Late Bus 7
I stand outside on the curb of the bus lane, while wearing earbuds and holding my phone in my hand. I watch as the other late buses come, pick up some students then leave. It’s 4:19 but the bus lane is still empty. Tired of waiting, I sit down on a bench and text my dad, the cold biting my hands as I type.
“ Can you pick me up from school? I don’t feel like waiting for the late bus “ a few seconds later, dad responds.
“ sorry Clara, but I’m very busy at work today ”
“ It’s ok, “ I lied. It wasn’t ok that I had to sit here in the cold. But just after I send my reply, my bus comes rolling in, and I get up before the driver can even open the door. When they do, I tell them my address and they write it down on a piece of paper. I sit down and lean against the window, watching as ten or so other kids get on the bus, tell the driver their address, then sit down. Eventually the bus roars to life and I drift off into my music.
I’m snapped out of my trance when the music on my phone cuts out. Dangit, I lost Wifi. I spend a minute or so fiddling with the settings, but give up when I see that I’m almost at my stop anyways. Even though the late buses have an inconsistent route I can always tell when I’m getting close. I look out the window and watch as we pass the usual landmarks. The garden with the pink and white flowers, the weird old shed, and then my house. But we don’t stop. We make a turn, and I’m about to say something when the bus stops and lets a kid off.
Ok, so maybe the driver is just letting the kids on this road off first.
We go, we stop, a kid gets off, we go, we stop, a kid gets off.
The bus makes another turn, and we keep going, right past my house, again. Maybe there’s another kid that needs to get off somewhere else? I sit up and look around at the rest of the seats.
Empty. I’m the last person on the bus.
They probably just missed it.
“ Hey! I think you missed my stop! “ I yell to the bus driver. They don’t answer.
“ You missed my house! “ I yell, louder this time. Still no answer. Frustration starts to boil inside of me. This is getting ridiculous, so I put my phone away and head over to the driver.
“ Turn around, you went by my house, “ I say, shaking their shoulder. When they still don’t reply, I shake their shoulder more violently.
“ Are you deaf or something? I said turn the bus around! “
Again, still silence.
Maybe screaming in their face will get them to listen. But my rage quickly turns to panic when I see their face.
Their eyes are completely empty, like dolls. Like not a single shred of life or consciousness lay behind them. And their face is completely expressionless. I have no idea what is wrong with them, but I definitely wouldn’t describe it as alive. A sudden feeling of dread washes over me.
I need to get off this bus.
I’m not sure why, but I immediately go for the wheel, and try to get the driver’s hands off of it. But no matter how hard I claw and pull, they won’t budge. So instead I drop down to the floor, and just as I suspected, the driver’s foot is glued onto the gas pedal. But maybe I can push down the breaks and it’ll over power the gas? Or at least brake the wheels or something so the bus would stop anyways. I push down on the breaks as hard as I can but nothing happens.
I start to panic. I try everything and anything to get the bus to stop but nothing works. I can’t get the bus to stop, and I can’t jump out a window or the safety hatch because we’re going too fast. But maybe I can call for help. I raced to my backpack, took out my phone and called 911. My phone rings, then the call cuts out.
No, no, no, no no! This doesn’t make sense!
I try to text my dad for help, and tell him to call the police or something.
Message failed to send
I try over and over again, trying nearly everyone on my contacts.
Message failed to send
Message failed to send
Message failed to send
Message failed to send
Message failed to send
Message failed to send
Message failed to send
Message failed to send
Message failed to send
The scarlet red text hovers over my many, many failed attempts to contact someone. Tears began to sting my eyes. There’s only one thing left I can think of to do. I sit up on my knees and open the window, and I scream for help and bang against the bus wall. And I keep on screaming and banging until my fists bruse and my throat aches so much it hurts to cry. Eventually I give up and slump down in my seat and hold my knees against my chest.
It’s dark out now and my phone is almost dead. I’m tired, I don’t want to close my eyes, but sleep ensnares me in its grip and I dream of an empty nothingness.
The sound of sirens blaring outside the bus wakes me up, and I realize I’m laying on the floor. My entire body aches as I pick up my head to see the entire front of the bus crushed. And underneath the wreckage, lay the bus driver. Still completely expressionless, not even a single wrinkle or tinge of fear crossed their face. The bus walls around me are dented and disfigured. It looks like they could collapse at any second, so I scream for help. This time, two firefighters pry open the back door and pull me out of the wreckage and onto a stretcher. I later found out that the bus had driven two towns over from mine until it ran out of gas and crashed into a freeway. I don’t go on buses anymore, but sometimes I still have nightmares that I never got off of that late bus.
