Oh, kids.

The other day, riding the bus home, I witnessed a phenomenon. Usually, on the afternoon rides, there's enough space for each person to leave an empty seat next to them, with their bags sitting on it, conveniently keeping others from entering their personal space. As soon as we approached the next stop along 18th, passengers began to look out the windows and realize a large cluster of children, probably between eight and ten years old, ready to board. Everyone on the bus began to glance at each other, smiling awkwardly and shifting their bags, making the seat next to them available. I imagined the bus full of these unlikely pairs--a college student and child in each row of two. Of all people, it seems college students are some of the most detached from the world of children. And even though I shared the apprehension about these kids, I also became excited at the thought of sitting so close to one, observing its mannerisms and maybe even asking about its schoolwork.

Despite my anticipation of this rare encounter, my stop was only two away, and it seemed almost pointless to let a kid sit next to me only to ask it to move so I could get out 60 seconds later. So I retreated to the back, watching the children file in, wide-eyed and bumbling about. Did these children take choosing a seat as seriously as we did, hunting for one as secluded as possible or next to someone we could handle sitting quietly next to for a few minutes? Their chaperones ushered them into seats, and it seemed the filing in of children would never end. Another woman came and sat next to me in the back, where we wouldn't have to make the kids move. "I was actually a little excited to sit next to one," I said, and she told me she felt the same. Suddenly I realized every female college student on that bus was probably suppressing her fascination and repressed adoration for children. After all, we were fighting biology.

A little boy with big brown eyes and long eyelashes sat across me in the back. He returned my stare for what seemed like the brief eternity bull-riders experience before being flung off. I was transfixed. He gave me a wide smile before covering his face and whispering something to the chaperone next to him. I felt ridiculous. Finally the bus stopped and I was struck with a pang of longing as I stood up, taking one last glance at the adorable boy and wishing I could just ruffle his hair or make him a sandwich. I made eye contact with another woman getting off the bus and I could tell by her slight smile and wistful gaze that she felt the exact same way.