DONNA BELLEVILLE
She rounded the corner with her
black, colorful cane, saw Jennifer, and smiled. “Well, I haven’t seen you for a
while. Where are you going this fine day?”
“It really is. I’m meeting someone
to go rowing in Central Park.”
“That sounds like fun. I’m visiting
my friend in Crown Heights, we’ll take in a furniture and jewelry show at the
Brooklyn Museum. Will you be taking the express bus?”
“No, the B16. They’re messing up
the east side with some a-thon, so we have to go in from the west. And since
there’s no elevator around here, I’m getting the train at Prospect Park.”
A jay called out, then flew across
the street and into an evergreen tree by the coops where the bus stop was. His
blue feathers contrasted with the green of the needles. They were silent a
while, looking across the street to where the river sparkled in spring
sunlight, which turned it a baby blue color. Trees were budding, and sparrows
kept up a constant chatter in the bushes by the coops.
A bald man went by with a little
white dog on a leash, a suit in a plastic bag over his shoulder, and a cell
phone in his other cheek.
“Hi Eddie,” the lady said, waving
to get his attention.
“Hi Donna,” he responded, “you’re
looking fabulous as always.”
“So are you, may I say. How’s Buster?”
“Roof!” said the dog, coming up to
snuffle her shoes.
Jen moved away; she didn’t like
dogs.
Donna petted Buster and cooed over
him while Eddie chatted on the phone. Then Eddie said he had to get home, and
he and Buster passed on.
“It’s funny, I shudder when I see
dry cleaning. I grew up in an apartment over a dry cleaner. It had the
strangest smell. The vent could be very noisy. And it created water conditions.
The tenants sued, and got a break in the rent, but we had to sign a health
waiver.”
After a few more minutes, Jen went
to look at the schedule. “The bus is ten minutes late,” she announced.
A young woman with a stroller
arrived and stood next to her and began using her phone to find out where the
bus was. She didn’t leave, so Jen figured it was coming soon.
When the B16 arrived, the air
conditioning had been activated. “Hi Joe,” said Donna brightly. “Are we going
to the North Pole today?”
The bus driver groaned. “They set
it at Cropsey. I don’t know what they’re thinking.”
The back of the bus was already
half full of teens in team uniforms; several elderly Oriental people got on at
the nursing home in what looked like church clothes. More teens came in at 86th
Street near the high school. There were also shoppers, two of them with aides.
On other trips, Jen and Donna had single seats on the right, but now they sat
together in a two seat.
“Eddie is such a dear,” Donna said.
“He’s from the old days – introduced himself the day I moved in, runs over to
hold the door, helps with my bags. The new owners aren’t like that. They’re
like shadows in the night.”
“I know what you mean,” said Jen.
“We’ve been here 20 years and still don’t know any of the long time residents.
As for the others, we just about say hello and they move out again.”
The bus crawled to McKinley Park,
through Chinatown and into Borough Park, with an almost complete change of
passengers. It turned a corner and jerked to a halt; the doors opened, and the
access ramp lifted and went down. In came a fragile, white haired, pale woman,
clutching her bulky walker. The front seats were now full of young adults, as
were the single disabled priority seats. No one moved.
“Can someone please let this lady
sit down?” Joe called out wearily. Finally he stopped the bus.
Then a white haired man in a two
seat moved over to the window, and the frail lady sat on the outside, awkwardly
holding onto her walker. The first time the bus jerked to a stop, the walker
got out of her hands and bumped the knee of the young man across the aisle, who
told her it was all right, and held the walker for her until she was ready to
leave.
“Well, I never,” said Donna.
That was the start of it.
“In the old days, this would never
have happened,” said Donna. She nodded vigorously several times, and her
dangling earrings bobbed up and down. Her curly gray hair was cut short all
over her long head, and her ears seemed almost as long as her head. “Why, I
remember once I gave a smart answer to my grandpa, and my mother called out,
“Donna Belleville!” Then she slapped me so hard it knocked me to the ground. I
got up crying, and my brain was spinning, but nobody paid me any attention. I
learned my lesson that day.”
For a minute, Donna was silent, and
everyone was relieved. Then she started again. “My mother always told me to
respect my elders. In those days, everyone was polite. It was yes sir, yes mam.
You obeyed the teacher, the police, the boss. There’s no respect today. The
idea that an elderly person would be standing while I was sitting – it wouldn’t
enter my head. We’re less civilized than the savages now. They respect their elders.”
Again she stopped, but a dangerous
flush had spread over her made up cheeks; her lips trembled. “And how can they
learn anything in school?” she demanded in a higher key. “Worried that another
student will assault them or do something to the teacher? Worried that they’ll
be attacked in the bathroom? How can anyone teach? Worried about a riot in
class or being shot or beaten up? Worried about being sued because a child went
out in the hall and was raped? There’s no discipline today.”
Joe glanced at Donna in his mirror.
The kid in front of them turned up the music on his phone. A woman in the back
of the bus made a call. “I’m getting by the cemetery now,” she said loudly.
Several people commented on the weather. Jen watched a hawk circle in the sky
over the southern tip of Green-wood; she took out a bus schedule and began to
calculate when she might be getting the B16 home. Her heart throbbed because
she thought Donna might turn on her. Instead, Donna looked straight ahead and
continued her dissertation.
At Crooke Avenue, Donna rang, got
up a little unsteadily, and made her way to the back door. She touched the
yellow tape, and the door opened for her. The voice of the bus told everyone
the door was opening and closing. Briefly, all was quiet. The white haired man,
whose disabled partner had departed long ago, took a hankie out of his trouser
pocket and mopped his forehead. The phone lady hung up and gave a loud sigh.
Two teenage girls in plaid skirts giggled.
Jen soon had a new seat mate, who
put on make-up, smelled of coconut, and snapped her chewing gum at regular
intervals. But Donna, at least, was in the hands of her friend, and the
Brooklyn Museum.
Love, Barbara