My name is Simon. I’m 61, and I’ve been driving city buses for 34 years.
One freezing January night, I saw a woman standing in the snow holding a small child.
She looked unsure if she was even allowed to get on. I stopped anyway.
She climbed aboard and started searching her purse. I’m short, she said nervously.
I waved her through. It’s fine. Kids ride free this late. That wasn’t true. But it felt right.
They sat near the heater. They had nowhere else to go.
At the final stop, I gave the boy my spare knit hat. You’ll need this more than I do tonight, I told her.
Three weeks later, she came back. She handed me my hat, washed and folded, and a thermos of soup.
I remember, I told her. Kindness is just a bus stopping when it doesn’t have to.
And for someone having the coldest night of their life, that can mean everything.
