MHS Literary Journal

A creative writing class may be one of the last places you can go where your life still matters.

                                                                                                                               -Richard Hugo

               Gravel protrudes through my thin shoes as I approach the vehicle, yellow isn’t the most appealing of colors after a long day at school, but at least you wont miss it.  It’s not all yellow, bold print offsets the annoying vibrancy, LAID LAW, #25.  You can’t help but wonder where such a name was coined, somewhere in an office, surely there’s little meaning.  Tiny faces smirk out of half open windows, and they will remain half open.  “Fully open windows are hazardous; we don’t want anyone falling out.”  He’s new this year, overly cautious in his driving, and he’s under the notion that kids like him.  A misconception; but let him believe.  I mount the steps, each awkwardly taller than the previous, perhaps even hazardous to all who climb?

              This is my routine, the little faces; seconds ago gawking out of half open windows, all turn in unison to the accordion folding door at the head of the bus.  After delivering a fake smile to Mr. Driver, a genuine smile overtakes me.  “DRAKE!!” young minds, K-6th grade, each an avid fan of Nickelodeon, are in awe as a TV face boards their bus.  Each child is under the impression that I am television personality Drake, from Drake and Josh.  I see no resemblance, but im not one to disappoint children.

              I hand out high fives like beads during mardi gras, as entire hands fit within my own.  I pick a seat behind my fans, trying to find comfort on the plasticy leather mesh; I can’t seem to find it.  I lean back against the seat and put my head phones in; a pop-punk jingle enthralls me. 

              Singing to myself, words that sound pointless without gang vocals and breakdowns, I see two deep blue eyes peeping over the seat in front of me.  She speaks, but all I hear are my organized screams and one liners, I take off my head phones. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say.” She smiles, and repeats herself; as if this is the nine hundred and ninety ninth time she’s said it. “What grade are you in?” Im a junior, I say. 

              “That’s my brother’s grade, his name is _____ ____, do you know him?”  I knew of him, we had never exchanged words, and I didn’t really care too.  “Yeah, I know who he is.”  Assuming the conversation is a thing of the past, I prepare to enjoy my music once more.  “I miss him.” She says.  “What do you mean?” She goes into detail, yet she wasn’t seeking sympathy, or a second opinion.  “I haven’t seen him for a couple of months now, mom and him haven’t been getting along, he’s living with our dad, and the only time I see him is when I go over there to visit, I hardly go.”  Instantly, I think of my own sister, whom I visit but three months out of the year, when the air is thick and hot.  She didn’t come to mind because this little girl also has a sibling she rarely sees, it was how bright this girl was, and how mature she is, even in simple conversation, as is my sister.  Without losing eye contact “I love him very much still, even with his lip rings and hair, he’s still my brother.”  A Bee flies through a half open window, the eye contact is lost.  The bee swoops down on an unsuspecting kid, he’s chubby, yet charming, my biggest fan.  He doesn’t notice, the bee seems to have no intention of causing harm to the boy, but that doesn’t prevent the shrill scream of a little girl two seats up, startled, the bee exits the opposing half open window.  She jumps back into the conversation, as if bee’s were extinct, “One time, I was really sick, and he stayed home from school to take care of me, we spent the entire day together.  He made me soup, and gave me a bath, and we watched all my favorite cartoons.” My second genuine smile for the duration of the trip.  “We use to share a room, I wish it was still like that.” And my third.

              This little girl was opening up to a complete stranger, pouring her heart out, not wanting a reaction, just wanting someone to listen.  I was all ears.  I told her a bit about my sister, and how bright she is, and how I miss her.  “I know how you feel.”  She asked my name, and I said David, not Dave, which I still don’t understand.  I asked hers, again reminding myself that I was engaging in conversation with an elementary student, “Taydum” a wonderful name, there’s just this quality of sound to it, Taydum.  While discussing her brother, she was at no point depressed, she took joy in sharing her stories, it was almost as if talking about him placed him right next to her.  “One Christmas, I heard Santa, but it wasn’t on the roof, it was in our hallway outside my door, I ran over to my brother and woke him up, we we’re both really excited, but he said we should lay back down and at least pretend to be sleeping, or he may just leave, my brothers smart.”  I jolt forward, my face crunching into the seat ahead of me.  It seems the overly cautious driver thought it necessary to step on the brakes, as an ant crossed the road, or something along those lines. 

              Taydum pats my head, and asks if im alright.  I laugh, and nod.  She comes around from her seat and sits next to me.  “He life guards at the pool, and one time, my mom took me and some of my friends to go swim there when he was working, I told my friends that my brother was the life guard, and then they all wanted to go meet them, they thought he was so cool.”  I wonder if I portray cool at all in my little sister’s eyes, this kid is his sister’s hero, I wanted to be a hero.  I wanted my sister, to find a stranger on her bus, listening to some sort of irrational music, and interrupt their life, to share with them how much she misses me, or how cool I am, or how much she looks up to me.  “Even though I hardly see him now, I know he still loves me, and it isn’t his fault.”  I choke, a lump is fixated in the center of my throat and I can’t get past it.  Perhaps sensing how touched I was by this, she changes the subject.  “I know you aren’t really drake from that TV show, but you do look a lot like him.”  An old codger like man is visible out of my half open window, he has an elderly looking dog, and a small bag of groceries.  Kid’s in the front row point and laugh at him, even Mr. Driver develops a crude smirk, as he enjoys the comfort of his fully open window.  My stop.  Kids rise, in relief that the extensive ride is over.  Taydum’s stop is after mine.  She asks me, to tell her brother that she loves him, and misses him a lot.  I got goosebumps, in 88 degree weather, in a setting surrounded by half open windows, and supper heated metal interior.  I assured her I would deliver her message, after a thank you, she smiled me off.  I walked up the isle, not even giving Mr. Driver the courtesy of a fake smile, I just got off.

              I got home, and I searched for her brother on myspace.  His picture appeared in the resulting search, and I messaged him.  I didn’t even introduce myself, I just told him everything his sister told me.  “She’s your biggest fan dude.”   I closed it out.

               I felt compelled to remain in the chair, I didn’t think it was right to move until I got a response, after an hour or so, it was safe to move.  “wow, thanks man, yeah I don’t really see her a lot these days, and I wish I did, but things just aren’t working out, im her biggest fan too.”

              I wander into my room, its hot.  I make my way to my window, unhinging it’s rusty lock.  I open it, to it’s full extent.  A sense of satisfaction overwhelms me.