Journal Entry – December 2018

I sit back in my recliner to reflect on 2018. I think of things like having another foot surgery, beginning to play orchestra again, finding a sting quartet, writing music, teaching my piano and violin students, writing stories, the many amazing walks with Taj, time spent with dear friends, and my fantastic trip to England to see Shannon, Kirsten, Amelia and Finn. Those highlights gave shape and substance to my life, delighting, engaging and challenging me to set my priorities and stay fully present. What stands out most though, are a few times—so profound and compelling, so exceptional I want to share them.
 
I spent the night in the hospital with a friend after her hip replacement. I finally fell asleep on a hard odd thing that I had rearranged from a chair into a kind of bed. I was awakened to confusing darkness and sounds of my friend struggling to breathe. Her asthma had been compromised from the surgery. I do not remember getting to her side. There was no time to find the nurses call button. I just remember holding, rocking, breathing slowly, calming, finding breath...
 
A friend broke her leg badly and, after surgery began her recovery process in a rehab center. One morning I arrived early with a cup of hot green tea. I helped her into her wheelchair and out we went into the world. It was perfect June. We went slowly so as not to miss a single thing. We were filled with wonder and had no thoughts of pain, or uncertainty...
 
Taj and I were walking at Golden Ponds Wilderness Area one morning. We seemed to have the entire place to ourselves. Suddenly Taj stopped abruptly. A long way ahead was a woman walking toward us. As we continued on he forgot completely about his beloved grass and kept his focus on the woman. When she was a hundred feet away he broke into a run and stopped at her feet. She burst into tears. “I had to put my dog down several months ago. This was our favorite walk. I haven’t been able to come back until today.”
 
A friend asked me to be with him as he transitioned to death. He was tired, he said, and ready. As comfort care was established he spoke about painting. He recounted some favorite memories from his life. Then he told about when his son was born and how his life had changed completely the moment he held his newborn and they locked eyes. Just then a large tear rolled down his cheek. I caught it on my finger, turned to his son and rubbed it gently onto his heart...
 
I sat with Amelia and Finn on either side of me, my arms around them. They leaned into me. I shut my eyes, trying to remember everything. I so want to be able to bring back this memory whenever I want...
 
I took a redeye to the East Coast. You should have seen my sister’s face when she opened her front door and found me there—her 70th birthday surprise!
 
Wishing you a gentle New Year filled with lovely moments to treasure and enjoy!

The Ride

Mommy is taking my brother to a violin lesson on the other side of Topeka. She doesn't have time to drive us to our dance lessons. I think that means we won't be going to dancing today. At the last minute Mommy has an idea.

Things can change quickly with Mommy. One minute something can be happening and the next another thing entirely. Most of the time I don't even try to understand what is going on. Sometimes I get really scared and my tummy hurts when I don't know what is happening. Today is one of those times. I feel younger than my 6 years, as if time is being erased from my life and there is nobody around to notice.

Mommy parks our car on a small side street. We spread out as we cut across someone's yard to make it around the corner on our way to Gage Park Boulevard. Up ahead of us ia a little blue sign that has a picture of a bus on it. As we are walking toward the sign Mommy gives my big 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. When you see it, tell the bus driver. He will stop and let you off. Then you can walk to your lessons.

Now my sister and I are standing by the bus sign alone waiting. The exhaust from the cars speeding by burns my eyes and I turn my face away from the road. I watch Mommy walk back to our car. She opens the door and gets in. It isn't until she starts to pull away from the curb I realize she is leaving us. Panic overtakes me and I bolt toward the car. I run as hard as I can, chasing her for two blocks. When I can't see the car anymore I stop and fall into a heap on the ground. For a while I can't see anything because I am crying too hard. Why is Mommy leaving us here? Feelings upon feelings collide in my head and I have no way of stopping the avalanche. Will I ever see Mommy again? Someone is pulling at my arm, trying to get me to get up off the ground. My hands are covering my eyes. I hope it is Mommy who has come back for me. I take one hand away and look up into the eyes of my sister. I wait for her to say something. All my life she has been there for me--my protector, even though she is only 16 months older than me. When I look into her eyes now I get really scared. The usual sparkle has drained away. Her eyes are blank, like she isn't there at all.

The metal doors of the bus open slowly and a sharp hiss of air puffs into my face. I stare up the big metal steps and don't know how I will ever make it to the top. I feel as though I will be swallowed up. My breathing is uneven. There are some adults behind me, impatient to get on the bus. With urgency my short legs struggle to climb. I use both hands and my knees. I try to grab the railing I see above me but when I reach for it I almost lose my balance. Finally, I get to the top where the floor is covered with a thick black rubber mat. Dried clumps of gritty dirt crumble under my shoes.

I am on the bus standing in the path between the seats, waiting in a line of people. My hands are dirty and a little red from climbing the stairs. I stand behind my sister as close as I can. I want to disappear. I have never actually been able to poof myself away from a scary situation but thinking it is a possibility helps slow my heart down. It is beating so loudly I am sure all the other passengers can hear it! My head is spinning. I shut my eyes to steady my queasy tummy. I sense the rigded stiffness in my sister's back. I lean in closer--trying to find safety in the grey squares of her plaid wool coat.

My sister has never ridden a bus before either. I try to fool myself into thinking she will know what to do! The sleepy little town we live in is about an hour from here. It doesn't have stoplights or even a stop sign. The only buses are orange ones that pick up the farm kids and bring them to and from school. Our town is so small we don't even have strangers.

That is really important because the thing Mommy says over and over and over every Saturday when we are driving to Topeka for lessons is, "Never, never, never talk to strangers, no matter what!" Does this mean if I don't know someone they will hurt me? Or if I do know them I am safe? There is no way my sister and I will be able to get all the way to Mrs. Thomas's today on this bus without talking to someone we don't know.

I peek at the driver who is sitting behind an enormous steering wheel. He is wearing a brown uniform with brown gloves without fingertips and a brown baseball hat. I can't read what it says on his hat because my glance in his direction is so quick. I do see the first word starts with the letters T O.

I can't stop looking at the driver's skin. It is much darker than the life quards at our town's swimming pool at the end of the summer. I have never seen anyone with skin like his. Is he sick? What kind fo illness would make your skin turn such a dark, dark black brown? I am torn between staring and wanting to shut my eyes. Is he one of those strangers Mommy talks about?

We are standing in front of the dark man. A man in a blue suit carelessly bumps into me as he tries to get around us--pushing me right into my sister. When she turns around to give me a dirty look, I see tears on her cheeks.

I think to myself, "Don't cry! I need you to be strong and keep me safe!"

Big tears spring form my eyes. I really don't want to cry. She 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 the other people see us crying, so I [put my head down and pretend to be interested in the floor again.

A large dark hand reaches toward my sister and takes the money she is clutching. The driver swivels around in his seat, reaches down and pulls out a little worn leather bag. He stuffs the paper money into the bag and takes out four silver coins. He drops three of them into the metal box beside him. The coins jingle and rattle clear to the floor. He hands my sister the fourth coin. She grasps onto that coin until her knuckles turn white, as if her life depends on it.

The bus lurches forward. My sister grabs my arm and pulls me into a cracked black vinyl bench seat beside her. I suspect the other people are staring at us, so I sit very still and look straight ahead. Every block or two the bus stops at one of the blue bus signs. Some people get on and others get off. When we are moving the sun goes shadow, light, shadow, light as the bus passes by the trees. The faster we go the more the light flickers like an old-time movie.

We sit and sit and watch people get on the bus and others leave. Pretty soon the bus slows down and stops. Everyone has gotten off the bus. The only ones left are my sister and I and the dark man. He stands up. I watch him stretch. He reaches his arms up so high he practically touches the ceiling. He comes walking down the aisle and stops, towering over us.

"Where you girls going'?" 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 think I want to trust him because I like his nice eyes--but he is a stranger.

"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 looks down and her voice trails off.

He turns, walks back up to the front of the bus and sits down on his seat. He pulls his sleeve back and looks down at his wristwatch. His dark face reflects in a gigantic mirror above him and when he looks up and catches my; eye, he winks and looks quickly away. Then he drives around the block and pulls back onto Gage Park Boulevard where he begins stopping the bus and letting people on and off again.

When I hear my sister practically yell it startles me. "This is the street we want!"

The bus driver slows down and moves the bus toward the curb. The heavy metal doors fold in two like an accordion as they open. I stand at the top of the steps and look down. Going down looks scarier and seems more impossible than coming up. Suddenly I just sit down, shut my eyes and scoot down as fast as I can on my bottom.

A lot of cars are driving on the busy street today. Traffic stops from both directions and waits for us to cross. Once we get across the street my sister walks quickly ahead of me on the sidewalk. I have to run to keep up with her. When I see Dorothy Thomas's little white house I burst into tears again. Just then I see Mommy sitting in our car in front of Mrs. Thomas's house. I race toward her. I want so much for her to leap out of the car, pick me up and spin me around, holding me close and never ever putting me down. Instead, she doesn't get out of the car or even look in our direction. She sits, eyes straight head and does not move. She does not say a single word.

During the silence that follows, everything in my world tilts and goes into slow motion My mind starts turning, churning, tumbling over and over and over like watching a dryer at the Laundromat. I am spinning in my body at first and then I am floating in the air. My mind tries to figure things out. How upset is Mommy? How upset is Mommy? How upset is Mommy? Is she angry with us for being afraid? Is she angry with us for being afraid? Is she angry with us for being afraid? The words making up my thoughts stretch farther and farther and farther apart until everything is a jumble.

My sister breaks the spell when she opens the car door and we pile into the back seat. As soon as I feel the old quilt that cover the seat I feel safe again. As the car moves toward home my eyelids get heavier and heavier. I am happy now that we are with Mommy. I am okay now.

Robert

On the second Monday of every month at 7 in the evening I find myself wondering,  “Who is Robert?”  At my very first 4-H meeting when I turned 8 last March, Debbie’s Mom, our adult leader, explained to me all about Robert and his Rules of Order. I drew the conclusion right then and there that Robert must have influenced everything that had to do with celebrating the four “H’s”—head, heart, hands and health. My awe of him flourished, endowing 4-H with an elevated otherworldly mystique bordering on a religious experience. In time I even concocted an entire epic about Robert’s magical powers. He is my hero and makes it possible for 4-H to sweep me up and provide me a safe place.

My big brother, this year’s club President, hits the wooden gavel twice on the desk and calls the meeting to order. First we cross our hearts with our right hands and pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. Then we pledge our lives to the 4-H flag. The flags are about 4 inches long and stand side by side in a plastic base that is the color of metal. When my brother ceremonially unfurls the flags each month I actually feel like I am standing taller than usual.

The power of mystery pulls me into the 4-H meetings like nothing I’ve ever experienced. The rituals, undoubtedly created by Robert and his rules, mesmerize me. It is kind of like being at church only without God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost. It’s not that they aren’t here, too. It’s just that this club is about having fun and making stuff and square dancing and cooking and sewing and collecting bugs and raising vegetables and farm animals.

The Victory 4-H Club makes my heart sing, that’s for sure. It is the only place in my life where I
know for certain I belong hook line and sinker. When I am doing something that has to do with 4-H, I feel like I am part of a community. Isn’t it odd that I live in such a small town but feel like an outsider? My mother’s unspoken attitudes about the people who live here have probably rubbed off on me. She seems to almost dislike the farmers who come into the lumberyard. And among the folks who live in town, there are only a few she really trusts. Of course, she is always nice to everyone—they all love her and I don’t think they have any idea how she really feels. But I know. It is obvious she feels different from them. Not better than them, just not the same. That makes me feel lonely and sad and afraid to admit because it means when I want to get close to people, Mom discourages me with a few harsh words and a look.

Whenever I go to a 4-H activity, however, it is like I am dropped off at the front door of heaven and set free. I can be a friend with any of them. We are all part of the same club, and even though they are the very same kids Mom dislikes when we’re not at 4-H, here it is okay. I am certain Robert must have an enormous part in providing me this place where I can connect with people. I just love being part of something greater than my family and myself.

Tonight, our main “order of business” is to decide which float we are going to make for the county fair parade. Mom has been brainstorming ideas and designing floats all afternoon on thin paper with colored pencils. The idea I like best seems like it might be the hardest to make. For that one she asks my dad if he could build an 8-foot frame and cover it with chicken wire to form the structure of a giant globe. Then, the Saturday before the parade, us kids would stuff the chicken wire with napkins. The napkins are supposed to look like the flowers on the floats in the Rose Bowl parade.

We will create the world in just one day. The continents will be green, because that is the 4-H color and the oceans will be white because that is the color of most of the napkins. Hanging down from the bed of the lumberyard’s big delivery truck, a skirt will say; “4-H Builds A Friendly World”. I like this idea a lot, even though it sounds like we’re going to need a lot of help from our parents and all of us kids working hard to make it happen.  A motion is made and seconded and in an instant it has been decided that this is the float we are going to make. I join the others in shouting out my “yes!

As the next order of business is brought up I let my mind wander. My eyes fall on the adults who are sitting in the back of the room. Some are not just parents but are also leaders of different 4-H activities. I really love when a small group of us kids goes to one of their homes. There is something about the adult attention at those times I don’t get anywhere else in my life. They share what they love and I really feel it. Even when I’m participating in an activity I don’t like, I am inspired. When they encourage me with their exhilarating stories while relating to me—it feels like the whole world has fallen completely away and there is nothing left but that activity leader and me.

Take Mrs. Flowers, for instance. Last week I went to her farm just outside of town out by the cemetery to learn how to make vegetable soup. First, all six of us girls put on bibbed aprons and were given little paring knives. We drew little papers out of a hat to pick a vegetable to cut up to put into the soup. I got okra. Since my mother hates okra I had never tried it. I understood why as soon as I made the first chop. The insides were slimy and stringy. I was completely disgusted and wanted to go home. I felt envious of Linda Luberg’s carrots that she was slicing into perfectly flat round disks and the green beans Debbie Kittleman was happily snapping in her fingers. When the soup was done, it tasted delicious and did not, due to my insistence, include okra.

My Auntie Margo is the sewing leader. She has “the patience of Job with those kids” everyone says. I don’t have any idea who Job is, but I love Auntie Margo, even though I don’t like sewing. I did feel like a grown up, though, when she taught me to thread the sewing machine by myself. You would never guess how her shiney black Singer with fancy gold letters comes right out of the top of a wooden cabinet that looks like a table. As many times as I’ve been to her house I never imagined her sewing machine was tucked away like that!

Mrs. Luberg is my favorite activity leader. I am crazy about how excited she gets when she shares what she enjoys. No matter what activity we do with her, it is fun. She really takes Robert’s magic to a whole new level and shares it with us until we squeal. Her real job is teaching junior high reading and English. But her true calling is being a 4-H activity leader. At least, that’s what I think. I especially love it when she gets us square dancing. She makes dos-e-does and ale-my-lefts feel like we’ve been doing them all our lives. I don’t even mind wearing a red-checked gingham skirt or touching cooty boy hands.

Mildred McClurgh is a sophisticated and stylish woman. She fascinates me for two reasons. First, she is the only person in our town who has ever gotten divorced. And secondly, Mildred is one of the people my mother trusts. Mrs. McClurgh is preparing us for the fashion show at the fair. This is the first year I have ever done this so I don’t yet know how uncomfortable and hysterical I am going to feel in front of a bleacher full of people watching as I stop and turn left and then turn right and pause to pose with one foot at a slight angle behind the other. Mrs. McClurgh is sensitive and friendly. She looks me right in the eyes when she talks. Just being around her makes pushing through this seemingly useless activity tolerable.

Before I know it, it is time to adjourn the meeting. The flags and their base are slipped back into their box and the gavel taps two times--signaling the meeting is officially over. After refreshments I am spinning from the sugar in the pop and cupcakes. The room is swirling. It feels like I am inside a snow globe. Everyone is gathering their belongings and getting ready to go home.  Parents are talking while their children run amuck. Some boys are chasing each other with their thumbs over the end of their pop bottles, shaking them as they run.

I climb into the back of our Chrysler between my brother and sister for the ride home. The next thing I remember is being woken up so I can walk into the house to go to bed. In that slip of time between sleeping and nearly being awake, I am so full of joy and gratitude I think I might explode. Before I slip into bed I thank Robert for everything he does to make the Victory 4-H Club so incredible! I am floating on the feeling of happiness and am fully renewed by the experience of belonging. “Thank you, Robert, for everything!”

 

Heart Felt

My Great Aunt Leonie lives at the end of our street in a big yellow house right at the edge of town. Behind her house is a big wheat field—golden waves swishing back and forth, rippling as far as you can see. I am four and a half and get to go to her house all by myself. Early each morning the sun rises right behind her house and pops up over the roof—you can see it from my house if you wait.

I can’t wait! I have to run over to her house to taste homemade bread with yummy strawberry jam on top. I can’t wait to hear her sweet voice call out “good morning, my favorite Paula!” I reach up and grab the railing and pull myself up the big stairs onto the porch. When I open the screen door her eyes light up. They sparkle and are so clear. They are the color of blue of the wide-open sky without any clouds.

Aunt Leonie and her stepdaughter, Flossie, who lives with her, talk about clouds all the time. The big white fluffy ones are my favorite. We lie in the cool grass in Aunt Leonie’s backyard in the shade of a big leafy tree and watch the clouds roll past. “There’s a dog!” “Can you see the clown?” “Where do the clouds go?” Aunt Leonie listens to me carefully, taking a moment to find just the right words before she speaks. “The clouds love to dance across the sky. When the air turns cold their fluffy soft forms begin to turn into water. When they get heavy enough raindrops or snowflakes fall down to earth from way up in the sky. When all the water is gone, so are the clouds.” I am happy with that answer—especially the dancing part.

We go inside through the screen door off the side porch. We come into a large room at the back of the house where Aunt Leonie lives. Her room is plain and comfy. The kitchen is at one end and in the other corner is a day bed covered with a quilt with a log cabin pattern. A while back when she was working on it she showed me how the pieces fit together to make little houses. When I get older she is going to help me piece a quilt. “You have to be old enough to have patience,” she tells me, “because making a quilt takes a long, long time”.

Behind the kitchen is my favorite room in the house. Aunt Leonie calls this room her “pantry”. There is no door between it and the big room. It’s like its own long skinny room with a tall window at one end. On one wall there is a painted red counter running the full length of the room with cupboards above and below from floor to ceiling. There are lots of places to hide when we play “hide and seek”.  No one ever finds me here.

The floor in the pantry and in the big room is made out of boards. Braided rag rugs of various shapes and sizes cover worn spots and give a cozy feeling. I feel so comfortable right now I just want to crawl up on her bed and go to sleep.

I love when Aunt Leonie asks me, “would like to help me wash my hair?” She always wears her hair up on her head in a kind of bun, held up with hairpins. Every time she lets her hair down it is such a surprise! It is thick and white and a little curly and is so long it goes right down to where she might sit on it. I am always amazed how beautiful it is! Before she washes it she prepares a concoction of thick, blue liquid. “This will make my hair whiter. Otherwise it looks yellowish,” she explains. She shampoos her hair in the sink. I am standing on a chair next to her, far enough away not to get in her way but close enough to be able to spread the blue goo on her hair.

The blue stuff is cold and she shivers as I gently pour it over her head. I take a comb and slowly pull the blue through her hair. Coating all the hair takes a long time because her hair is so long. Once all of it has been covered she sets the metal timer for 10 minutes and we wait. When the timer dings she rinses her hair under the sink and dries it in a thick white towel. She wraps the towel around her head and tucks it in on one side. It makes her not look like Aunt Leonie at all! After a while she takes the towel off and combs her hair out. Then she lets it “air dry” she calls it. When it is all dry she brushes it, counting each stroke out loud with me, “one, two, three, four...all the way up to one hundred!”

One morning I slip out of bed and run all the way to Aunt Leonie and Flossie’s. They are already outside filling little pocked aluminum buckets with water from a green hose. I carry my bucket carefully through the tall grass so as not to spill one precious drop. The gravel driveway that circles behind the house is where I’m going. I find a place to sit, put the little bucket by my side, and begin looking all around for a beautiful rock. I find one and plop it into the water, sloshing it around.  When I reach in and pull it out, it sparkles like magic in the sun. I gasp! I spend the entire day in the hot Kansas sun finding the most beautiful rocks I can. My favorites are the arrowheads and one I found that is kind of pink in the shape of a heart. I wash each one until it glitters. I sort them carefully by size and shape. Then I arrange them on a flat place in the grass to go with my made-up stories.

Another day we bake sugar cinnamon crisps. I love helping! First flour is measured into a sifter and I am allowed to sift it into a big brown earthen bowl. Aunt Leonie and Flossy add other things and I get to stir it all together. The last time we did this I stirred too fast and a lot of the flour ended up on the floor and on me. This time I stir slowly. I end up with a large lump of yummy dough. Aunt Leonie doesn’t care how much dough I eat. She spreads flour on the counter and puts the dough into the middle. She hands me a long wooden rolling pin and I push the dough back and forth until it’s flat. We tear off pieces of dough and form shapes in our hands and then lay them on the cookie sheet. Cinnamon and sugar are sprinkled over the tops and the pan goes into the oven. Aunt Leonie says this is the same dough she would make if she were going to make a pie. When we can just begin to smell it, Flossie opens the oven door and takes out the puffy golden shapes. We let them cool down then sit at the table laughing and telling jokes while we eat crisps with a large glass of cold milk.

Most summer afternoons, when the locusts are droning their noisy tunes, I sit between Aunt Leonie and Flossy on their huge wooden porch swing. It is so big my feet can’t even touch the floor. There is something wonderful about the warm arm around me that gently pulls me into the huge lump on Aunt Leonie’s side she calls her “hernia”. The metal links of the chains above us creak as we swing but we don’t hear it because we are singing. Loudly! “Old Susanna”. “B-I-N-G-O”. “On Top Of Old Smokey”. “The Old Gray Mare”. My eyes glaze over with how good it feels to go back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Aunt Leonie’s wobbly old-lady’s voice, Flossie’s deep clear one and my little girl’s high pitches—a bit too loud--form a choir, like angels singing in heaven.

I know some of the reasons why I can’t wait to be at Aunt Leonie’s. She enjoys hearing my stories and listens to every word. She is fun and likes me just the way I am. When I am here, I am happy. The things that make me feel bad seem to melt away. Here, it is different. When I am with Aunt Leonie, I know I have a place in the world. I belong.

The Ride

I look up at the dirty metal steps and think, “these steps must be for giants!” As I use both hands and my knees to climb them I can’t help wondering if this might actually be a space ship.  I can see a railing above me but can’t reach it. It takes all my strength to make it to the top. When I get there, I see the floor is covered with a thick black rubber mat. Dirt and mud are scattered all around. I should know. I am too frightened to look up and too shy to take my eyes off it!

Mommy told my sister and I she had to take my brother to a violin lesson on the other side of Topeka. She didn’t have time to drive us to our dance lessons first. I thought that meant we wouldn’t be going to dance lessons today. At the last minute though, she changes her mind.

When I am with Mommy things can change quickly. One minute one thing can be happening and the next something else entirely. Most of the time I don’t understand what is going on. Sometimes I get really scared when I don’t know what is happening. Today is one of those times when I feel younger than my 6 years, as if time is being erased from my life but there is nobody around noticing.

Mommy parks the car on a small side street. Around the corner on the main road is a little blue sign that has a picture of a bus on it. As we are walking toward the sign Mommy 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. When you see it, tell the bus driver. He will stop and let you off. Then you can walk to your lessons.”

We both burst into tears when she drives away. For a while I can’t see anything because I am crying too hard and cannot stop. Why is Mommy leaving us here? I have never felt so many things all at once in my whole life! I want to run after her, but when I look up the car is gone. Will I ever see Mommy again? I look at my big sister, searching for reassurance. All my life she has been there for me, even though she is only 16 months older. Now, when I look into her eyes I get really scared. The usual sparkle has drained away. When I search her eyes they are blank, like she isn’t in there at all.

Now, I have made it up the steps and am on the bus waiting in a line of people. I stand behind my sister as close as I can. I want to disappear. I have never actually 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 all the other passengers can hear it!

My head feels weird. I am dizzy and am having a hard time keeping my eyes focused on the floor. How am I supposed to know that when you don’t breathe you can get light-headed? I sense the ridged stiffness in my sister’s back. I lean closer—trying to find safety in the grey squares of her plaid wool coat.

I know that my sister has never ridden a bus before either. I tell myself that she will know what to do! We live in a sleepy little town about an hour from here. It doesn’t have stoplights or even a stop sign. The only buses there are orange ones that pick up the farm kids and bring them to and from school. Our town is so small we don’t even have strangers.

That is really important because the thing Mommy says over and over and over every Saturday when we are driving to Topeka for lessons is, “Never, never, never talk to strangers, no matter what!” This advice puts my sister and I in a pickle today because it seems like we are going to have to talk to strangers to ride on this bus!

I peek at the driver sitting behind the steering wheel. He is wearing a brown uniform with brown gloves without fingertips and a brown baseball hat. I can’t read what it says on his hat because my glance in his direction is so quick I only see a T.  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 lifeguards’ at our town swimming pool at the end of the summer. This scares me because I have never seen anyone with skin like this before. Is he ill? What kind of illness would make your skin turn into such a dark, dark black/brown? I wonder if he is one of those strangers Mommy talks about. My sister and I 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?

We are standing in the aisle in front of the dark man. As other riders try to get around us, one man carelessly bumps into me—pushing me right into my sister. When she turns around to give me a dirty look, I see fresh tears on her cheeks. I don’t want her to be crying. I need her to be strong and keep me safe! Big tears spring from my eyes, too. I really don’t want to cry. She 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 reaches out his large hand and takes the paper money my sister is clutching. He twists around in his seat, reaches down and pulls out a little worn leather bag. He stuffs the paper money into the bag and takes out four silver coins. He drops three of them into a metal box beside him. I can hear the coins drop into the box and fall clear to the floor. He hands my sister the fourth coin. She grasps onto that coin until her knuckles turn white, as if her life depends upon it.

I am still staring at the floor, tracing patterns of dirt on the black mat with my eyes. Suddenly I feel my sister move away from me toward a seat. This is when I realize when I gasp that I am holding my breath again.

Just then the bus lurches forward. My sister grabs my arm and pulls me into a cracked black vinyl bench seat beside her. I think I can feel the other people staring at us so I sit very still and look straight ahead. Every block or two the bus stops at one of the bus signs. Some people get on and others leave. I try to calm myself by looking outside at the trees as they zip past us in a blur.

We sit and sit as people come and go. Pretty soon the dark man slows down and stops. Everyone has gotten off the bus. The only ones left are my sister and I and the dark man. He stands up. I watch him stretch, stretching his arms up so he is touching the ceiling. When he comes back to talk with us he 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 from his kind eyes this stranger is a good person and 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 off.

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 when he looks up and catches my eye, he winks and 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 things that calm me are counting trees as they zoom past and looking at the floor.

Suddenly my sister clears her throat. She practically yells to the driver with urgency, “This is the street we want”. He slows down and moves the bus toward the curb. The heavy metal door folds in two like an accordion as it opens. I sit on the top step and look down. The steps look scarier and more impossible than coming up. Suddenly I scoot down as fast as I can on my bottom.

There are a lot of cars on the street. They stop from both directions and wait for us to cross. My sister walks quickly ahead of me on the sidewalk. I have to run to keep up with her. When I see Dorothy Thomas’s little green house I burst into tears again. Seeing a place I know makes me feel like maybe I won’t be lost forever.

Just then I see Mommy sitting in our car in front of Mrs. Thomas’ house. I bolt toward her. I want so much for her to leap out of the car, pick me up and spin me around, holding me close and never ever putting me down. Instead, she doesn’t get out of the car, doesn’t look at us. She sits there like a stone and does not say a single word.

Everything goes into slow motion during the long familiar silence while I try to figure out how upset she is. We must have done something horrible this time. My sister breaks the spell when she opens the car door and we quickly pile into the back seat. As soon as I touch the grey smooth material of the seat I feel safe again. As the car moves toward home my eyes lids get heavier and heavier. I am happy now that I’m with mommy, and I don’t care if she ever talks with me ever again.