Status: I got a clue as to where this was heading, and now it's finished.
Bus
35.
It’s the last day of school. May 25th, 2012.
I’m stuck here for next year, too.
As crazy as this is gonna sound…I’m dreading it, I mean I really wish I had a better job, but…there’s a part of me that’s looking forward to the end of summer.
It’s weird, looking at all the kids board the bus with their report cards in hand, making fun of each other for either being nerds or dumbasses, and as I stand outside the bus next to Mercedes, there’s an air to the day that’s making me almost like where I am.
She’s got her arms crossed over her chest just like me, and I don’t know if she’s just mocking me. A small smile is written to her face as she turns to me and asks, “So, what’re you doing this summer?”
I tell her the truth in a shrug. “I dunno. I might visit my sister or something, depending on how things are going for her. I don’t need a second job, really.”
“We need to hang out,” she grins as she bumps her hip into mine.
I look back at her and smirk. “Well, I wasn’t exactly planning on dropping all contact with you come summertime.”
“Good,” Mercedes tells me. “I need to take you on a roadtrip this summer. We’ll drive all around the country, just you and me.”
I can’t tell if she’s serious, but if she is, then my response is honest. “That’d be cool.”
There’s really nothing that sets today apart from the others aside from the fact that it’s the last day of Yuma Middle School’s 2011-2012 year. It’s an extraordinary kind of ordinary. I’ve smiled to myself after dropping everybody off for the last time, and yet none of those grins have matched up to this one. It’s a combination of things. Even though I’m saying goodbye forever to the eighth graders like Cadence and Amy and Hector and Josh and Sara, when they say goodbye to me, I wish ‘em luck in high school. They may not need it. I know the seventh graders who are gonna be eighth graders next year are gonna need it, but something tells me that none of them are gonna end up as pathetic as I am right now, writing to you about probably the most violently bittersweet school year of my job/life.
~~~~~~
There are things I’ve had to wrestle with in writing this.
For starters, how do you give life to something that sucked the life out of you day after day, month after month, year after year? I’ve been trying to figure that out for years now, and I guess this year happened and I’ve wanted to just write it all down as honestly as I could. There’s not a lot of beauty in my job, and I’ve known since forever that there’s not a bounty of happiness in my general life. There are things that have happened this year that have made me feel more than I have any other year being a bus driver. There are ways that it has intersected with my personal life in a way that I either despised or appreciated.
It’s hard to make something so grudging seem like something that truly exists out there. A middle school bus isn’t the friendliest place nor the most welcoming safe haven, but it’s there. That’s one thing I’ve learned. Anything has its ups and downs. If I’ve taken anything from this ordeal, that’s the thing that rings the truest. If you focus on the negatives, it becomes a villain; if you focus on the positives, it turns into a hero, and nothing is ever that black and white.
I hope you’ve taken something from this, at least. If nothing else, I hope you know what kind of writing to avoid if you hated this entire 66,000-word torture session, and well, that’s something. I know I’m not charismatic and I’m bad at making things sound pretty and I understand if you grimaced throughout the whole thing, especially if you screamed at me for being a pessimistic asshole. I’ve read Catcher in the Rye; I know where you’re coming from.
And I won’t tell you to respect everybody you cross paths with. I will tell you to respect whoever gives you their time and shows that they care about you as a person, because if they’re sacrificing their precious time to be in your presence, then there’s no reason for you to be a dick to them. I’ll tell you not to be an ungrateful little bastard when you’ve got people around you that a lot of people don’t even have.
Most importantly, I will definitely tell you to not stand up while the bus is moving, to not throw shit in the aisle or out the window, to not scream at someone who sneezes at you the wrong way, and to not cuss at your already-irritated fucking bus driver. It’s for your goddamn safety, okay?
Thank you. Thank you for your time. I wish you well.
I’m stuck here for next year, too.
As crazy as this is gonna sound…I’m dreading it, I mean I really wish I had a better job, but…there’s a part of me that’s looking forward to the end of summer.
It’s weird, looking at all the kids board the bus with their report cards in hand, making fun of each other for either being nerds or dumbasses, and as I stand outside the bus next to Mercedes, there’s an air to the day that’s making me almost like where I am.
She’s got her arms crossed over her chest just like me, and I don’t know if she’s just mocking me. A small smile is written to her face as she turns to me and asks, “So, what’re you doing this summer?”
I tell her the truth in a shrug. “I dunno. I might visit my sister or something, depending on how things are going for her. I don’t need a second job, really.”
“We need to hang out,” she grins as she bumps her hip into mine.
I look back at her and smirk. “Well, I wasn’t exactly planning on dropping all contact with you come summertime.”
“Good,” Mercedes tells me. “I need to take you on a roadtrip this summer. We’ll drive all around the country, just you and me.”
I can’t tell if she’s serious, but if she is, then my response is honest. “That’d be cool.”
There’s really nothing that sets today apart from the others aside from the fact that it’s the last day of Yuma Middle School’s 2011-2012 year. It’s an extraordinary kind of ordinary. I’ve smiled to myself after dropping everybody off for the last time, and yet none of those grins have matched up to this one. It’s a combination of things. Even though I’m saying goodbye forever to the eighth graders like Cadence and Amy and Hector and Josh and Sara, when they say goodbye to me, I wish ‘em luck in high school. They may not need it. I know the seventh graders who are gonna be eighth graders next year are gonna need it, but something tells me that none of them are gonna end up as pathetic as I am right now, writing to you about probably the most violently bittersweet school year of my job/life.
~~~~~~
There are things I’ve had to wrestle with in writing this.
For starters, how do you give life to something that sucked the life out of you day after day, month after month, year after year? I’ve been trying to figure that out for years now, and I guess this year happened and I’ve wanted to just write it all down as honestly as I could. There’s not a lot of beauty in my job, and I’ve known since forever that there’s not a bounty of happiness in my general life. There are things that have happened this year that have made me feel more than I have any other year being a bus driver. There are ways that it has intersected with my personal life in a way that I either despised or appreciated.
It’s hard to make something so grudging seem like something that truly exists out there. A middle school bus isn’t the friendliest place nor the most welcoming safe haven, but it’s there. That’s one thing I’ve learned. Anything has its ups and downs. If I’ve taken anything from this ordeal, that’s the thing that rings the truest. If you focus on the negatives, it becomes a villain; if you focus on the positives, it turns into a hero, and nothing is ever that black and white.
I hope you’ve taken something from this, at least. If nothing else, I hope you know what kind of writing to avoid if you hated this entire 66,000-word torture session, and well, that’s something. I know I’m not charismatic and I’m bad at making things sound pretty and I understand if you grimaced throughout the whole thing, especially if you screamed at me for being a pessimistic asshole. I’ve read Catcher in the Rye; I know where you’re coming from.
And I won’t tell you to respect everybody you cross paths with. I will tell you to respect whoever gives you their time and shows that they care about you as a person, because if they’re sacrificing their precious time to be in your presence, then there’s no reason for you to be a dick to them. I’ll tell you not to be an ungrateful little bastard when you’ve got people around you that a lot of people don’t even have.
Most importantly, I will definitely tell you to not stand up while the bus is moving, to not throw shit in the aisle or out the window, to not scream at someone who sneezes at you the wrong way, and to not cuss at your already-irritated fucking bus driver. It’s for your goddamn safety, okay?
Thank you. Thank you for your time. I wish you well.
♠ ♠ ♠
This is really weird, writing this author's note, and it was really odd to write the chapter description. This kind of rotted away on my computer for a while and I never really thought that I would end up finishing it, because I just kinda jumped into it without an outline and fizzled out. It's taken me almost three years to write this thing and every time I went back to write a chapter after a few months of nothing, it was kinda like coming back to an old friend or something. I don't know. Writing Doug just came naturally to me. Probably because we're both pessimistic assholes. Something like that.I'm really thankful for all of you 25 subscribers and anybody who has contributed to the 40 comments on this; this has been the second most well-received story I've ever posted on Mibba (the most well-received one...well, I'm not proud of it anymore) and I'm glad you enjoyed this. Whether you loved or hated Doug or any of the other folks that sprouted up along the way, I hope you could at least tolerate one character at some point; sometimes they were a little frustrating to write, haha. Thanks to anybody who has hung on for the entire story despite the hella sporadic updates.
And reading through the comments the other day, I noticed that there were a few people who said that they felt sympathy for bus drivers. (I feel you, guys.) This whole thing stemmed from the fact that the bus ride to and from school was a huge contribution to my anxiety and hatred of junior high, and then I had to take a step back and think about how much shittier it is to be a bus driver rather than just a kid riding it. Doug kinda wrote himself after the first few chapters and it became natural for me to write 'im. (That's probably a bad thing.)
Erm, sorry for rambling. Point is, thank you for reading and I wish all of you the best! :D