Chinese Herbs
He pulled out his white piece of paper and then his white medicine bottle. Asian hands pured slowly, carefully small leaves, tiny fragments of a larger plant. He poured them in a neat row as if he was a gardner ensuring that his crops would grow correctly. The bus we were riding continued to roll on as his slow, steady fingers roll the paper into a neat cigarette before sealing it with a kiss. I turned to him and said, "Chinese herbs?" He put the back of his hand to his mouth and said, "Yeah, that's it. Medicine." I grinned and said, "Of course, what else can it be?" His body lurched forward as he attempted to contain his laughter. He put his medicine into his cigarette box with gentle hands. As he got off the bus, I yelled to him, "Feel better!" He paused for a moment as he looked at me with confused eyes before his laughter made him fall forward onto the steps of the bus. Just as he was about to get off, he leaned back and said, "You know I will." I laughed as the door shut, the bus rolled on and we lived our separate lives in small boxes with funny cigarettes.
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