Only once did Udi not smile at someone boarding his bus. Out of sheer surprise, and a little out of shame.
Udi was a good bus driver, and even when he was a bit on edge he made an effort to smile at everyone who got on. But when his eyes met Yoni’s, he was confused for a moment and then lowered his gaze without even knowing why.
Yoni was the head of the leadership program Udi had taken part in back in high school. Yoni would speak passionately about how the people who would change the country were going to come from right here. Udi would quietly think to himself that he didn’t quite understand what change was needed, since all in all he felt fine, but if Yoni said things had to change, then it was probably true.
When Knesset members and ministers would trek out to meet the program’s outstanding youth, everyone would stay with them afterward to rub shoulders and ask them brilliant questions. But Udi never felt brilliant enough, so he would simply go with sweet Neta to finish scrubbing the big pots in the kitchen (the kids on duty hadn’t managed to wash them, because the talk with the minister had just begun).
So now, when his gaze met Yoni’s eyes, he felt a little ashamed. Yoni wanted me to change the world, and I’m just a bus driver. I’m not living up to expectations, he thought sadly.
Expectations.
He rolled the word around on his tongue. And felt like someone who is expected of and layered over, wrapped in all kinds of coverings and coatings he doesn’t even understand.
When Udi enlisted, he immediately tried to live up to expectations. To show leadership. But every time he tried to be a leader the way he’d been told, he found it came out clumsy. He would rather carry a stretcher for a whole hour without being relieved than shout “Come on, guys!” or “Let’s go, you’ve got this!” He discovered pretty quickly that when he commanded infantry drills everything came out a mess, and that in the Thursday team talks he never said the right thing in the right place.
Giora, the team commander, once said in front of everyone: “Just so you know, if we ever go to war, I’m going only with Udi. This guy would jump on a grenade for all of us.” Everyone agreed. And yet, when it came time to go to officers’ course, Giora told him warmly, “It’s not for you, bro.” And Udi was sad. Once again I’m not living up to expectations, he thought.
After the army, when all his friends talked about changing the world (but in the meantime traveled and smoked), Udi needed money, so he went to work as a driver for a bus company. It’s just a temporary job, he told himself. I’ll save a little money, then quit driving and go do the truly big things.
In the end, Udi never left.
He loved his job.
He felt how his thoughts cleared as he drove the routes from Jerusalem to Masada. He loved meeting people and smiling at them. He loved it when the police stopped to check him and then said, “Wow, a bus driver with zero traffic violations — now that’s a first.” He loved patiently explaining to tourists where to get off and what there is to do at the Dead Sea. It did him good. It did others good.
And only when Yoni, the head of the program, boarded the bus did he suddenly feel ashamed. Yoni the fiery, the all-knowing. Yoni who changes the world. Yoni who raises eloquent leaders, and I’m nothing but a bus driver on the Jerusalem–Masada line. Not a leader, not even a “road leader” like his bus company once tried to brand its drivers so they’d feel good about themselves.
After a polite hello to Yoni, and how’s it going, and what are you doing here bro, Udi kept driving the bus tense and wound up and a little sad, and it must be admitted that he breathed a sigh of relief when Yoni got off.
When everyone had gotten off at the end of the line, Udi washed the floor of the bus (he didn’t have to, but he always wanted the passengers to feel like royalty), and then ran home in time to help beautiful, tired Neta wash the pots left in the sink.
