The Bus Chronicles: Ron Weasley

I met Ron Weasley on the bus Friday. He had graying hair. What am I saying...his hair was as white as printing paper. I was astounded: where had his signature ginger mane gone? Anyhow, he seemed entranced by his computer tablet protected by a deteriorating red velvet cover. He wore average brown men shoes, beige corduroy pants and a pale, slime green winter coat. He had a comical expression on his face, a face Steve Carell or Steve Martin would wear. (Maybe he should change his name to Steve?) He was however, not in a laughing mood; actually, his demeanor was quite serious. Whatever was going on the tablet's screen was of capital importance, since his eyes were glued and he ignored the coming and going of strangers on the bus, and the slow humming of a dying engine. His virtual world was so magical, I'm surprised he didn't miss his stop. Maybe he did. As I left one of my favorite fictive friends from childhood on the 36A, I wondered if, as I had grown too mature and haughty for such ridiculous stories as Harry Potter, if Ron Weasley, the best friend and awkward side-kick, had ever grown up to reach his full potential and rid himself of the shadow of his much more important (Harry did slay Voldemort -- "He-WHO-SHALL- NOT-BE-NAMED!! *gasp*)   best friend. Or maybe, the electric pulses his brain was analyzing faster than he could realize was his only escape from a world where he'd always be the Beta, the Second in command, the first of the losers. Mister #2.