Lessons From the Kissing Booth

I meet people on buses, mostly late at night and mostly much older men. They usually sound a little confused, like they've just missed a train, and they usually want to chat--just small talk and sometimes mild jokes, until it is time for one of us to get off the bus. Their voices are small, hesitant, and I believe that they just want a little plain-faced girl to talk with.

I'm pretty sure I remind them of someone; a girl next door or a high school sweetheart or whatever it is that some men miss. I am a generic lass and it seems like they feel a little happier, chatting with me. And of course it makes me feel a little bit better, too--a little bit less like that girl that you don't notice, a little less like your younger sister. A little less like the girl left behind.

Because in the end, I'm pretty sure that the old men on buses and I are looking for the same thing only exactly the opposite. And comfort is found in the unlikeliest of places, so a bus in the middle of the night sort of--when you think about it--makes a lot of sense.