I don’t know his name, so I invent one. I call him the Captain because of the hat he wears – like something pinched from the props department at McHale’s Navy. He’s wearing the hat the first time I see him, standing near a bus stop on a main road. I’m driving past so I don’t take too much notice. He’s a guy in a hat at a bus stop. No big deal. But when I’m returning a few hours later – same road, different direction – he’s still there. Still in the hat. Still at the bus stop. Having gone nowhere.
Next time I drive by, I look out for him. There he is again. Same hat. Same stop. This time, he’s sitting down. So it begins. A game I play whenever I’m nearby: Spot the Captain. One afternoon, my timing is perfect. I’m moving slowly, stuck in traffic, so have time to watch and see what he does when a bus actually stops. The Captain doesn’t get on. But he supervises, checking everyone’s got on OK and letting the driver know when he’s good to go. A man with a mission.
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Things fall into place. I notice there’s an aged-care facility nearby. My guess is he’s a resident with a harmless hobby. Gets out for some fresh air and bus-stop duty. I heard a story once about another home with several dementia patients. They found it soothing to sit and wait – for anything. But there was no public transport nearby. No problem: they built a bus stop in the garden, where people could rest and wait. Nobody ever complained about not getting anywhere.
One time when I pass by, the Captain appears to be asleep. Sitting on the bench, head down, hat still on. Maybe nearing the end of a long shift. I vaguely wonder about trying to find out a bit more about him – pause one day, say hi, chat a bit … but I don’t. Too much stuff to do. Just keep playing the game. It’s reassuring to see him there: things are rolling along as before.
Then I can’t see him. Usually I spot his hat first. Not this time. I slow down, risking toots from the driver behind me. No Captain. But there, taped to a power pole close to the bus stop, are some small bunches of flowers. Down the bottom, reverently placed on the footpath, is the Captain’s hat. I know at once what has happened. It’s nice to think that others appreciated his efforts and his place in the scheme of things.
I never knew his name. But I feel his absence. A new year, a new decade, starts with a sense of something missing.
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