The Bus

WARNING: The following story did actually happen. It was July 2nd, 2012.

Yesterday, I saw the new movie: "Ted" with my brother, dad and friend Gregory, who apparently showed up at the theater with his father. Today would be the day that I‘d be attending a new summer school because I was enrolling in middle school (seventh grade to be exact). As the short bus arrived at my house, I walked into the nearly unfilled minibus, went to the very back and put on my seatbelt. All was calm as the bus pulled off; the radio channel was on 105.7 The Walrus. I didn't realize, unfortunately, that what was going to happen next would change everything for the better...

The bus reached a gated community; a garbage truck blocked us, but we managed to get past it. We eventually came up to a corner and the doors opened. It was about five minutes or so that I waited to see if someone would come out and just to my luck, I was right. What appeared to be a kid, the size of an elementary school student, stormed inside the bus without a word. He came up to the very back of the row next to where I was, and sat down. The bus driver then approached him to put on his seatbelt; but as he did, a squeal emanated from the boy. Then the driver went back to his seat and began to push the bus south. The kid behaved a little weird from here, covering his ears while squealing like a pterosaur and banging behind the other empty seats of the bus. From there, I knew that riding here wasn't going to be easy.

Once off after witnessing the horrid aspects of the outside world from my bus seat, I met up with several groups of kids and saw two identical twins whom I told my story to, although the twins didn't mind. The rest of my day went by fine, but it was fairly humdrum (like a majority of my days spent there). Nothing except paperwork activities after another to influence our lexicons. When it was time to go home, I was seated in front of another teen who had a hearing aid in his ear this time. He seemed fine, so it didn't bother me. It was from there that another kid boarded the bus and sat in the exact same spot from where I was earlier - right next to that unlucky guy. He acted hysteric and spat several times on purpose. Halfway through the bus ride, I heard squealing and window pounding from the back. It felt surreal. The second time it happened was when we were back in "his neighborhood" blocked off again by another truck. Finally, the bus driver went to go investigate what was going on - only to find the boy all upset by the taunting of the other kid. I was on the verge of tears when a man - possibly a parent - approached the bus. The doors opened and the child alighted in silence. I was greatly horrified by the incident, and I rang my parents about what had happened when I got home. While my dad seemed to take it, I thought my mom’s explanation made it look like I was a bit of a psychotic. Was I?

The next day, I sat in the front seat, watching the kid board the bus again. Upon hearing the kid‘s shenanigans, I told another boy sitting a row beside me. The rest of the day went by normally; not to mention, the whole summer school went for a hike. I made the decision to interrogate the boy about yesterday's episode as we headed back to school. I approached him, looking him square in the eyes and asked him these three simple questions:

'''What happened? '''

'''Why did the kid attack you? '''

Did he taunt you?

The kid just glared at me, muted. When the buses came to pick us up after school, I noticed that the boy wasn't on the bus - it was eventually confirmed that he rode home with a parent, much to my relief. My relief that he wouldn’t have to suffer from that spitter kid. For those next few days, the kid didn't get on the bus to go to school and back. But every time he was shrieking, I plugged in my ears - which hurt, but burned to do so. This sort of behavior would occasionally last a few minutes, but whenever we’d pull near Solana Pacific - he would just stop. Now that I think of it, I feel that I was drawn more attention to the kid rather than school.

One post-school day, I was waiting for my bus to arrive but there were three others that blocked it from view. My bus driver approached me and as he led me over to my bus, I heard that same squealing. Inside the bus, I looked and saw it all - tears streaming down his face with the spitter boy (déjà vu) standing beside him. This was the best outlook I had gotten of this kid’s taunting. When the bus driver located the boy to his seat, he tried to calm him down but the kid was all upset. Like I was, too. It’s got me thinking: Why does this happen? He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to see his toxin anyway. While riding back, I saw that same spitter kid reaching out his arm towards the traumatized kid and that's when I blurted out: '''"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!" '''Much to my surprise, he complied with me and didn’t touch him for the rest of the ride. Just like how it should’ve been. Thinking back, some force wanted me to sit next to him before the ride, but by then I was too afraid. Dancing Queen played through the speakers as we came back to the neighborhood to drop off the boy. The once upset kid was now cheered up and perky, appearing to make some funny faces while moaning; I assumed it was one of the other kids who cheered him up from back there. Likewise, he never seemed to be bothered about waiting for his parent during that time - it was about a two-minute wait. Despite all that, I was still given the creeps. During the final two days of my second week, that's when I noticed the boy sitting in the front (instead of the back) and whenever he'd get on the bus, he didn't bother to squeal nor even for the whole bus ride! Well, that was until after I alighted from the coach when I saw him clogging his ears while squealing briefly. I didn't mind him this time. Then came Friday, July 13th. The boy's mom told the bus driver that his son was going to school and back, and it was going to be his last day, too, as he was leaving for summer camp. As the bus ride commenced, he squealed a little longer than before; I clogged my ears and prepared for the worst.

After my day ended, I got onto the bus and saw another teacher or assistant put him in his seat; I thought I heard her call his name. I assumed it was Baldwin, but I wasn’t very sure of it. When all strapped into his seat, the teacher departed and so did the bus. Brace yourselves. Shortly before the kid got off the bus, back in the neighborhood, I heard a brief squeal from behind me, alas, the other boy taunting him again. That's when I spotted his mother approaching the bus and assured him that his parent was here: “Guess who’s here?” He got out of his seat and off the bus as the mother thanked the driver; I sighed in relief that it was finally over with. For the third and remaining week of summer school riding, there was a calm atmosphere. It had gotten the better of me and my mornings, since his departure. Still going back to the past, I always have felt that my summer was a pain - which it was. Rushed as hell that I couldn’t concentrate in middle school by the time it had rolled around.

Fast-forward several months, a run-of-the-mill day at my middle school changed it all. My gym teacher (who works for A.P.E.) said that there’d be a new student attending her class. She mentioned all the details about him; I really didn't know what else to expect. And when they all came down, that's when I saw him... and heard his familiar squealing...

Update / Epilogue - Oct. 5th, 2017
I thought I would end my story just there, but there’s still so much to tell about it. I guess I’ll have to keep it to a morsel as it might not be all that compelling as to what I’ve just summarized. I would have this kid for the next year and a half (the duration of my middle school), but as time went on - I stopped caring about him as much. He did develop some more odd behavior (such as “dog piling” on top of me), but it was still the same yet often at times repetitive. I have rewatched my old home movies and sure enough, it seems that he’s been a part of my life since I was four. But that was way before I even gave a damn about him. I’ve grown much stronger of him and the whole ordeal with him has died down ever since then. I’m 17 now and even though, most people would find me insane of writing all this - I just wanted to express myself freely about what those times have meant to me.

I just know that there are more horrible games to play in the real world... I’ll have to risk it all because of the writings on the wall.