Meet Joe
Erin Douglass
This world of ours is small in so many ways.
Recently, I was telling friends about seeing a movie star on my bus. "Julia?" they asked, smirking. "Or was it Jennifer?"
No, it was a man — and I actually didn't get his name.
I explained he was one of the supporting characters in the film I Am Sam, and that I'd had mixed feelings about whether or not I should approach him. The man, who appears to be mentally disabled, had played a mentally disabled man in the movie.
They clicked their tongues and nodded their heads, offering zero guidance. I fretted about what I could have said or done.
Two days later, on my ride home, the man boarded the bus.
And sat down next to me.
I smiled when he looked over, and felt my face grow warm. Well, here it is, I thought, my chance to say something. But what? How? And should I confess that I'd written about him? I pretended to read my New Yorker as my thoughts whirled.
I didn't have to whirl for long.
"How are you today?" he asked, turning slightly to face me.
Surprised and relieved, I smiled and said, "I'm very well, thank you."
He nodded and looked forward. A tall man with dark hair, a bit of stubble and olive skin, he had large, round eyes and an open, kind face.
Realizing that I needed to lob back the conversational ball, I looked over and asked, "How are you?"
"I'm good." With his quiet, even tone, he sounded as satisfied as a man on a porch in the sun.
Emboldened by his mellow attitude, I paused before asking, "Were you in a movie?"
"Yes," he said matter-of-factly.
"I enjoyed your performance very much."
"Thank you," he said, and he sounded like he meant it.
I turned to him. "Was it fun — seeing how a movie is made and working with the other actors?"
Yes, he told me, it was.
"Are you going to act again?"
"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "I don't have one, but some of the other guys have agents."
"The other guys…?"
"In the movie, who are from my organization." He nodded a few times in emphasis.
"What organization?" I said.
"L.A. Goal. It's to help people with learning disabilities get jobs." He paused, before adding, "And do other stuff, too."
"Like what?"
"Participate in activities in the community."
I nodded and we rode for a bit in silence.
"Now I work downtown," he suddenly offered. "Filing."
"What do you file?" I asked.
"Papers for court filings." He explained in some detail his daily routine and various co-workers. Then he asked what I did, and I told him I had a copyediting job. We shared impressions of working downtown.
"Sometimes I get a ride home if it's after five," he said, "or I take the freeway bus." But that afternoon, like me, he was on the local, creeping across town. We agreed we both liked to look out the window as neighborhoods and people passed by.
He talked more about his job — the busy schedule, the quick turnaround expected. He was so proud of what he did, talking quietly, but also highlighting his accomplishments.
After some amicable silence, I noticed my stop coming into view. I stashed my magazine and turned to him. "By the way, my name is Erin. What's yours?"
"Joe," he said. "It's very nice to meet you."
"You, too, Joe."
I pulled the cord and stood up. "Ah, Doheny Drive," he said.
"Yep. Home sweet home."
He laughed. "Bye, Erin." And then he patted me on the back.
"Bye, Joe," I said, half walking, half stumbling towards the door as the bus gunned to the curb. "At least until our next bus ride."
"OK, Erin!" I heard him say, as the doors flung open and I plunked down the steps.
During the entire walk home I couldn't stop smiling and shaking my head. What a coincidence. What a small world. And what a gentle man, with his calm, thoughtful gaze — and the lovely sense to pat a stranger on the back.
Hope to see you soon, Joe.