The little girl is two, maybe younger. She has olive skin and dark, serious eyes that lock intently on the world and its great variety of things which dance and tumble about before her in all their newness.
She peers over her seat at an elderly woman, who smiles back sweetly. They play games for a while - the child's absorbing eyes concentrating on the woman's pale skin, wrinkled kindly with age, like old tree bark.
It comes time to go. The woman says good-bye and waves her hand, clapping it like a clamshell. The girl gazes back ponderously, clinging to the seat, uncertain of the gesture.
The bus stops and the woman steps down onto the sidewalk; the child watches her, silently mouthing this new word, this new sound, 'Bye.'
She mumbles, trying out the one-hand clap, motioning it at the now empty seat. An empty clamshell mouthing silence.
She murmurs it again.
'Bye... Bye... Bye...'
She peers over her seat at an elderly woman, who smiles back sweetly. They play games for a while - the child's absorbing eyes concentrating on the woman's pale skin, wrinkled kindly with age, like old tree bark.
It comes time to go. The woman says good-bye and waves her hand, clapping it like a clamshell. The girl gazes back ponderously, clinging to the seat, uncertain of the gesture.
The bus stops and the woman steps down onto the sidewalk; the child watches her, silently mouthing this new word, this new sound, 'Bye.'
She mumbles, trying out the one-hand clap, motioning it at the now empty seat. An empty clamshell mouthing silence.
She murmurs it again.
'Bye... Bye... Bye...'