My friend, who is studying for her degree in social work, and I went around west Memphis seeking out MATA buses, me not knowing just how much I would receive from this afternoon trip.
For the entirety of my life I’ve been blessed with
working vehicles. My parents always had
a car—whether it was the old Bronco, the T-bird, or a regular truck—and when I
began driving they always had the means and desire to provide me with one. The only time I ever rode a bus was with SUSD
and that was an experience I loathed, so I didn’t know what to expect from the
public transportation system here.
When she and I first stopped, our dreams of riding a bus
were unfulfilled. Whether we were
victims to a late bus or an incorrect schedule, we’ll never know. MATA, as efficient as it desires and claims to be, is far from it. Confusing
routes are made even more illegible by conflicting or lacking information.
We walked around the neighborhood of Highland and Summer,
where we met John, the owner of a quaint thrift store. His mom had owned the place, a then-lavish
furniture dealer, but “when 9/11 happened, and the economy shifted, I knew we
needed to change or we wouldn’t make it,” he said. And so it became home to old, but beautiful
jewelry, bathroom sinks, aged furniture, classic and not so classic records,
and a Cadillac bumper. So much filled
the store, I can’t even continue to list its keepings. So much character in such a small space. He seemed to know the story of every
knick-knack that had come to him, and after a few stories we bid John adieu. Only after, of course, I purchased an old ceramic piggy bank. It's the banker in me.
We made our way to Poplar Avenue by car and sought out
its alleged bus routes. Weekend
schedules may or may not be identical to the weekly routes, we came to (not
really) find. Finally a bus appeared,
and we loaded, paying $3.50 for an all-day pass, and you must have exact
change! Though the bus was full, its
passengers were uncommonly quiet. Among
these passengers was a man with groceries, a woman who had picked up
her prescription, and even a woman in a motorized wheelchair—how she boarded, I
have no inkling!
We passed East High and Central Library, finally ending
our route at the intersection of Cleveland and Poplar, where there were four
different bus stops, one at each corner.
We discovered you can text MATA (at atis@matatransit.com) with a ##bus
stop number## and it will text you the next departure time for your station—that
was pretty cool, actually. So we waited,
about 20 minutes, plus a few more, because the bus was late. (How do people make it to work on time?!)
The people around me were nicely dressed. Forgive me, for my expectation for bus riders
was low. Poor, disheveled, and lacking were
words I thought applied to my stereotype of those riding the mass transit
line. Fully embarrassed now am I for
making such an assumption, seeing nicely dressed women and average families
board the bus.
We returned to the
Poplar Plaza Shopping Center with ease, walking a small distance as we left the
bus a little soon, anticipating we’d miss the next stop if we didn’t. We ate at McAlister’s where we met a lady
with Anemia and having a bout of misfortune with a swollen knee and no medical
insurance. Her spirit remained bright,
thankful for receiving the first day of fall and her state of perpetual
gratefulness made me thankful for “such a beautiful day.”
We shopped at Spin Street, admiring the many oddities,
iconic bobbles, and the hipster employees. Our last stop was a franchised clothing store, where, though
minor, reverse-racism was experienced—all I could think of was Why I Did GetMarried? when one of the main characters is told to by the store owner, “We don’t
keep cash in the store.” It was
thoroughly uncomfortable, and, yes, I hated the feeling of predetermined
suspicion, but it made me appreciate what black and African-American women must
feel like every day in a white man’s world—and this was only one day, a 30 minute spread of
time! I can’t imagine the incomparable
strength that comes from a lifetime of racism, especially in the south.
Our day was over after that, and even though it was only
an afternoon I am so thankful for the experiences. I’m thankful to God for what He’s given me
and prayerful for the lives of others He allowed me to see.
People are not so different, but we are. The boggling contradiction from God is that
He made us in His image, brothers and sisters, but that we are so completely
different in walk and experience. I feel
like I learned so much about His character and compassion for us. In His love and wisdom He made us so very
different, and how much we see Him in others is directly correlated in how open
our hearts are to receiving His children, eager to see Him in any one person.
John. The anemic
woman. The young lady with the Willie
tattoo down her arm. The aged man
sitting on the bus. The Def Leopard
shirt guy. The employee with the Hello
Kitty glasses.
Our ugly sin nature may all be the same, but His beauty
in us sets us apart from one another.
Indulge in it. Challenge yourself
to see it in others for you are not God’s most beautiful work alone.
