Stumble to Grace

STUMBLE TO GRACE

Shoulders slump as blemished hands release coins. They rattle down. The door hisses closed.

Rheumy eyes set above loose skin on high cheekbones see a crowded bus. He starts down the aisle with a cautious shuffling step.

The bus lurches forward. Sudden momentum attacks his equilibrium. A passenger reaches to arrest the elderly man’s fall.

And a stumble turns to grace.

A ball change shifts weight from left to right foot and he barrel turns, arms tucked to his sides. An age-spotted hand skims a horizontal steel safety rail. A thin lip arcs up to reveal tobacco stained teeth.

The bus tips right.

Left knee in baggy corduroy bends with a creak and one worn penny loafer tries to chasse the other. Leather soles skate across textured rubber. Legs end split perilously far apart. Like a partner’s hand he grips a rail to swing his body up. His grin widens to a smile.

A sit-com cute girl claps soundlessly.

The bus swings left.

Feet in line, back arched he makes three cat quick steps. A pivot on the right foot juts out his left hip. A twist brings long fingers around a vertical silver pole. He twirls, flaring his azure golf jacket and drifts down to the slick plastic bench. Seated he snaps his fingers as one leg drops languorously over the other.

For a last fleeting moment his eyes show depthless gray. Time reasserts and eyes cloud, muscles soften and the smile fades to memory.