I Try To Forget That Flash of Time.
I got stuck behind a school bus.
For some people, this would be a source of frustration. My gut-level response is a sense of disappointment because I won’t be able to drive as quickly on the road as I normally do.
But on this particular day, I was in no rush. And the school bus was on my own street.
In other words, it was our school bus. In fact, it was the same school bus that my boys can ride home from school every day. They can – although they usually stay after school for an activity or make-up work or a walk to the plaza.
Still, I know this bus. Dylan and Shane (supposedly) get off at the second stop. In fact, most of the kids get off at the second stop.
The only child at the first stop is a little girl who went to kindergarten with Dylan. I remember her long, midnight-black hair and precious, tiny-toothed smile. She was quiet and bright and beautiful, and I secretly hoped that someday Dylan would have the good sense to marry her.
I remember her well because, even on her first day, that little girl would ride the bus all the way to the second stop by herself. Even though it’s only about a quarter-mile, I thought she was so brave to ride alone on that giant school bus.
But on this day when I got behind the bus, and it stopped at that same first stop, I hadn’t seen that one brave girl in a long time. Sure enough, though, she hopped off alone, and waited for the bus to pull away.
As it did, she turned her head to look at me, that same long, midnight-black hair swooping back behind her, And she smiled, shyly, as I drove past. I briefly stopped breathing.
Her smile was dazzling. She looked like she’d stepped off the cover of Seventeen magazine. With her black backpack slung over one shoulder and her quick gaze, my mental snapshot was something you’d find in college catalogs and romance movies.
That little kindergartener is now a beautiful high school senior. In a flash, she went from 5 to 17 – just like Dylan did. After all, they are the same age. But with my kids, I try to forget that flash of time.
I try not to think about sitting outside with my toddler, waiting for Dylan to bound off of the school bus with smudges of paint on his shorts and his latest finger painting in hand. I try not to remember how my boys would jump from the bus and “climb” onto the low-hanging branch of a tree that’s long been cut down. I try to forget the way we would all run together down our long driveway, me worried about their “big” feet causing skinned knees. I even try to forget after-school snacks of berries and milk, back when we shared snacks. At the table.
Most of all, I try to forget how long, long ago all of that took place.
And from now on, I will try harder not to get stuck behind that school bus.