It was 6:45 AM that morning as I began to roll out of bed.  I was headed to the Bronx for a game of pickup basketball.  I quickly pulled a t shirt over my head, slipped on a pair of shorts, laced up my favorite basketball shoes, and walked downstairs.  Our maid was still cleaning from last night’s benefit party, and our chef had fallen asleep in one of the chairs while washing dishes.  My parents were well known around town; they had benefit parties about once a month, parties so big that reporters from the New York Times came to cover the story.  These events had always created a lot of buzz in the city, especially the amount of money that was accumulated. It's no wonder that everyone was sleeping that early in the morning.

I looked around the dark and empty house.  Since there was no one to help me with breakfast, I grabbed a granola bar and a gatorade and headed out the door.  The streets of the Upper East Side at this time were completely empty except for the occasional people that were straggling home through Central Park from parties the night before.  I was headed for the bus station five miles away on that early December morning, so I zipped up my coat, put on my mittens,  and began my long trek to the station.

~
After about an hour of walking, I had finally made it to the bus station on the corner of  94th and Madison.  The next bus wasn’t scheduled to come until 8:00 AM, so I had about fifteen minutes to spare. Having walked four miles in the cold, I was in desperate need for a coffee.  I pulled out my iPhone and mapped the closest coffee shop.  There was a Starbucks right around the corner; I headed there.  When I walked into Starbucks, the barista and I were the only two in there.  He was a young man who appeared to be in his mid Twenties.  He was dressed in all black and had a green apron on with a name tag that said: “Hello, my name is Brad.”
“What can I get started for you?”  he asked.
“Just a venti coffee, black,” I replied.  He went over the back counter and brewed me a cup of their house blend coffee.
“That’ll be $1.95.”
I handed him two dollars “Keep the change,” I said and proceeded to the bus station.  As I approached the bus station, I saw the bus turning around the corner.  I began to run, worrying that the bus might not see me and keep going.  Screech went the bus doors as they opened.  I boarded the bus, paid the fair, and found my seat.  It was 8:00 AM, and I knew that I wouldn’t make it to the Bronx for about an hour, so I popped in my ear phones and listened to music.
~
“138th St,” called Bill the bus driver as the bus rolled to stop.  Bill was a short, old man with stark white hair, probably in his mid sixties.  He wore a blue chauffer hat, white button down shirt (with jelly smeared down the front), and a navy blue tie.  I quickly opened my eyes to see that it was daylight.  He swung open the doors, and people began to load on to the bus. They paid their $2.50 and proceeded to their seat on that cold day in December.  Among the people was a man who appeared to be homeless.  He stood about six feet tall with a muscular stature. He had dark skin, deep brown eyes, and guessing from the half grown beard, he hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks.  He was dressed in old rags and wore shoes that had holes where his big toes popped out.  He was shivering from the cold and had icicles dripping from his nose.
“$2.50!” yelled Bill.
“I only have $1.50,” replied the homeless man.
“No money, no seat!”
“Please sir, I need to get downtown, it’s my first day of work,” the man desperately tried to explain.
“Sorry, can’t help you; no money no seat,” Bill repeated as he began to open up the doors.
And with what appeared to be a sad look on his face, the homeless man turned to exit.  As the man began to walk out of the bus, I saw the look of despair on his face.  I looked down at my wallet, and pulled out twenty dollars from my pocket.
“WAIT!” I ran to the front of the bus. “Here,” I handed the man the money.
“Thank you!” The homeless man said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He handed the money to Bill, to which he rolled his eyes and gave the man the change.
“Come sit with me,” I said and waved the man to follow.
We both sat in the back of the bus on the old, blue, leather seats, and the bus began to pull away. 
“I’m Marcus Smith, thanks again,”  he said as he reached his hand out of the jacket of his pocket.
I shook his hand and replied, “No problem, I am Dexter Rivers.  Where did you say you were going?”
“I am headed to the Wal-Mart on Pine Ave. It’s my first day of work.  I’m hoping to earn enough money to buy my daughter a Christmas present.  My wife usually buys the gifts, but this year it's just me and my daughter.”
“Where’s your wife?” I asked.
“My wife left us four months ago and took everything, including the house.  I came home one day and there  was a note on the door saying  “It’s just too hard, I need a break.”  And that was that.  That night, my daughter and I slept at the bus station.  Ever since then, I have been trying to get a job, but no one wants to hire a homeless black man.”
“But, you have one now, and in no time your daughter will have a Christmas present.”
    “I just hope I can get the present in enough time.”
“You will,” I said, and then we both sat in silence for a little while.
~
“Hey,  I never asked you why you were on the bus.  A boy like you probably has people to drive you around wherever you want,” Marcus asked.
“I have to take the bus every Saturday to get to the Bronx to play pickup basketball,” I replied.
“Why not just have your driver take you?”
“My mom doesn’t approve of my playing basketball;  she only approves of chess club.  So every Saturday, when I tell her I am going to my school's chess club, instead I head down to the Bronx to play basketball.”
“Why not just tell her you want to play basketball?” questioned Marcus.
“My life has already been planned out for me since I was five: I will go to Harvard and become a lawyer. That's what every man in my family has been doing for the last fifty years.”
“Woo yee! You must be pretty smart to get into a fancy school like that.”
“No, not really, Harvard just really likes our monthly donations.”
“Whoah.”
“Yeah, Pre-Law has always been the plan for me; sports were never in the equation.”
“You need to tell your parents that you want to play basketball, and that you don’t want to go to Harvard.  You need to stick up for yourself!”
“Easier said than done; everyone that lives by me goes to private school and studies to be a lawyer or a doctor.  No one studying to get into an Ivy League has time for sports.”
“Do you even want to go to Ivy League?”
“No, I want to go to Kentucky.  They have a really good basketball team, and the coach has already emailed me about coming to play for them. He says they can give me some scholarships.  But that doesn’t matter because no one from the Upper East Side goes to Kentucky if they have a choice to go to an Ivy League.”
“Maybe you should be the one to break that cycle, prove to everyone that you can play basketball and still be successful.  Prove to them that you don’t have to go to an Ivy League school to be considered smart and a member of a higher society.”
“We’ll see, my parents think that I quit basketball months ago, they don’t know about Kentucky, and they have no idea I get on a bus to go to the opposite end of town.”
“Tell them!”
“I can’t!” I exclaimed.
“Yes you can, take the opportunity in front of you to follow your dream. I never got that opportunity.  You have it, but you have to fight for it!”
“They will get mad at me, and they will never change their minds and let me give up Harvard to go and play basketball.”
“So what?  You already have a full ride to go, your parents won’t have to pay for anything. If you don’t go,  you will end up regretting it.  You will look back one day when you are sitting in a stuffy desk at some snooty law firm, wondering what your life could’ve been if you took the chance to follow your dream.”
I looked at Marcus, looked at his face, looked at his clothes, and wondered how a man dressed like this could have all this intelligence. How is a man like this having to work at a Wal-Mart in the Bronx just to pay for a Christmas present for his daughter, all the while sleeping on the streets?  How could a man like this be sitting next to me, a boy who supposedly had it all, be giving me advice that could change my entire future, and teach me to stick up for myself?
“I can't thank you enough for getting on this bus today and sitting next to me.  Out of everyone on this bus, you sat next to me and changed my entire world around.  You showed me what the real world looks like. It’s not big penthouses on the corner of Central Park and 5th, or private schools, or shiny cars, it’s working hard and chasing your dreams. I can’t thank you
enough for what you’ve done today. No matter what happens with my parents, I want you to know that I am forever grateful for you. I will always remember this bus ride, and more importantly I will always remember YOU,” I said, as I wiped the tears from my eyes.
“Thank you, Dexter.  You have helped me today, as well.  If it wasn't for you, I would have never gotten on this bus, and I never would’ve made it to work on time.”
Skreech
“Park St.” yelled Bill over the speaker.
“Well that’s me” I said as I grabbed my ball and stood up.
“I’ll see you around, and when I get my new house, I will make sure to watch ESPN and look for you,” Marcus said.
“Have a great day, and wish your daughter a merry Christmas from me.”
“I will be sure to do that, Dexter, and thank you again for the $2.50.”
“No problem,” and I turned to walk off the bus.
“Wait, Dexter, your change, I never gave it back to you!” Marcus yelled and began to hand  me the change.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Use it to buy yourself a Christmas present, you deserve one.”
He gave me a smile and stuffed the money in his pocket. I waved him a goodbye and thought to myself what would have happened if I didn’t give him money on 138th street?