Status: I got a clue as to where this was heading, and now it's finished.
Bus
34.
A good kind of shitstorm is brewing, and it comes to a head right as soon as I walk through the door of my apartment and turn on my TV that evening.
There I am on the goddamn local news station in all of my unshaven glory, pit stains big enough to swallow Texas, blabbering through the interview right above the headline, “LOCAL BUS DRIVER LEADS KIDS AWAY FROM EXPLOSION.”
Really, all I did was scream at them to make them run away before it exploded.
I keep the TV on for a few minutes, watching my interview before it becomes too painful to watch myself be stupid and awkward. Pressing the “power” button on the remote, I have to take a moment and realize just what the hell has happened today.
Really, the only thing I know for certain is that I’m alive.
And I know I’m alive because it’s one of those rare moments where I feel like I’m actually happy, too. Those don’t come by often, and so I know that when they do surface, it’s for real.
Before I get too lost in thought, the landline phone starts going insane and I rush over to answer it as quickly as possible, and when I yank it up and see the number, I know exactly who it is.
“Hey Carrie,” I say into the receiver, a lot friendlier than normal.
“Doug, how the hell can you be so nonchalant when I legitimately just saw you on my goddamn TV for getting away from a burning bus?!”
Thanks, Carrie. Love you too.
“Okay, first of all, how the hell do you even know about that?” I ask her, dying to know.
She gives me this long-ass grunt that’s full of angst leftover from her teenage years, and then she answers, “I just saw it on the news! It was a little snippet, but it was enough for me to recognize you!”
Since when does a relatively tiny happening in a tiny city warrant full-blown news coverage in North Carolina? “Why the hell did they show it where you live?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care!” she laughs, finally easing up. “Christ, I’m just happy you’re alive at all.”
“Would’ve been awfully ironic if I got killed by a bus just like Sal, right?” I have to laugh too. When disaster just skims you by the skin of your teeth, sometimes it’s appropriate to joke about it almost immediately.
“It would’ve been fucking terrible, Doug. Don’t joke about that,” Carrie darkens the mood while still sounding peppy. “God…I’m super proud of you right now, though. You were really brave, doing what you did.”
I lean against the wall as I talk to her further. “Carrie, all I did was tell them to get off.”
“But that still counts and you saved them from being injured. That’s amazing, Dougie.”
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m experiencing what normal people call “warm fuzzies” right now. It’s a tickle in my stomach that has spread up to my face and is causing me to actually smile.
I remember making a sort of pact to Carrie when she visited a few months ago, one that said that I’d call her at least once a week to tell her about at least one good thing that has happened. I like to think this is a good thing, even if it’s so uncommon that it’s completely out of place. I’m no different. I’m still gonna be the same old bus driver that the kids are gonna disobey and draw rude pictures of, but I think the fact of the matter is that I’ve been coasting away from death for years without even realizing it. Today I skimmed it and missed it by seconds.
~~~~~
The next morning, after dropping the kids off at school in the dinosaur bus and hearing them talk about the news that has practically been plastered all over Yuma, I circle around the bus loop as they leave and see Mercedes standing in her usual spot at the head of the loop, her walkie-talkie in hand. She flags me down and tells me to stop the bus, all the while beaming so hard I can see her gums.
She practically rips open the double doors to get on, and when I open them for her, she flies up the stairs again and nearly tackles me over in my seat. After a few cries of, “Oh my God,” she finally manages to say something coherent.
“I am so glad you’re alive, Doug,” she breathes right in my ear. “I mean, I’m glad the kids are alive too, but that’s a given, so…”
I hug her tightly back, still unsure of how to handle her, but trying my hardest.
“I was really worried when I heard about the explosion but when I saw you on the news talking about it and I saw that you were fine, I was so relieved,” she goes on, still holding me around the neck. “You’re like a seasoned veteran.”
She can’t see it right now, but I think I’m smiling just as hard as she is, and I don’t want to let her go; however, there’s traffic building up behind us as the other buses drop off their kids. She slips her arms out from around my shoulders and kisses me on the cheek like she did on Christmas, and this time I turn even redder, trying to recoil from it when she stands up straight.
Mercedes punches my arm and tells me, “I’ll see you later, okay? Stay safe. Take care of your weird-ass bus.”
I’m smiling like an moron right now, though I’ve lost the ability to give a shit. “I’ll see you later, Mercedes.”
I don’t care that I’m not driving a bus that I know, and I don’t even care that my old one just got destroyed because of some random mechanical malfunction. I don’t care that I’m sitting at home all day watching mindless reruns of bland reality TV shows. I don’t care that half my friends on Facenook have sent me stupid wall posts about being happy I’m alive, and that I know they’re all faking it. And I couldn’t care less if nobody on the bus listens to me today, because for some reason they’re all sitting down and I don’t hear any yelling or cussing.
I can’t explain these things, and frankly, I don’t care at the moment.
There I am on the goddamn local news station in all of my unshaven glory, pit stains big enough to swallow Texas, blabbering through the interview right above the headline, “LOCAL BUS DRIVER LEADS KIDS AWAY FROM EXPLOSION.”
Really, all I did was scream at them to make them run away before it exploded.
I keep the TV on for a few minutes, watching my interview before it becomes too painful to watch myself be stupid and awkward. Pressing the “power” button on the remote, I have to take a moment and realize just what the hell has happened today.
Really, the only thing I know for certain is that I’m alive.
And I know I’m alive because it’s one of those rare moments where I feel like I’m actually happy, too. Those don’t come by often, and so I know that when they do surface, it’s for real.
Before I get too lost in thought, the landline phone starts going insane and I rush over to answer it as quickly as possible, and when I yank it up and see the number, I know exactly who it is.
“Hey Carrie,” I say into the receiver, a lot friendlier than normal.
“Doug, how the hell can you be so nonchalant when I legitimately just saw you on my goddamn TV for getting away from a burning bus?!”
Thanks, Carrie. Love you too.
“Okay, first of all, how the hell do you even know about that?” I ask her, dying to know.
She gives me this long-ass grunt that’s full of angst leftover from her teenage years, and then she answers, “I just saw it on the news! It was a little snippet, but it was enough for me to recognize you!”
Since when does a relatively tiny happening in a tiny city warrant full-blown news coverage in North Carolina? “Why the hell did they show it where you live?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care!” she laughs, finally easing up. “Christ, I’m just happy you’re alive at all.”
“Would’ve been awfully ironic if I got killed by a bus just like Sal, right?” I have to laugh too. When disaster just skims you by the skin of your teeth, sometimes it’s appropriate to joke about it almost immediately.
“It would’ve been fucking terrible, Doug. Don’t joke about that,” Carrie darkens the mood while still sounding peppy. “God…I’m super proud of you right now, though. You were really brave, doing what you did.”
I lean against the wall as I talk to her further. “Carrie, all I did was tell them to get off.”
“But that still counts and you saved them from being injured. That’s amazing, Dougie.”
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m experiencing what normal people call “warm fuzzies” right now. It’s a tickle in my stomach that has spread up to my face and is causing me to actually smile.
I remember making a sort of pact to Carrie when she visited a few months ago, one that said that I’d call her at least once a week to tell her about at least one good thing that has happened. I like to think this is a good thing, even if it’s so uncommon that it’s completely out of place. I’m no different. I’m still gonna be the same old bus driver that the kids are gonna disobey and draw rude pictures of, but I think the fact of the matter is that I’ve been coasting away from death for years without even realizing it. Today I skimmed it and missed it by seconds.
~~~~~
The next morning, after dropping the kids off at school in the dinosaur bus and hearing them talk about the news that has practically been plastered all over Yuma, I circle around the bus loop as they leave and see Mercedes standing in her usual spot at the head of the loop, her walkie-talkie in hand. She flags me down and tells me to stop the bus, all the while beaming so hard I can see her gums.
She practically rips open the double doors to get on, and when I open them for her, she flies up the stairs again and nearly tackles me over in my seat. After a few cries of, “Oh my God,” she finally manages to say something coherent.
“I am so glad you’re alive, Doug,” she breathes right in my ear. “I mean, I’m glad the kids are alive too, but that’s a given, so…”
I hug her tightly back, still unsure of how to handle her, but trying my hardest.
“I was really worried when I heard about the explosion but when I saw you on the news talking about it and I saw that you were fine, I was so relieved,” she goes on, still holding me around the neck. “You’re like a seasoned veteran.”
She can’t see it right now, but I think I’m smiling just as hard as she is, and I don’t want to let her go; however, there’s traffic building up behind us as the other buses drop off their kids. She slips her arms out from around my shoulders and kisses me on the cheek like she did on Christmas, and this time I turn even redder, trying to recoil from it when she stands up straight.
Mercedes punches my arm and tells me, “I’ll see you later, okay? Stay safe. Take care of your weird-ass bus.”
I’m smiling like an moron right now, though I’ve lost the ability to give a shit. “I’ll see you later, Mercedes.”
I don’t care that I’m not driving a bus that I know, and I don’t even care that my old one just got destroyed because of some random mechanical malfunction. I don’t care that I’m sitting at home all day watching mindless reruns of bland reality TV shows. I don’t care that half my friends on Facenook have sent me stupid wall posts about being happy I’m alive, and that I know they’re all faking it. And I couldn’t care less if nobody on the bus listens to me today, because for some reason they’re all sitting down and I don’t hear any yelling or cussing.
I can’t explain these things, and frankly, I don’t care at the moment.
♠ ♠ ♠
Sorry this is a day late! Last night at around five at night, my university lost power and my dorm's internet has been out since then. You'd think the second-biggest college in the US would have like a backup server or something. I guess not. Grumble grumble...Anyways, here's the penultimate chapter, you guys. Yesterday before the Internet went out, I decided to read through all of the comments that are on this, and the whole time, I was smiling like a doofus. I knew there was a big reason why I kept on keepin' on with this story - I don't think anything I've ever written has been this well-received. It's gonna be weird, marking it as "complete." :')