnside, the 7:20 am bus that I always took to be early to class. He was the nicest bus driver in the entire world, seriously, he was so nice that even when I felt like sleeping in and catching the 7:45 bus, I drug myself out of bed because I knew it would cheer up my whole day to get on his bus. One time I wrote him a note saying as much, and he told me that it almost made him want to stay on that route but he had to leave to spend more time with his family.

I hadn't thought about that in a long time, and it made me realize how many tiny stories I'm not ever going to remember. There are so many little moments like that that make up who I am, but they're all buried so deep that it's hard to dig them out. Eventually they'll just be buried there and I won't be trying to dig them out, and I'll just be building my identity on the hard earth of forgotten stories.

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