Life
is full of connections. Connections to friends. Connections to acquaintances.
We meet new people every day, see different people in our lives, and meet them
at different times. We form connections. We are constantly forming connections.
We are entangled in a jungle of strings, a web of encounters. We have the main
connections, the ones we are the most aware of.
But
there are also the small ones. The ones you take for granted. The ones that we
often ignore.
It was a nice spring
day. It was hot out. The weather made you want to lie down and do nothing. It
was a good day for the last day of work.
The young man—no, the
middle aged man (somewhere in between) sat down at his seat holding a small
donut and a cup of iced coffee. Iced coffee. Who knew he would need it so fast
in the year? It was only May. But the sun was begging him to get an iced
coffee. And an ice cream. But he had resisted that. Iced coffee was enough.
Pulling the handle, he
closed the door, letting go quickly to let the doors shut from the inertia. The
donut tasted good. It was a glazed donut. With chocolate on it. He used a napkin
to wipe his lip and took a sip of the iced coffee, and then lifting the lid to
drain what was left of it.
Without looking, the man
threw the coffee cup in the trash can. It landed in right with a kerplunk. Looking at his watch, he
decided he would go early today. Be the best on his last day.
Chewing on the remains
of the ice and letting the coldness seep into his cheeks, he ignited the engine
and let the bus roar to life.
The bus parked into the
usual spot in front of the quiet school. He sat there, looking out the window,
staring at particularly nothing. He could feel the sun rays tingling his skin
and warming his seat. He felt oddly strange. The seat felt uncomfortable.
The seat that he would
probably never sit in again.
“Yes. I’ll see you
around.” The man with the stubby beard saluted him.
“Yep, I’ll come visit
sometime.”
“Mhm. It’s gonna be
weird, not having you around.”
“Well, if you ever need
me to help you out, I’ll be glad to. I’ll just have to drive four hours to get
here, you know.”
The man with the stubby
beard laughed. “Very funny. Thanks. But I don’t think I’ll be getting sick
anytime soon. I haven’t been sick in three years.”
“That’s a record. I
haven’t been sick in three weeks. And
Alice had to replace me that day. You know how she is. She said the kids were
horrid.” They chuckled.
“I guess the kids just
didn’t like Alice as much as they liked you.”
“Heh, yeah. I guess so.”
They chuckled again, awkwardly.
The man with the stubby
beard turned around, looking back at the school. The kids were slowly drifting
out of the school. The day had ended.
“Well, see you around.”
“See you.”
The man with the stubby
beard turned around and left for his bus.
Now left alone, the man
stood still, staring at his bus.
“One oh two,” he read. “One
oh two.”
He had been so glad when
he had gotten the job at the bank. A full time job, with a decent pay. He had
been glad he didn’t have to drive for a few thousand a year anymore. Now he’d
get a few ten thousand.
But yet he had a bitter
feeling in his mouth. One oh two.
One oh two.
A young little girl with
a massive backpack slowly approached the bus. She looked at him timidly. She
then climbed up the doors of the bus.
Two girls with heavy
makeup and brand name purses bounced towards the bus. Young, clueless, and
still learning. They were chewing gum. Strawberry gum, just as the day before,
or the week before, or the month before. Strawberry that they had to spit out
every day.
They looked at him half
knowingly, ready to argue, a part of the routine before finally giving in.
But this time, he let
them go. He smiled at them.
Surprised but still happy
of their sudden fortune, they paused at the door and then leaped onto the bus,
launching into immediate conversation. He could hear their chatter even from
outside of the bus.
A tall, quiet girl
wearing a sweater despite the weather slowly slumped towards the door. He had
never heard a word from her. Not since the year started. Probably would say
much until the year ended. He doubted he would ever hear a word from her. She
looked at the ground as she sauntered to the bus. He assumed she was very shy.
One by one, the kids
climbed onto the bus. Kids who smiled, kids who frowned, kids who glared, kids
who laughed. Backpacks, tote bags, purses. Sneakers, flats, flip flops, boots.
Red, orange, yellow, green.
And of course, at the
very end, the small seventh grader who always rushed to catch the bus at the
very end.
Climbing up the bus, John
seated himself at the same reddish maroon fake leather seat that he had carved
his imprint onto. It was bent back and
curved in from the years he had molded his shape into it. He fastened his seat
belt, closed the door, and turned on the engine. The bus roared to life. The buses
nearby roared back in reply.
He could hear the
chatter, the shouting, the excitement and energy that the bus was buzzing with.
Just an hour ago you could have heard a pin drop.
He turned the wheel,
waiting for the bus in front of him to leave the school. Pushing on the pedal,
he followed.
One by one, he dropped
off the children. He wondered if he would ever see them again.
It wasn’t as though he
knew any of them personally. But he felt a connection. Life is filled with
connections, he thought. And this is one of those connections. It’s the sort
that you don’t think of as much. It’s the sort that you have every day, that
you take for granted. It’s the sort that’s not complicated, but it’s still
there. And when it’s missing, you feel it missing. He had had a connection with
the kids on the bus. He had been their driver for a year, after all. A year was
a long time.
Yes, he was pretty sure.
They were to be gone from his sight for pretty much forever. Besides, he was
moving to another state.
At the first bus stop,
he announced it to the kids. “Guys, this is my last day driving for you guys.”
Then he opened the door.
He wasn’t going to hug
them. He wasn’t going to cry. That would be awkward. It just wasn’t that kind
of connection. But yet he felt that bitter feeling of farewell in his mouth.
That bitter, sad feeling.
The kids had suddenly
started yelling louder than they had before (if it was even possible).
“What! That’s not fair!
You didn’t tell us!”
“We’re going to miss
you!”
“This is unacceptable! I
can’t believe this! Don’t leave us!”
“Why are you leaving?”
“I got a new job.”
The kids were even more
angry. Or sad. He couldn’t tell.
“Unacceptable!”
“Why would you do this
to us!?”
Mixed voices and
opinions were thrown into his ear. He was a bit surprised. They were reacting
stronger than he had expected. He had not expected much. He had expected that
they thought of him as another person, but nothing more. Not someone they would
miss.
“I’m going to miss you,”
a girl said before she left. She had never said a word before. She was the sort
who was loud at the back but never said a word to the driver. “Good-bye!” she
said.
“Take care of yourself,”
he said.
“Thank you! Good bye,”
one kid said.
“Take care of yourself,”
he said.
As the kids from the
first stop (there were a lot of kids at the first stop) each paused to say a short
but still heartfelt good-bye, the man suddenly felt a pang.
It was strange.
This connection is a
little stronger than I thought, he wondered. A lot stronger.
He closed the door and
paused, looking at the kids disappear into their houses. He lifted the break
and continued driving on.
He stopped at the next
stop. There were three kids. Two left without a word. The last said, “Seeya” in
a habitual way. The man could not help but feel another pang. Seeya. When?
At the fifth stop, a
student stopped at the front of the bus. He was the boy who was always yelling
about food or other random subjects.
“You should have told
us,” he said. “I could have gotten you cookies or something.”
The man laughed.
“Well, good-bye. And
thanks.” The boy hopped off the bus and ran to the other side of the street. As
the bus rolled past, he waved cheerfully to the bus. The man waved back.
Had he known he was so
loved? By these young, learning adolescents who had yet to think, yet to
discover. Whom he thought never thought of the bus driver as anything other
than a living being?
One girl said, “Thank
you so much for everything! Good-bye.”
Another said, “I’m going
to miss you. What if the other driver drives horribly?”
(He had laughed at
that.)
Even the girl whom he thought
would never speak to him timidly said, “Thank you. Good bye.”
At the second to last
bus stop, the kids were leaving and the man was tasting a very sour taste in
his mouth. Second to last. Second to last.
“Thank you!”
“Bye!”
They were all smiling kindly
with the hint of sorrow.
“Good luck on your new
job!” The boy smiled at him kindly. He saluted him. He left.
For a second, the man
froze. He didn’t know why. His brain just stopped.
“T-thanks,” he muttered.
“Take care of yourselves!” He called out after the boy and the other kids.
“I appreciate it,” he
said softly.
It was the last bus
stop. Two kids.
The girl sitting in the
very front seat stood up.
“Thanks!” She said. She left.
The other girl took a
few seconds—she must have been sitting near the back.
“Thank you. Have a good
life,” she said.
“Thank you.” He paused. Have
a good life.
Have a good life.
He would try.