God bless you, Mr. Ed.

 On the morning of 9/11 I did my usual routine of taking the bus to the Pentagon and then a train to the station that was a few blocks from my office. I got used to seeing people who had the same schedule as I did. My regulars included middle aged blonde woman who favored grey suits and who looked like she was either a 1950s prison matron or a 1970 pantsuit nun.  She turned out to be quite pleasant and later to my happy surprise, she moved into my building and we see each other on the elevator every now and again. Another regular was an eccentric government employee whose social skills were so horribly lacking that I hoped he'd never take notice of me and a sarcastic bus driver who could've made it as a comedian if she'd had a mind to do it. And then there was Mr. Ed. That wasn't his name of course. It's just the nickname I gave him. He was a few months or weeks away from retirement. He and his wife were going to leave Northern Virginia and return to his native Mississippi, where he'd already bought land and built a house. Mr. Ed was cheerful, energetic, and his face just lit up when he talked about going home. We didn't do any deep talk, it was a bus ride after all but we chatted about the weather and other things one talks about while commuting and he never failed to wish me a good day as he headed into the Pentagon and I continued on to my train. 

After 9/11 I never saw him again. I hope it's because everyone's schedules were  changed after the attack. The Washington Post published photos and names of people who perished at the Pentagon but I didn't have the heart to look for him. I hope he was not one of the 2,974 victims and made it back to Mississippi and lived happily ever after. He was a nice man going about his business.  God bless you Mr. Ed and Mrs Ed too, wherever you are.