The Boys

You meet all kinds of people when you ride a city's paratransit service. Some passengers don't stop talking; some never say a word. Same goes with the drivers. The clients hail from all walks of life, and have varying levels of ability.

Sometimes friendships are formed during these rides, especially if you have a permanent trip and travel with the same person or people every day. Currently I have one relationship that has migrated from fellow client to friend. We talk on the phone occasionally. We have met for dinner a few times. We ride together Monday through Friday, except when the schedulers decide to mix things up and put us on different routes. We don't like that. I had another paratransit friend several years ago. I went to her house once, and she came to my birthday party. But she moved away and we did not stay in touch. The rides are much more enjoyable when you have a fellow passenger or driver that you can talk to and joke with.

My trips in the morning are long. I usually ride for about an hour and twenty minutes. After we drop off my friend, we pick up three guys. Two of them (F. and P.) live in a group home, and the other (J.) lives with his father and young niece. My driver and I call them "the boys," even though two of them are older than me. F. and P. are blind, and all three guys have varying degrees of autism and intellectual disabilities.

I have known F. and P. for more than thirteen years, although we have not been fellow passengers for all of those years. They were on my very first route, which probably lasted about a year or so, and then I started riding with them again about two or three months ago. I probably rode with them a few times during the intervening years as well.

Our schedule doesn't vary, unless the schedulers change it of course. We pick up J. first. When she's not running late, the driver takes the time to get out of the car and say hello to J.'s four year old niece. J. rarely talks during this part of the trip, but he waves a lot - to pedestrians, to drivers, and sometimes just to the air. Some people smile and wave back; some look uncomfortable or confused.

As soon as F. and P. get in the car, J. is constantly talking. They all spend time at a multi-purpose rec center for people with disabilities, although F. and P. also work for a few hours each day, performing menial tasks at different restaurants. P. goes to work before going to the rec center, a fact that confuses J. on a daily basis.

J.'s questions and comments are usually the same. "Who coming?" "Where born?" "When born?" "that man there" "Goin' work?" Day after day after day. F. gets frustrated and rarely responds. P. is patient and answers over and over again.

Our driver plays music in the car. We've heard that the radios will be removed next month, and we're all sad about that. We enjoy listening and sometimes singing a little. F. and P. know nearly every song. As soon as a song starts, they'll say, usually in unison, "The Four Tops!" "Oh, that's Chicago." "Stevie Wonder..." F. and P. are quite different. F. is white; P. is black. F. likes country music; P. likes disco. P. sometimes has a girlfriend that he spends time with at the rec center. But the two men are very close. They have had to move to different group homes over the years, and so far they have been able to stay together. P. is higher functioning than F. He looks out for him. Before they lived in group homes, they resided in different institutions. P. said the staff was often mean to him. They would take his food away before he was finished. He endured worse than that, but those stories are his. I haven't asked permission to share them.

One day I knew a song that F. and P. didn't. I couldn't believe it. It was Dexy Midnight Runner's "Come on Eileen." A one hit wonder.

F. has a discman that he listens to a lot. Every few days he'll ask me to change the batteries for him. He'll carefully hand me the player and the batteries from his seat in the front; I sit in the back with J. and P. F.'s hands will flutter the whole time I'm working. He tries to be patient, because sometimes it takes me awhile to dig the batteries out and get the new ones in. One time I put the new batteries in wrong, so of course the discman wouldn't work. F. reminds me often that I got it wrong once. He's not being mean. Its just his way. He always says thank you. Even days later he'll say thank you. His birthday was in August. I gave him a ten pack of batteries. His boss at work gave him an Alan Jackson cd. He is an Alan Jackson fanatic.

P. listens to audio books. I often wonder why he has a menial job. He organizes the silverware at the restaurant. I don't know him that well of course, but I think he can do more than that.

I wouldn't necessarily call myself a morning person. Sometimes I feel frustrated by J.'s constant questions, and having no personal space during the last ten minutes or so of the ride. But usually I'm not bothered at all. I kind of feel like a sister to the boys. When J. gets in the car I make sure he puts his seat belt on. When I get out of the car, P. asks if I'm riding the next day. I let them know in advance if I'm going to be out of town or taking the day off. They get upset too when the schedulers change up the routes. Our driver will usually tell me, "The boys missed you yesterday." Every day both P. and F. admonish J. not to move over until I am out of the car. "Wait J.! Wait!" they say protectively. "Don't push her out."

We take care of each other.

librarianintx