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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4045 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Last Ride on Bus 316 Aubra The last ride on bus 316 The bus smelled like mildew; green seats split by pocketknives where kids had carved their initials. J+A= TRUE LOVE R.K. 1982 RANDY W R.I.P. The riders teased each other, a constant hum of loathing spewed en masse upon the outcasts. I took to walking home from school just so I wouldn’t hear their wicked taunts. That last day was different: I sat with my head down willing myself to become one with the seat; prayed to be left alone. The bully sought me out, giddy with the prospect of fresh meat. His breath was leftover chef’s surprise as he screamed FAT! UGLY! STUPID! All I wanted was to cry, but Dad always said, "Never show fear." So I sat on that bus, and cried inside Outside, I did nothing. Usually he got bored, moved on to the next loser, but for some reason that day, I made him angry. By the time we got to my stop, you could feel hatred oozing out his pores. I stood to get off, he blocked my way. I asked him to move, he punched me in the mouth. I stood there, not crying, blood dripping from my lips. He was a behemoth waiting for my tears. I could not react; I had to be cool. I turned to him, blood still dripping and asked. "Are you done yet?" That’s all it took. His eyes got huge, he turned and ran. I looked at every person on that bus, let them see the blood on my face, the steel in my eyes, and I asked, "Does anyone else want to mess with me?" The bus was silent. I never rode bus 316 again. |
