Bus

Two whole weeks.

No infamous grudge-holder, no late-every-day wannabe rapper, no whiny-ass loser, and no nerdy moron who won’t sit down.

Two. Whole. Weeks. Without them.

And here I thought I was gonna get shitcanned. Man, when I zoom out of the bus loop, trailing behind all of the other buses who got outta here before I did, I can’t help but to completely smile like an idiot at the mere thought of having them out of my hair for two weeks and not having to go back to Mal-Wart for cash. In some sick sort of way, it’s amazing. It’s a double whammy. They’re in trouble, and the principal likes my ‘patience.’

I even open the window as I cruise my way down to the county bus loop, ‘cause the September breeze is blowing in full force and I want to feel it for once.

~~~~~~~~

“You gotta be the luckiest son of a gun alive,” Sharon tells me, crossing her arms and smirking like her jealously level’s through the roof. “Four kids got kicked off and you’re not even in trouble.”

I shrug and nonchalantly check my fingernails. “Yeah, it’s pretty great…”

She elbows me. “Seriously. All of us got at least one kid we never wanna see again and you get to go half a month without seeing four of ‘em.”

I’m completely loving this newfound envy all of the other drivers have for me right now. Especially with Anita – the one who used to drive Alta Vista kids until I took over her route. She’s just eaten up right now and won’t even talk to me. Of course, it’s not like she hates me or anything (I hope not, anyway, but I wouldn’t doubt it), but she just puts up her hand and says, “Talk to it, ya fluke,” whenever I try to say hi. Damn old ladies.

“They all hate me right now, though. Once they get back on the bus, they’re gonna make sure my life’s even more of a living hell. I can tell already,” I explain further. Even though I’m on a high right now and experience sheer joy every time I don’t hear their voices, there’s that apprehension towards having to face them again.

It’s a hotter-than-hell day on the cusp of fall down here, and there’s only about half an hour before the last bell rings and everybody’s released from school for the day. And since the bus loop is right by the gym, all of the drivers here already can watch all of their precious children romp around and make fun of them from a distance.

When the conversation between Sharon and I dulls down, I sigh and look around. They’re all scattered around the area playing football or soccer and even Frisbee, left to their own to entertain themselves. A few of the gym teachers are aimlessly walking around in circles, making sure that the morons don’t kill themselves or something.

Cicadas start buzzing. Suddenly, everything just gets even hotter and I notice the sweat on my forehead.

“God dang,” Sharon whoops. “When’s fall coming?”

“Never,” I grumble. I sweat like a pig. All fat guys do.

And there’s a little moment of peace. Even though I’m practically baking and dreading having to ride in a vehicle with no AC, I’m reminded of the luck I’ve come into and how quiet things are going to be on the bus.

What’s sort of funny is how in a different way, something else also reminds me of it. Something brown, oblong, and covered in bumps. Something that comes into contact with my face when I least expect it, and something that hurts like a motherfucker when it does.

There’s a brilliant flash of pain and then I’m bent over clutching my eye, seeing out of the one that isn’t hurting that there’s a little football lying at my side.

“What the hell?” I grumble to myself, snapping myself out of it and standing straight up.

Sharon, next to me, bursts out into laughter.

I remove my hand from my eye and silently gasp when I see no blood on it, but it doesn’t help that my eye is still throbbing and stinging and I can’t even see out of it. What I do see out of my other eye is something that surprises me and doesn’t simultaneously:

In the field next to the bus loop where a few kids were tossing the ball around before, Andre is doubled over, laughing his rotten little ass off.

There goes my joy.

“I’m going to kill him…” I mutter menacingly.

“Doug, you can’t kill him. You’re gonna get fired,” Sharon warns, still with a ghost of a smile written across her pale mug. “Just let someone else take care’a him. He’ll get into worse trouble and probably get kicked off your bus completely.”

Just as she says that, one of the gym teachers begins walking over to the scene where Andre and his friends, more rats that I’m so glad I don’t have to come into contact with including Craig, are still throwing a party now that mean old Mr. Doug is injured. She looks mega pissed and her face is bright red, and even though she’s probably half an inch shorter than me, I wouldn’t wanna get in a fight with her – she isn’t exactly stick-thin.

I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s definitely yelling at the bunch, and it’s kind of awesome. I’m sure I’m not the only one who yells at Andre on a daily basis, but it’s great to see it happen right in front of me, especially since he’s basically cowering in fear in the shadow of the gym lady.

In fact, I can’t help but to smirk right at him, hoping to convey my hatred.

While he’s getting screamed at, Andre casually itches his nose with his middle finger standing straight up like it’s the most normal thing in the world. In turn, I stick my tongue out at him. I’m not above taunting children.

The gym teacher ceases her discipline and points a finger at the culprit one last time before turning around and beginning to walk towards me. As she trudges, her face is wrought with discontent and it seriously looks like she’s going to kill me, even though I’m not the one at fault.

But once she’s close enough, she smacks on a fake smile and says, “Hey, I’m sorry for what happened back there. Are you okay?”

My eye twitches – the one that’s injured. I touch it on a whim and instantly regret it, grunting in pain under my breath. Still, I don’t want to cuss this lady out so I just grin and bear it. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can just yell at him when he starts riding my bus again.”

“You’re a bus driver here? I’ve never seen you around,” she asks, cocking her head and putting her hands on her hips. She’s got a thick Hispanic accent.

“Well, I’m not a pedophile…and if I was, I sure wouldn’t come here for kids…”

There’s this awkward silence for a split second before the coach just bursts out into laughter, doubling over and going crimson in the face from snickering so hard. And I’m stuck there just wondering how the hell that’s supposed to be funny when I meant it with every fiber of my being…

She takes a breath and stands straight up again with a big smile, trying not to laugh again.

“It’s true,” I shrug weakly.

“How’s your eye?” she cuts to the point. “Do you want some ice?”

I peel my hand away from my injury and she instantly drops her mouth in shock. “Oh my lord, it’s all bloodshot. He must’ve hit you real good.”

I swallow an incriminating remark and bite my lip.

“Yeah, you need ice. I’m gonna go get some from the clinic,” she tells me, turning on the heel of her running shoe to trot away toward the junior high’s nurse’s office. “Wait here.”

The lady doesn’t take more than a minute to pop back out of the clinic, jogging back to the bus loop with a frozen pack of ice to possibly soothe my wound. I wouldn’t give a crap if she took the whole day. I got a bag of frozen peas back at my apartment. Ice melts outdoors. Peas stay frozen indoors.

And it doesn’t really help as far as I know, since I can’t even see how bad it is, but apparently it does do something good since the coach lady says so. The swelling reduces a bit.

“Again, I’m real sorry this had to happen,” she apologizes again. “Andre…he’s…”

“A troublemaker, a moron, and a rebel who won’t keep his hands to himself,” I finish. “You’re not the only one who’s gotta deal with him.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that, too,” she laughs a little.

I say, “Me too.”

She takes the ice pack out of my hand and moves my arm away from the bruise, nodding to herself when she sees my eye. “The swelling’s gone down, but it’s still a little bloodshot. That should go away pretty quick, though. Can you see out of it?”

“Not really. It’s all puffy.”

“It’s gonna look like hell for a few weeks, then,” she continues to grin sadistically. “Don’t worry. I gave him a referral.”

“I’ve done that at least five times and he’s still annoying,” I grumble.

“Boy, I’d hate to have your job.”

“It’s better than being surrounded by kids for six hours,” I tell her. “At least I only have to deal with ‘em for about one hour.”

“But kids riding the bus can get away with so much more than during school hours. I know. I was a student once,” she smirks. “It’s like the six hours are concentrated into one hour with no rules.”

I arch my eyebrows in disbelief. “Hell yeah, there’re rules. Nobody follows ‘em, though.”

“Exactly.”

“Nah, I couldn’t go six hours without hurting one of them.” The ice is melting in my hand and still feels somewhat cool.

The woman cocks her head. “I thought you said you weren’t no pedophile.”

“Nah, if I touched ‘em, then I’d be that. I just feel like killing them. There’s a difference.”

She laughs quietly, but even if I can barely hear it, it seems genuine. “I like you, nameless bus driver.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I do. What was your name?” she asks.

I hesitate but tell the lady anyway. “Doug.”

“Like the cartoon…?” she says slyly, tilting her head at me.

Sneering, I snort, “Of course not. That couldn’t possibly be a reason why people heckled me in high school so much.”

She keeps smiling, regardless. “Well, anyway, I’m Mercedes. Just in case you wanted to know.”

“I’ll remember it. Don’t you worry.”

“Keep your eye on ice when you get home. Don’t drive with that thing in your face. And you might want to invest in an eyepatch – that’s gonna be a shiner.” She winks at me from over her shoulder and turns to walk back to the gaggle of students gathered in the middle of the main field about to go to the locker rooms.

Damn, my eye hurts.