‘A Bus in ABQ’
Words By Aidan Cummings
I’d like to write a little on community and what community means to me. I believe that creating and fostering community is one of the most important tools for a city’s upward mobility. If we are to grow, then we must lift ourselves up together. A box with a rotten bottom will collapse if you pull it up from the top. But if you are willing to get in the dirt, you can lift that box from the bottom. The community in Albuquerque works to support itself. Anywhere you go in the city, you will be put in situations where you will be reminded of this immutable fact.
My first month in Albuquerque was filled with such moments. Shortly after I arrived in the city, I found a job in the back of a kitchen up on Nob Hill. The hours were long, and the pay could have been better. However, at that moment, I was just happy to be working in a kitchen. Part of my job involved daily prep, which meant I had to be at the restaurant quite early. I adopted the habit of riding the bus to work. It was free, and both my home and work were conveniently close to the bus line. I made this decision begrudgingly, dragging my feet as I acquiesced to the circumstances. Buses in this country have a certain reputation for being underfunded and full of unruly and listless clientele. A quick Google search for “public bus system” brings up half a dozen articles about cities around the US either slashing local funding or begging for more government money. I had not been too keen to join the numbers shuffling outside the bus stop at 6 in the morning. But the appeal of convenience, and if we’re being honest, the lack of other cheap, reliable options brought me to the Edo station every morning to catch a ride uptown on the 766. It was during this morning commute that I had an experience that forced me face-to-face with the nature of communal support in Albuquerque. Around 6:15, the bus pulled up to the Presbyterian hospital, and a man carrying an over-stuffed duffel bag paired with a children’s backpack slung over one shoulder settled down in the row opposite me. As the bus took off again, he began to speak.
“Hey man, haven’t seen you ‘round here. You new to the hood?”
I turned to see who had addressed me. Sitting across from me was a young man who couldn’t have been more than mid-twenties. Dressed in layers, none of which fit the way they were designed to. Shorts too long, draped over jeans too short. Holes through both, showing all the way to a pair of raggedy boxers underneath. Hair greasy and tangled, the man asked again.
“Where you from? You new?”
I opened my mouth to answer his question, but he plowed ahead.
“Are you hungry? Do you know how you can get food?”
At this point, he tilted a carton of muffins toward me, gesturing for me to take one.
“Look if you need to eat we got all that good shit here man. There’s the Storehouse down the road, they gotcha if you need free groceries. Wednesday, Friday, or Saturday mornings, man. No questions, just food boxes. There’s also a shelter down on 3rd that serves hot meals every weekday.”
At this point, the bus had rolled to a stop at the next station. The man got up and headed towards the door. Before he stepped off, he turned around to face me for the last time.
“Welcome to the city, man, we gotta have each other’s backs. Who knows, next time you see me, you might be helping me!”
With that, he laughed and got off the bus. I never saw the man again, but this conversation stuck in my head quite vividly. I never got the man’s name, nor did I speak to him as much as he spoke to me. Regardless, I felt touched. The oddity and forcefulness of the conversation did little to dampen the underlying messages. Here, we all take care of each other.
Here we make sure that we all make it. No matter your circumstance, here, you didn’t have to do it all on your own.
I no longer ride the bus to work. But the experience has stayed with me ever since. Although I started riding the bus quite hesitantly, I found nothing but an open-arms welcome and an invitation to join a community. As I settled into Albuquerque, I discovered no shortage of experiences like this one. The close-knit, small-town feel is one of the city’s biggest strengths. I have come to love that feeling. I believe this feeling sets Albuquerque apart and what brings it hope for the future. In a time that is so divided, this dogged sticktogetherness is what will see us through to brighter days.
Prayers for a golden future:
-A Pilgrim