The boy on the bus

The boy sitting at the back of the bus was maybe ten or twelve years old. Dark haired and dark eyed, he leaned against the foggy window, hunkered down in the last seat to the right. His hoodie covered most of his face and music filtered from his mobile serenading those of us who also sat in the rear. He wasn’t wearing headphones.

It was some mix of Latino music that filled the bus with a happy beat, but as new passengers entered each, in turn, looked back at the boy. Glaring looks from passengers already seated were also directed toward the kid – it was rude to be playing music out loud. It was rude to be agitating other people with something so personal one’s own musical selections. No one in Sweden does this. It’s a cultural thing that maybe the boy didn’t understand. Or maybe he didn’t care. Six or seven stops later, his music still filled the rear of the bus. 

Over the years, I grew to understand this cultural nuance. And on that day, for a time, I too was a bit taken aback and I too turned to look at the boy. Not because his music was bad or because he was playing it without headphones, but because it was something I hadn’t experienced in over four years. This was Sweden. This was a place where you don’t make eye contact with those you pass on the street let alone assault someone with your own special brand of music. 

As I sat listening to the tunes, it reminded me of days spent in New York City, Boston, New Haven, and New Orleans where the music of many cultures filtered out on to the streets and filled the buses and subways. Springtime was especially alive with music and laughter in these cities. The music and the people are what, in my opinion, gave a city its life. And I realized I rather missed those sounds from all the different cultures mixing melodies and voices together.

But in Gothenburg, a civilized silence prevailed. Don’t let the baby cry, don’t let the children be too loud, don’t shout in public, and don’t play your music without headphones. This is a beautiful thing. It’s quiet. It’s nice. Sitting on a bus one can get lost in one’s own thoughts without interruption. You can have a whispered conversation with your lover on an afternoon ride home. Music filling the streets and subways of New York City is also a beautiful thing. Neither scenario is wrong. The two are just different.  

Photo by Lisa Mikulski