This morning I rushed to the bus stop a little later than normal. As I pulled into the parking lot, I gulped down another spoonful of strawberry-mango yogurt and jogged to the stop. When I was about 50 ft. away, the bus I usually ride came barreling past me. I picked up speed and tossed my half-eaten yogurt into the trash. I barely made it up the steps of the bus before the driver took off again. I scanned my bus pass and sat in the first available spot. Then I pulled my book out to read (today it was A Streetcar Named Desire, which I'm reading for the second time for my American Drama class). Blanche and Stella took over my thoughts while the bus rumbled through the streets and onto the interstate. Or so I thought. After about ten minutes of reading the bus lurched to a stop so forcefully that I had to tear my eyes from Streetcar and look up to grab the bags falling off my lap. OH NO! NO, NO, NO! How did I end up in front of Hobby Lobby instead of on the interstate? My heart failed for a moment. I stuttered to the guy sitting next to me, "is this the northbound?" To which he glanced at my face for less than a second before replying, "yep, get on the wrong bus?" I turned red and grabbed my things and whispered a quick, "uh huh," before I scampered off the bus.
I stood there for a moment perplexed, feeling like I had regressed 19 years. See, this same scenario almost occurred in kindergarten when I purposefully ignored the bus driver while she reminded us which bus we should take home. I did this because I thought it was dumb. Of course I'll remember which bus to take, I remember thinking. Why is she telling us this? Does she think we're idiots? Yeah, well, I wish I had listened when, after school, I ran frantically from bus to bus looking for the right one, calling my sister's name. Eventually, I realized that on the way home my sister would not be riding with me because kindergarten was only half a day. She was still in class, oblivious to my mounting dread at being stuck alone in front of the school. Luckily that time, a teacher helped me find the right bus and I made it home safely.
This traumatizing memory played through my head while I stood stupefied at the bus stop. How had I managed to become even better at getting lost at the age of twenty-two than I was at five? After a couple of minutes I drag myself towards the doors of Hobby Lobby and called Shaun. "Can you come get me?" I asked. Then for the next ten minutes I walked around the store aimlessly, caressing folds of ugly fabric and walking through aisle after aisle of tiny, wicker baskets. (What do people even use those for?) Within a matter of minutes, Shaun saved me and gave me a ride back to my car. I hopped in my car and drove to school, forever promising myself to look more carefully at which bus I try to hop on.
1 comment:
I took a picture of you on the kindergarten bus--you were the smallest child and the steps were almost as big as you were. I laughed and laughed at this entry.
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