Short Bus Kid

A short story that is somewhat about my childhood.

I didn’t want to touch my own hair until I was thirteen. I have very curly hair and on this school day I made sure my mother did my braid tightly so it wouldn’t come undone. I stepped onto the short bus resembling a turtle, each step heavier, more careful. The girl with a slanted face sitting across the aisle yelled at me for looking at her so I sat by a window and looked outside. Kids were loud and made silly jokes. I pretended I was flying along side the trees and then eventually over the trees, away from the bus. 

I was hesitant to go to class that morning. I tried to muster up some optimism, some way to face the routine again. When I walked by other class rooms I noticed there were a lot more desks perfectly aligned and less open spaces. My teacher had first, second, and third graders all in one class room. That made about fifteen students. Although I knew I was different, by second grade I wondered if I belonged there, in Special Ed. 

What I disliked most about elementary school was recess. I always asked my teacher to let me stay inside but they always forced me out. I didn’t know how to talk to other kids. The kids liked to play sports and games or talk about nonsense. I was slow and uncoordinated. I didn’t want to be in the way so I walked out into the field. There was this strange girl, with long wavy blonde hair and blue eyes that was in my same grade. When I was really young I wanted to be a variety of animals and things. She only acted like a cat and stood underneath trees and I thought she was so boring. She also confused me to no end.

“Hey,” she says and then she’d hisses at me. I used to hiss at people the year before this, and knew what she was saying, but I needed to know why she said it. “What?”

“Fight me,” she said walking around while crouching like she was some demented super villain.

I said, “No.”

“Why, are you scared?” she grins.

“No, I just know as soon as I hit you, you’re going to cry and tell on me,” I decided to be frank. We argued for a while until I said, “Fine,” with little enthusiasm. She waves her claws in my direction, only knowing how to scratch like a baby kitten. She was the worst fighter I ever knew. She comes closer with her dirty nails and I lift my leg up slowly and my foot hits her stomach. I quickly put it down ready, expecting her to lunge at me so I could beat her at kick-wrestling again.  Instead she lets out a long whiney, “Owe,” and begins to cry. 

I said, “Why are you crying I barely kick you? I’ve been kicked harder.” She gets up and tells a teacher that I kicked her. She has a low tolerance for pain. "Doesn't she ever feel ashamed of herself wimpy ways?" I thought. I told the teacher that I barely touched her. I was always right. I got a warning from the teacher. Then I got to sit inside and I was fine again.

In class we broke up into groups of four and sit at separate round tables. I was in the spelling and pronunciation group. I always thought this was easy part of school. This day it was words with “TH,” in them. Teacher instructed us to stick our tongue out a little when we did this. I felt uncomfortable doing it, made me look dumb. I didn’t do it.

“I don’t hear you practicing,” she said to me.

“I don’t want to. I already know how to do it,” I said with my serious voice. I didn’t want to fight with her. I decided to practice my words while she was in mid sentence because I thought that would make her content. I was only paying attention to one exercise, I began to make the dumb face and stick out my tongue. 

“I saw that. Don’t be disrespectful,” she said.

“I’m not,” I said. I felt my whole body tightened up. She pulled me aside and her eyes were strange and they were taring my stomach apart. I wanted her to stop standing so close to me. I couldn’t believe I would ever recover from her face being so close. I was scared to breathe on her and held my breath. I wasn’t used to getting in trouble. 

“Look at me. Look at my eyes,” she said. Her voice was calm but serious; I heard the slight change. It vibrated with injustice. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I was looking at the ground, then I look up but I can’t keep my gaze with anyone for as long as she wanted me to. I wanted to cry from being uncomfortable. My arms were by my side. I felt stiff and ruined.

“It’s not okay to do things like that to other people.”

“Ok,” I said. I decided not to argue or try to explain myself. I wanted her to stop touching my shoulder. 

At lunch time I thought about disappearing, but I had no sense of direction. I walked to the tree and then I walked to another tree pretending I was on some kind of journey where I mattered, “Is this almost over?” I walked unto the black asphalt. It was cold and overcast so I decided to put up my hood and lay down on the warm asphalt. It glared, the grey giant sky. I had to close my eyes and let my hands touch its surface. Kids were about 15 feet away. 

I thought, "I needed this place when I was younger but now I felt trapped." 

“Are you ok?” someone interrupts my peace.

“Yah, I’m resting,” I said.

I forget how much has changed, not changed, gotten worse, or improved. I thought I forgot how it felt to be a kid and to feel stuck, but I haven’t. I am still somewhere there under the glaring, grey sky wanting more.

Reviews

[Laminators Dubai]

my breaths are cold...i dont even remember a single thing...
its a really weird but the state of mind of a kid is weird...i know coz im still trying to fit in....
thanks for sharing this write.....