Beth and Rachel’s letters and cards represent their struggle to bridge the vast mental, emotional, and geographical distances that separate them. As adults, they move to different cities and get caught up in different worlds: Rachel dedicates herself to her work, and Beth to riding the buses. For years, they don’t see each other—although they try to stay in touch. Since they struggle to keep up conversations on the phone, they write letters instead. Every week, Rachel writes Beth one neat, formally written card, while Beth sends Rachel about a dozen short notes, erratically scribbled in magic marker and covered in stickers. Needless to say, these different approaches capture their opposite personalities and communication styles, but they manage to understand each other nonetheless.
Eventually, when Rachel concludes that the letters are a poor substitute for an actual relationship with Beth, she decides to actually visit Beth. Yet, during the year Rachel chronicles in her book, Beth keeps sending her letters between her visits. In particular, Beth uses her letters to share her own thoughts on events that she and Rachel experienced together. These letters show that even if Beth often makes snap judgments and acts irresponsibly in the moment, she does reflect on and learn from her behavior later on. For instance, after Rachel and Beth get into a nasty fight because Beth doesn’t want to lend Rachel a towel, Beth doesn’t apologize or express remorse for her behavior during the rest of Rachel’s visit—but then she sends Rachel a series of apology cards later that week. These cards support Rachel’s strong belief that Beth is capable of learning and growing, even if it generally takes her longer than others to do so. But without the cards, Rachel might never understand what Beth actually thinks about their relationship.
Letters and Cards Quotes in Riding the Bus with My Sister
“Yeah,” she says with a quick nod. “He’s cool.”
Ah, yes. Cool. As my speech might sometimes seem unintelligible to Beth, so can hers seem to me, because Beth has her own lingo. And in Beth-speak, as I have gathered from her letters, “cool” does not concern hip attire or trendy indifference. Instead, it is the term of highest approval, bestowed only upon those people Beth deems worthy of her attention and trust, and crucial if one is to be promoted into her personal Top Ten (though, in truth, hip-hop shades or chiseled Brad Pitt features—neither of which the Professor possesses—are apt to increase the likelihood of admission). “Yes,” I say. “I guess I do mean he’s cool.”
I lean against my wall, moved and chastened. For fifteen minutes I watch the flurries turn to serious snow outside my window and listen to her, and think how hard this apology must be for her—and how hard all this is for me. I had always told myself that facing my feelings about my mother was the hardest thing I would ever have to do, but now, standing here after telling my sister that I hate her, and hating myself for hurting her so, I realize that being a good sister to Beth might be even more difficult. No one can be a good sister all the time. I can only try my best. Just because I am not a saint does not mean that I am a demon.