Bobby stood at the end of the driveway, his Godzilla book bag on his shoulders and a blue tin lunch box on hand. He was loaded down with the weight of ten pencils, two boxes of crayons, and as many hankies he could find in the house, because he’d heard first grade was going to be the toughest year of his life.
After a half hour of waiting, the bus emerged from the street corner and sped down the road so fast Bobby thought the driver would miss him. The bus came to a clumsy halt, red and yellow lights blinked and the bus waited, rumbling. Bobby glanced back. His mother watched from the kitchen window and blew him another kiss. Bobby marched across the street and boarded.
The steps wound up into the bus and he labored over them, his feet hardly long enough to clear each one. There was laughing and shrieking everywhere, and Bobby peered up to find a new bus driver in the seat where old Randy used to sit in kindergarten. Old Randy, corpulent and jolly, would always beam beneath his bushy mustache and say, “Howdy, Bobby! You ready to find the fun in the world?” But today, a gaunt old man sat in Randy’s place. The skin on his neck hung down like a rooster and his eyes were sunken, crusty, and bloodshot. He scowled at Bobby.
“Find a seat already, kid,” he barked. “No standing in the aisle when we’re moving.”
Bobby made his way down the corridor, wading through book bags and stray feet. Two girls played a hand game as he crossed by. He passed by a brute in a hat and a black shirt who never stopped pointing and laughing and calling at him. The bus driver yelled that he’d write everyone up if they didn’t shut up. At last Bobby found a seat in the back of the bus. The bus jolted and began to move. Bobby settled by the window and watched the broad faces of houses pass by.
The bus stopped again to pick up somebody else. They waited two whole minutes, and they nearly pulled away, when the front slammed open and a mother dragged her son out the door. She marched down to the sidewalk, picked him up in a strangle hold, kicking and biting and writhing and squealing, and hurled him into the bus.
Bobby peered above the back of his seat. The boy tried to escape but the door slid closed. He pounded and kicked it until the driver howled, and the boy stomped down the aisle and threw himself into the seat across Bobby’s. He hugged his body and hid himself and wept. Bobby looked back out the window.
“I don’t wanna go to school!” the boy shouted and kicked the back of the seat.
“My mom always says to live your day like it was the last one God was giving you,” said Bobby. “What’s your name?”
The boy sniffed. “Kaleb.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“How old are you?”
“Five.”
“Your mom and dad live together?”
“Do anybody’s?”
Kaleb stopped crying. They sat and listened to the noise of the children and the whir of the motor picking up. The driver soared down the country road. They took a sharp turn that pushed Bobby up against the window. It made him nauseous and he groaned. “I don’t like this new bus driver.”
“Who was the old one?” asked Kaleb. His tears were dry and he actually appeared rather inquisitive when he wasn’t in a tantrum. “I’ve never been on this bus before.”
“Randy. He was big and nice and gave us all candy on Fridays. I don’t even know who this guy is.”
They peered up over their seats. The driver’s scowling reflection appeared on the wide rearview mirror, glaring out at the road. Then his eyes rolled and he swayed in the seat. Was he also getting sick?
“What’s he doin’?” Kaleb whined. “I can’t see him!”
Bobby kept watching, an alarm growing within that he couldn’t explain. The driver shook his head, his droopy cheeks flapping back and forth, and he reached into his pocket. The bus meandered closer to the yellow line until he retrieved an orange capsule and snapped his hands to the wheel. Then the bully’s head reared from his seat and blocked the mirror. “Hey pussy!”
Bobby didn’t wait: he knew something was wrong. He opened his lunchbox and hurled an apple at the bully. It knocked his hat off and threw him into the seat. “Bobby’s throwing things!” the bully sobbed.
The driver glared up into the mirror, his face redder than that apple on the floor. “Knock it off, ya little ass-hole!” he bellowed, “or I’m writin’ you up!” Then the driver settled back down in the seat and pulled the bus straight before it ran off the road. Bobby ducked back down and whispered to Kaleb:
“We gotta get out of here.”
“You think I didn’t try already?” said Kaleb.
“No, I mean what’s gunna happen is bad! The new driver doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Kaleb stared at Bobby, incredulous. “But we can’t just leave, can we?”
Bobby was about to speak when they took a sharp turn that threw Bobby towards the aisle. He looked up in surprise towards the front, at the rearview mirror again. The racket of squealing children was beginning fall into a murmur. Even from all the way in the back of the bus, Bobby could see that the driver’s face had gone deathly pale. His lips were moving, muttering to himself that he’d forgotten his meds that morning. He opened the capsule and threw the pills towards his mouth, but instead they bounced from his face and scattered into the aisle. The driver looked down at them, blinking, tottering. “Oh… no…” and then he fainted onto the steering wheel and the horn blared.
The bus had fallen quiet, save for some kindergartners towards the front who were laughing at a Yo-Momma joke, and their heads turned like meercats towards the front. The motor accelerated, the unconscious driver’s foot resting upon it, and the world of forest and rural cottages became a blur on either side. The bus jostled and rocked. Bobby saw that up ahead the road banked sharply left and beyond that a wooded slope trailed down to a stream. Nothing was going to stop them, until a white minivan suddenly appeared from the curve and came towards them. Bobby saw a father at the wheel and a pregnant mother in the passenger seat. Everyone screamed.
Bobby broke free of his trance and ducked under the seat. “Get down!” he shouted at Kaleb.
But Kaleb was frozen in a horrified stupor, staring ahead. He began shaking, and then slowly turned his head.
“Why didn’t I say goodbye--”
Instantly Kaleb’s body was snapped and flung over the seat and out of sight as the bus lurched with impact. The thunderous roar of metal grinding and tearing surrounded Bobby until he thought it would split his ears. Bobby caught a faint glimpse of the minivan ripping through the driver’s side, obliterating the unconscious man, and tearing the bus open half its length. The bus careened and swerved but the collision had not stopped it.
Bobby searched everywhere for a safe place, and then threw himself and hugged the seat with every muscle in his small body. He held on, dug his fingers into the fabric, squeezing his eyes shut, deliriously mumbling a lullaby. But the force proved too much and tore him away. For a single, eternal moment, Bobby floated amongst all the book bags and the children and pencils and papers and toys and glasses. He felt the strangest impulse of his life, even before he knew what sex was: he wanted to swim through the air, to push his legs off the surface and soar over the seats. He experienced freedom.
Nobody ever told Bobby that first grade was going to be this tough.
After a half hour of waiting, the bus emerged from the street corner and sped down the road so fast Bobby thought the driver would miss him. The bus came to a clumsy halt, red and yellow lights blinked and the bus waited, rumbling. Bobby glanced back. His mother watched from the kitchen window and blew him another kiss. Bobby marched across the street and boarded.
The steps wound up into the bus and he labored over them, his feet hardly long enough to clear each one. There was laughing and shrieking everywhere, and Bobby peered up to find a new bus driver in the seat where old Randy used to sit in kindergarten. Old Randy, corpulent and jolly, would always beam beneath his bushy mustache and say, “Howdy, Bobby! You ready to find the fun in the world?” But today, a gaunt old man sat in Randy’s place. The skin on his neck hung down like a rooster and his eyes were sunken, crusty, and bloodshot. He scowled at Bobby.
“Find a seat already, kid,” he barked. “No standing in the aisle when we’re moving.”
Bobby made his way down the corridor, wading through book bags and stray feet. Two girls played a hand game as he crossed by. He passed by a brute in a hat and a black shirt who never stopped pointing and laughing and calling at him. The bus driver yelled that he’d write everyone up if they didn’t shut up. At last Bobby found a seat in the back of the bus. The bus jolted and began to move. Bobby settled by the window and watched the broad faces of houses pass by.
The bus stopped again to pick up somebody else. They waited two whole minutes, and they nearly pulled away, when the front slammed open and a mother dragged her son out the door. She marched down to the sidewalk, picked him up in a strangle hold, kicking and biting and writhing and squealing, and hurled him into the bus.
Bobby peered above the back of his seat. The boy tried to escape but the door slid closed. He pounded and kicked it until the driver howled, and the boy stomped down the aisle and threw himself into the seat across Bobby’s. He hugged his body and hid himself and wept. Bobby looked back out the window.
“I don’t wanna go to school!” the boy shouted and kicked the back of the seat.
“My mom always says to live your day like it was the last one God was giving you,” said Bobby. “What’s your name?”
The boy sniffed. “Kaleb.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“How old are you?”
“Five.”
“Your mom and dad live together?”
“Do anybody’s?”
Kaleb stopped crying. They sat and listened to the noise of the children and the whir of the motor picking up. The driver soared down the country road. They took a sharp turn that pushed Bobby up against the window. It made him nauseous and he groaned. “I don’t like this new bus driver.”
“Who was the old one?” asked Kaleb. His tears were dry and he actually appeared rather inquisitive when he wasn’t in a tantrum. “I’ve never been on this bus before.”
“Randy. He was big and nice and gave us all candy on Fridays. I don’t even know who this guy is.”
They peered up over their seats. The driver’s scowling reflection appeared on the wide rearview mirror, glaring out at the road. Then his eyes rolled and he swayed in the seat. Was he also getting sick?
“What’s he doin’?” Kaleb whined. “I can’t see him!”
Bobby kept watching, an alarm growing within that he couldn’t explain. The driver shook his head, his droopy cheeks flapping back and forth, and he reached into his pocket. The bus meandered closer to the yellow line until he retrieved an orange capsule and snapped his hands to the wheel. Then the bully’s head reared from his seat and blocked the mirror. “Hey pussy!”
Bobby didn’t wait: he knew something was wrong. He opened his lunchbox and hurled an apple at the bully. It knocked his hat off and threw him into the seat. “Bobby’s throwing things!” the bully sobbed.
The driver glared up into the mirror, his face redder than that apple on the floor. “Knock it off, ya little ass-hole!” he bellowed, “or I’m writin’ you up!” Then the driver settled back down in the seat and pulled the bus straight before it ran off the road. Bobby ducked back down and whispered to Kaleb:
“We gotta get out of here.”
“You think I didn’t try already?” said Kaleb.
“No, I mean what’s gunna happen is bad! The new driver doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Kaleb stared at Bobby, incredulous. “But we can’t just leave, can we?”
Bobby was about to speak when they took a sharp turn that threw Bobby towards the aisle. He looked up in surprise towards the front, at the rearview mirror again. The racket of squealing children was beginning fall into a murmur. Even from all the way in the back of the bus, Bobby could see that the driver’s face had gone deathly pale. His lips were moving, muttering to himself that he’d forgotten his meds that morning. He opened the capsule and threw the pills towards his mouth, but instead they bounced from his face and scattered into the aisle. The driver looked down at them, blinking, tottering. “Oh… no…” and then he fainted onto the steering wheel and the horn blared.
The bus had fallen quiet, save for some kindergartners towards the front who were laughing at a Yo-Momma joke, and their heads turned like meercats towards the front. The motor accelerated, the unconscious driver’s foot resting upon it, and the world of forest and rural cottages became a blur on either side. The bus jostled and rocked. Bobby saw that up ahead the road banked sharply left and beyond that a wooded slope trailed down to a stream. Nothing was going to stop them, until a white minivan suddenly appeared from the curve and came towards them. Bobby saw a father at the wheel and a pregnant mother in the passenger seat. Everyone screamed.
Bobby broke free of his trance and ducked under the seat. “Get down!” he shouted at Kaleb.
But Kaleb was frozen in a horrified stupor, staring ahead. He began shaking, and then slowly turned his head.
“Why didn’t I say goodbye--”
Instantly Kaleb’s body was snapped and flung over the seat and out of sight as the bus lurched with impact. The thunderous roar of metal grinding and tearing surrounded Bobby until he thought it would split his ears. Bobby caught a faint glimpse of the minivan ripping through the driver’s side, obliterating the unconscious man, and tearing the bus open half its length. The bus careened and swerved but the collision had not stopped it.
Bobby searched everywhere for a safe place, and then threw himself and hugged the seat with every muscle in his small body. He held on, dug his fingers into the fabric, squeezing his eyes shut, deliriously mumbling a lullaby. But the force proved too much and tore him away. For a single, eternal moment, Bobby floated amongst all the book bags and the children and pencils and papers and toys and glasses. He felt the strangest impulse of his life, even before he knew what sex was: he wanted to swim through the air, to push his legs off the surface and soar over the seats. He experienced freedom.
Nobody ever told Bobby that first grade was going to be this tough.
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