Gripping stranger #4: Mom

Hair always in a neat, thick ponytail, you carry a reusable fabric grocery bag full of what you'll need for the day, an umbrella in case it rains, sometimes using it to cover your daughter, growing tall and standing next to you at the bus stop on Davie Street. Once seated on the bus you might absently help dust something off her jeans, the trendy straight-legged kind you bought for her because that's what she wants to wear with her pink high-top Converse sneakers that show her feet extending into the willowy, doe-eyed creature she's growing up so fast to become. These moments on the morning bus are slow and easy between the two of you, as you enjoy a comfortable silence made possibly only because she is one you love the most. You treat her tenderly and kindly, tastefully stepping away as she meets her friend from Grade 7 on the corner across from school. You'll leave them to talk and walk away without saying goodbye, but once you've crossed the street I turn around to see you standing there in front of the bagel shop, watching them to make sure they get there safely, loving her.