I don't even recall how it all began really, but I can remember quite clearly how it petered out. The heights of the war are legend, to those who can still recall. The story I am talking about is the war of the windows.
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Public Bus 25 ran a relatively uneventful route for the most part. It would roll past farmlets and houses along single lane decaying sealed roads and for some small stretch pass onto unsealed dirt. Over time of course there were notable exceptions to this history, 7 point turns on the plains road amid rising floodwaters. The squishing of a foolish dog and some other minor details. It may have been this lack of dramatic vistas or simply some unknown reason that caused the events which follow.
After smoking was outlawed on the bus, people had to amuse themselves in some other way it seemed. There was never much talk on this bus line but neighbours were politely friendly and some small groups developed to chat and discuss various matters of the times. The radio station never varied, pop hits e repeata, perhaps this unvarying aural niggling could have sparked this inferno of oppositions, as I said I still do not know.
Bus 25 had long traditional square windows, windows that when opened fully could easily allow a person to jump right from the bus, they slid along aluminium rails and each seat could operate their own window to where it would slide halfway parallell to the one in front. I suppose the design is old, invented at a time when the roads were rougher, speeds were slower, safety was less of a question, wind was less a concern....
But now the bus reached 100 on the main roads, and if you were to have you window open along that stretch gale winds would pour into the bus, to be in this jetstream would render one virtually oblivious to any going ons inside the bus. Your eyes would water and streams of brackish water would rain into your shoulder, the roar of the wind coursing past your ears nearly deafening you to most other noises, except the sometimes clanking train or hammering of a diesel truck on the other side of the road.
Some people at some stage, began to complain of this gale which would ensue after the opening of one of the windows, due to the particular nature of the commuters, the complaint was rarely referred to the person in operation of the window at the time. Some of the girls would just sigh loudly (to be heard over the gale roar) and talk of inconsiderations done to their hair and makeup, which would to the meek commuter cause them to sink into their seats, feigning sleep and all manners of act in order to escape the remonstrations that though never direct filtered through to them between the faded red leather seats.
To the obstinate of the window operators a kind of simmering battle cry seemed to be drawn out by the twittering sighs and the eventual overt denial of any kind of moral value of the window openers by the complainants. Windows open or closed secularized you, though never openly stated it became an unspoken agreement in the universe of this bus. This summer.
Peculiar seating arrangements began to occur, at first the affected groups would simmer in couplets or quartets able to dominate the windows in small isolated areas. And after some time they simply moved onto certain sides of the bus. Thus began the drivers side and the non drivers division.
It was never all women or all men either, the men who had hair longer and styled would take to the gustless drivers side of the bus and relish in firmly sealing the air outside, gloating over their space. The girls who simply loved the fresh air pouring in of a blue sky afternoon would laugh as they pushed their window wide and prepared for the ride towards home. Division in friendship groups ensued, on the drivers side of the bus the windows sealed passengers would glare towards the non driverless side, where air streamed inside the bus, ruffling their coiffures and primped styled do's.
It became in a short time an unspoken offence to take a seat on the other side of that parched lino aisle. To cross that floor would have inflicted one to gloating from that side and vocalized loathing from the opposing side. Due to the natural disposition of the passengers at this particular time and at this particular moment in history both sides were quite evenly matched.
Food was sometimes thrown by the windows sealed drivers side. Twisted cheese snacks would fly into the gale and richochet off target many seats down wind. In rains through devout adherance to their principle the driverless side would endure the pelting droplets, arriving sodden and drenched at their final destination, though rain was not frequent this season as I recall there were only a few instances of this occurance and perhaps this led to the ongoing and escalating conflict.
Particular fire erupted between the sides of an afternoon. Small scuffles to enter the bus would be fought and won before the doors openened and re ignited on the steps. The driver seemed blissfully ignorant of any odd behaviour and his dour unreadable face and black aviators shielded his accusing eyes and left us all in the dark to where his true loyaties lay. But the heated afternoons brought rampant rage, the drivers side, only taking air from the wide open panes on the driverless would parch and cook in sweat, feigning comfort they would blister with emotion and glare through sweat beads at the reflections of faces drinking the rapture of the winds just to their right shoulder.
After a time the sheer magnitude of the ridiculousness of the situation fortunately became evident, grudgingly to some and easier to others. Or everyone just remembered how to be nice to each other. A sliver of air opened on the drivers side and though everyone in the vicinity saw it immediately and all eyes were on it, no word of it was spoken. The next day two slivers appeared and the windswept side was a little less gale force, some small increment had decreased the cubic force of air entering the bus. Succinct words across the aisle turned to conversation and as summer broke into autumn the war of the windows was history.
I never rode that bus after that year, its run I will never forget, the hills and turns, riverside and town passages. The mills that rose stacks to the sky and smelt of sweet and sour. All that remains are these memories until no longer I can conjure them from my mind.
