The Ride

My legs are barely long enough to climb the gigantic steps. I can see metal railings above me but there is no way I can reach them. When I finally get to the top I see the floor is covered with black rubber. Dirt and mud are scattered all around. I should know. I don’t take my eyes off it.

Mommy has forgotten she has to take my brother to a violin lesson on the other side of town at the very same time I have dance lessons. At the last minute she makes the split second decision to put my sister and I on the bus to make sure we don’t miss our classes. She parks the car around the corner from a metal pole that has a blue sign with a picture of a bus on it. As we walk toward the pole she gives my sister quick instructions: “Get on the next bus that comes by. Give the driver this money, pick a seat and sit down. You know what Mrs. Thomas’s street looks like, so when you see it, tell the bus driver and they will stop and let you off. Then you can walk to your lessons.”

When she drives away I burst into tears. Why is she leaving us here? Never in my life have I felt so many things all at once. My impulse is to run after her, but I can’t see the car anymore. She is gone. Will I ever see my mommy again? I look up at my big sister (16 months older than me), searching for support. When I see her eyes I get even more scared. The usual sparkle is gone and it feels as though she isn’t there.

Now, I am on an enormous bus looking at the floor. I stand behind my sister as close as I can. All I want is to disappear into her. I have never been able to poof myself away from scary situations but thinking about it helps slow my heart down. It is beating so loudly I am sure everyone can hear it.

My head feels fuzzy and I am so dizzy I am having a hard time keeping my eyes focused on the floor. How am I supposed to know when you don’t breathe you get light headed? I can feel my sister’s back is stiff and I draw closer trying to find safety in the grey squares of her plaid wool coat.

A thought comes into my mind, “I hope my sister knows what to do.” Then I realize, “There is no way she can know. Neither of us has ever ridden on a bus before!” We live in a sleepy little town an hour away. It doesn’t have stoplights or even a stop sign. The only buses are the orange ones that pick up the farm kids and bring them to and from school. Our town is so small I know everybody. The few I don’t know—know who I am. “You’re Alice and Howard’s kid, right?” or “You’re one of Phil Cosandier’s grandchildren, I’ll bet.”

It is a very safe place. No one locks their doors. I am allowed to roam around by myself as long as I check in once in awhile. Not one of the 800 people who live there is a stranger. That is important because the one thing Mommy always says over and over and over every Saturday when we go to Topeka is, “Never, never, never talk to strangers, no matter what”.

I peek at the man sitting behind the steering wheel. He is wearing a brown uniform with brown gloves without fingertips and a brown hat. I can’t read what it says on his hat because my glance in his direction is too fleeting and his head is facing forward. Plus, I am just learning to read and it is kind of a long word.

I can’t help noticing his skin. It is much darker than the kids who lifeguard at the swimming pool after being outside all summer. This scares me because I have never seen anyone with skin like this before. Is he sick? What kind of sick would make your skin turn black? All I am certain of is that he must be one of those strangers Mommy has talked about. We are helplessly paralyzed in front of him. He looks at us as though he has never seen two little pale girls before. I wonder from his sad look if he thinks we have some terrible disease?

People are trying to pass behind me and one man carelessly bumps into me—pushing me right against my sister. She turns around to give me a dirty look and I can see tears on her cheeks. I don’t want her to be crying. I need her to be strong and keep me safe! Spontaneously big tears spring from my eyes again. I don’t like crying. My sister always makes fun of me when I cry and tells me I am a baby. Now, look at us! I am afraid of what will happen if people see us crying, so I put my head down and pretend to be interested in the floor again.

The dark man sticks out his hand and takes the paper money my sister is clutching. He reaches behind his seat and pulls out a small beige canvas bag. He stuffs the money into the bag and takes out four silver coins. He drops three of them into a metal box beside him that goes clear to the floor and then he hands my sister the fourth coin. She grasps onto that coin until her knuckles are white, as if her life depends upon it.

I am still looking at the floor, tracing the patterns the dirt makes on the black mat with my eyes. Suddenly I feel my sister move away from me. That is when I realize I am holding my breath because I want to hold it now but I already am.

Just then the bus lurches forward and my sister pulls me into a cold, cracked black vinyl bench seat next to her. I think I can feel the other people staring at us so I keep still and look straight ahead. Every block or two the bus stops and some people get off and others get on. I try to calm myself by watching the trees speed by. I have no idea where we are. The trees all look the same.

We sit and sit as people come and go. Pretty soon the dark man stops the bus. All the other people have gotten off and the only ones left are my sister and I and the dark man. He stands up and when he comes back and towers over us I am certain he is a giant. “Where you girls goin’?” he asks in the deepest voice I have ever heard. I wait, willing my sister to answer. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “Do you have an address where you’re goin’?” I realize he is trying to help. “No” she says a little louder but with a quiver in her voice. “Where is your mommy?” he asks. “I don’t know”... my sister’s voice trails away.

He turns and sits back down on his seat. He pulls his sleeve back and looks at his wristwatch. I can see his dark face in the mirror and think he looks concerned. He drives around the block and pulls back onto the main street where he begins stopping the bus and letting people on and off again. The only thing that calms me is counting the trees as they zoom past.

Then I hear my sister clear her throat and say to the dark man, “This is the street we want.” He slows down and moves the bus over toward the curb. Then the heavy metal door folds itself in two and I sit on the dirty black rubber floor on the top step and scoot down the steps on my behind as fast as I can.

I follow my sister across the street. Lots of cars from both directions stop and let us cross. She walks ahead of me on the sidewalk and I have to practically run to keep up with her. When I see Dorothy Thomas’s little green house with the faded red door on the side that goes down to her dance studio I start crying again.

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Our mother is sitting in the car in front of the house. I run to her. I want so much for her to pick me up, hold me close and never put me down. Instead she doesn’t get out of the car, doesn’t look at us and doesn’t say a word. I can feel in that loud, long silence she is upset. My sister and I quickly pile in the back seat. All I remember before falling asleep is how happy I am to be safe and how quiet it is in the car compared to that big old bus.