Point of contact.

Now here's the thing. I'm a sucker for attention. Always have been. I remember back in the day when we were getting the extension done, Dad did a lot of filming (you know, the days when no one had heard of digital video cameras, and people could actually afford to buy a slightly decent video camera without having to mortgage the house and sell your first-born to afford one? Yeah.) and I would always jump into the picture. Upon this jumping I would immediately claim that the star of the movie was present, and would inform the eventual viewer of the film that said viewing was about to become a lot less tedious. As it would happen it became a lot more tedious - as I later discovered...but hey, that's what being young is all about...right?

Or something.

Now, having proved that I have always been a sucker for attention, and that it is not just a recent development, I come to today's topic.

Being the said sucker that I am, I tend to listen to the people around me. I also happen to take great joy when people say that they read my blog...even when I haven't spammed said person with links. So, when we combine these two things, we get somebody who I respect and will probably listen to if said person suggests something to blog about.

Now this girl, going by the name of Rachel, (I would link to her blog here...but I'm pretty sure she doesn't have one...) suggested many a month ago on the humanities Sydney trip that I blog about people out bus windows.

Good idea, Chris thinks to himself, mulling over the possibilities of how to tackle something like that.

I then got distracted (for a good three months) by the memory of the hilarious workman in his van who got particularly distracted by Rachel flirting with him from the bus window, and Chris (that isn't me talking about myself in third person...for once...) banging on the window rather loudly and causing this poor workman great confusion, as he examined his van for the source of the bang.

But I decided that I would eventually pick up the topic again, albeit in a way that might not have been how Rachel imagined it. But she can deal with that.

Now, having waffled on once again, I bring you today's blog. A blog about bus windows!

***

It was a cold night in the depot. A bitter wind screamed through a slight gap in the gigantic metal doors that was supposed to seal the buses in at night. The young window cowered at the sound, afraid that if the wind got any strong it might rip off the door, exposing the window to the rage of the weather. The window's imagination went wild - it could not help it, for the bedtime stories of the older windows were still fresh in its memories. Limbs blown from trees scratching the sparkling surface of once flawless glass, corrugated iron sheets shattering their way through the soul of fortified windows, and the worst of all - the pressure of the winds outside causing all the windows on a bus to shatter as it tried to remain in equilibrium with the inside of the bus. Yes. It was safe for the inexperienced window to say he was scared of the wind.

The night wore on.

Daybreak broke over the distant blue mountains - the window could see the golden rays gleefully spreading light over the world. The young window had not slept much that evening - which didn't particularly matter...being a window and all - because the wind had kept him awake. Conveniently enough, however, the wind died down just before dawn, and the window looked forward to the day ahead of him, knowing that he did not have to endure the wind just yet. The window was new to the job, having just been installed a few weeks ago. In fact, the entire bus was only a few weeks old, and they were all keen to go on their first big adventure together. Yes, today they left with a bunch of pretentious and wanky, arty-farty students - as the older windows in the depot jokingly called them - to go to Sydney. It was a three hour trip, and the window eagerly anticipated watching and listening to the people who chose to sit next to it.

The bus was on the highway, and the window was excited as the slip steam roared past. The students were inside, not bothered by the rush of air next to them - the window proudly performed its duty to keep the air out, but the light and view in. It was fascinated by the conversations of the students - they talked about everything. They bitched and complained, praised and laughed, sang and cheered, watched and listened. The window was enjoying itself immensely, and couldn't wait to see what Sydney - the city that so many of the other windows excitedly whispered about - was really like.

Sydney is amazing, the bus thought to itself, taking in the sleek arches of the bridge reflected in the glittering blue water, and the billowing sails of the opera house. There were millions of windows - everywhere it looked, it saw its brethren. The noise from them was astounding - some moaned about how the recent rain had streaked its coat, others giggled as drivers squirted water over them, and others still sat in earnest philosophical debate about functionality - stained verses bullet proof glass. The students were equally as dazzled, there were thousands of their brethren littering the streets, making an awful cacophony of noise that the window found incredibly distracting. It was glad that it was doing its job to protect the students - he didn't want them getting headaches - as humans are prone to do - and not enjoying themselves.

It was a three day trip - and as the day headed toward the second evening, the window began to realise that it was nearly time for the its adventure to be over. So too did the students, and they began to get sillier, and much more entertaining for the window. The window laughed as the students took crazy photos of each other. It gazed longingly as they became flirtatious with each other, constantly pushing the boundaries of connection. The window then became startled as the students turned to it. They waved cheerfully through the protective glass, seeing right through the intrigued window.

Fascinated, the window studied the reactions of the people on the street. Mostly they ignored the students, preferring to adopt a facade of busy disinterest as their eyes glazed over after an initial focus. Others let a small smile of nostalgia invade their faces, a reminder of times past. Many walked in bubbles of self-sufficiency, ignoring the crowded street that surrounded them, withdrawing into busy thought. The window's favourite, however, were those that responded with genuine pleasure. In the slowly sinking sunlight, their faces would light up when confronted by the students' contagious sense of fun. They drew to their full height, proudly wearing a smile, returning their waves in generous proportions. These moments always surprised the happy students, who would immediately double their efforts to please the anonymous person on the street. Then there would be an awkward moment, as the person on the street realised they were receiving odd looks from the people around them. The students would continue waving, though their original energy had left them. Then with a hiss of air, the bus would take off its brakes, and slip through the green light. But as the students pulled away, they put in a final effort, leaving the person on the street to watch the youths disappeared down the road.

The window would always look back and see the person on the street cross the road, a smile playing on their lips.

It was then that the young window realised that it did not serve just to provide protection from the elements to those inside the bus - a physical window. The memories of the waving encounters filled its memory.

No, it thought, it was more than that. It was a metaphorical window - a window to human reactions, exposing emotions and feelings, personalities and prejudices.

A point of contact between strangers that would never meet again.

“The person whose problems are all behind them is probably a school bus driver”

-Anonymous