UN DIA A LA VEZ: BUS STOP PHILOSOPHER ON LOSS

ESPAÑOLA, N.M.— The symphony of engines lend their hum to the steady afternoon traffic near the corner of Espinosa Street and Paseo de Oñate. It is monsoon season, and the cascade of splashes from cars skidding past the massive rain puddle on main street remind me it is alive and well.

As I make my way past the transit center, a couple seated on a small cinderblock wall near the parking lot’s west side capture my attention.

When I find Jennifer and Joey, they are seated waiting for the bus. Unlike the crowd gathered near the ‘official’ bus stop on the opposite end of the lot, the duo finds the low-lying wall to be a more desirable place to sit and wait.

A mural depicting a family of elephants trekking through a jungle adds to the serendipity.

“They still have whiskers in Española,” Jenifer says to Joey with a laugh. The Vallecitos resident sports a full charcoal-colored beard; the small clusters of white woven throughout are a testimony to age and wisdom.

“I keep cutting it, but it grows right back”. His voice is soft with all the charisma and nonchalance the baby-boomer, now in his late fifties, could muster.

Jennifer, silver haired with a quick tongue, is a master of expressions and carries herself with a kind of subtle tenacity. She also likes to crack jokes.

“Get my good side,” he tells me as pull out my camera. “You have to turn around, Joey,” Jennifer charges as the two share a laugh.

As we talk, Joey and Jennifer share stories that give me a glimpse into their lives. I learn Jennifer is custodian at Northern New Mexico College, who is the proud owner of Malo, a black Chihuahua, that her friends nicknamed Meatloaf.

When I ask her why she answers, “because, he’s as big as a meatloaf”. “He’s a pain in the butt,” says Joey. “He’s a cool little dude.”

For Joey, his day out has come to an end and he is waiting to go home. He works around town as a yardman, though he tells me work today was slow. “Not one damn job,” he laments.

As I get to know Joey I learn he is the proud father of two daughters. “My oldest lives in Taos. The other one—she’s around,” he tells me. “They’re in college. One to be a cop. The other one—I’m not sure.”

“Do you have any kids of your own,” I ask Jennifer.

Though the traffic continues as it has been, I can’t help but feel a silence come over us near the bustling intersection. Though I don’t understand it, I can tell Jennifer is experiencing something painful. I can see it in her face.

“Yeah, I had one,” as the silence ensues. “He’s gone. It’s been seven years. My daughter in-law and my granddaughter…Here in Española, there’s only one place to go swimming…There’s only one hotel here that had an indoor pool. He was in a room. Mom and the little girl went to town to get something to eat and…they came back and…he’s not here. He’s not here.”

The pain seems to be a far cry from the laugh-filled conversations we were having just minutes earlier. Now, even the pair of elephants leading their young through the mural’s jungle seem more out of place than ever.

“It’s hard to lose people like that, but they live on,” said Joey putting his hand to his heart. “Right here my friend.”

I expected to run into a lot of different personalities when I ran into Joey and Jennifer. Isn’t funny how complete strangers can help one another through something as simple as conversation? Incredible.