The bus stop ten minutes from home is my only public route to school. I always leave the house slowly, then stroll even more slowly toward the stop. More often than not, I find myself still waiting to cross the street when the familiar numbers flash past before my eyes—and I don’t even feel the urge to chase after them. There’s always another bus.
And so begins the endless wait for Schrödinger’s next bus. The delay on the map keeps shifting—minute by minute, unpredictably. You have no alternative but to turn your head now and then, pretending to admire the view, though it’s definitely not for the scenery. 185, 185… still 185. Until you finally see a 6, and say to yourself, “Hey! 36 is finally here.” Only then do you get to sit down and rest a bit, put on some music, and like every other day or night, gaze out from the upper deck of the bus—at strangers, at familiar buildings, at trees cycling through spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Their branches brush against the stained glass, and the reflection of yourself remains mostly unchanged.
It suddenly hits you: you’ve never tried to catch the bus. You gave up your chance before it even passed the traffic light. It’s like you chose to wait for the next one—or maybe you simply assumed you weren’t meant for this one. There’ll be another.
But in truth, that red light lasts just long enough for you to make it. You could’ve run and waved at the driver ahead of time. Sure, running might’ve looked a bit clumsy, but at least the driver would’ve known: you wanted this bus—not Schrödinger’s maybe-next. Your sprint might not have gotten you a better lecture, or made you learn more—but you chose to catch this ride. And that changes everything.
That’s when you realize: running to catch the bus was never really that hard after all. So what if your posture is awkward, your clothes unfit, your hair blown into a mess? What matters is letting the driver know you intend to ride. And the destination? Who cares. If you’re not in the mood for school, just get off at the park.
离家十分钟那座公交站台，是我通往学校的唯一公共途径。我总是慢悠悠地出家门，又慢慢悠地去往那站台。常常是在未过马路前，就眼睁睁看着熟悉的数字在我眼前掠过，连一丝追赶的欲望都没有。总会有下一班出现。
然后是无止境地等待薛定谔的下一班。地图上显示延误的时间点总是变了又变，你别无他法，只是时不时转头远眺证明着，你站在这绝不是因为这景色有多好。185、185，还是185。直到你看到数字6，这时你会说“嘿！36总算是来了。”然后你终于可以坐下歇息会，耳机放点音乐，一如每个白天夜晚，在上层巴士扫向车外陌生的人熟悉的建筑，望着树的春夏秋冬，看它的枝叶划过斑驳的车窗，倒影上的你变化倒是不大。
恍然间你意识到，你从来没主动去赶上那巴士，你在它还未过红绿灯时就放弃了搭乘的权利。好像是你选择下一班的，又或许是你自然地觉得，肯定跟这班无缘，总会有下一班出现。但实际上红灯持续的时间，恰恰够你跑到站台了，你甚至还可以提前跟司机招上手。那仓促跑动的样子，虽然是有点狼狈，可好歹司机知道你要上车了。对，是这趟，不是薛定谔的下一趟。你的奋力奔跑换来了你少迟讲座的到，尽管你不能因此多学点，但你主动赶上了这趟公交，这意义就大不一样了。
这时你才发现，原来奔跑着赶公交也不是件多难的事嘛！至于什么跑姿、着装、被风吹乱的头发，狼狈一点又何妨呢？关键是让司机知道你要坐公交。那目的地具体是何处又何妨呢，如果不想上学就在公园下吧！