Glow in the Dark Bus

By: Allison Norris

We leave our house at 7:14am to arrive right at 7:30 at the home of the family I nanny for. I started in August, so leaving at 7:14 was really no problem – birds were chirping, the sun was (sometimes) shining, and people were out walking their pets and children. Now, it is dark. Cold. I know I should be sleeping. Baylor woke up at 5:15 this morning according to my clock which was just tossed back an hour for daylight savings. I started thinking about riding the bus all the way through high school until I got my license. So dark, and then for a month it would be light again at my stop… until it got dark again.

The earth was always wet and the tall trees blocked any light trying to fight its way into our yard. I would sometimes wake up cold, if the fire had gone out downstairs. The tile on the bathroom floor shocked my feet and chilled my bones while I waited for the water to get warm. A space heater hummed, slowly heating the room. Our shower head made a loud squeal sound that would start ferociously, but died down to a whine by the end of the shower. It was a real bummer the year that something died in or near our pipes and warm misty animal death would waft up through the drain while the squeal joined it in the room. My mom or sister would join the steamy stench to use the toilet or wash their face, making me scream to stop using the water while I was in the shower. Three women. One bathroom.

My sister and I would scramble to find something to wear, often times arguing about who it belonged to. Then a massive hunt through the tub of socks to find a matching pair, but remembering that it wasn’t a PE day, so nobody should notice if one sock had a grey stripe across the toe and the other one didn’t. Wet hair twirled into a bun. Piece of bread with peanut butter wiped across, and out the door I went to wait with the neighbor boys in the dark for the lights of the bus to make their way around the lake that we lived on. Louder and louder it would become as it approached our stop. I’d shiver in my sweatshirt because coats weren’t cool and my hair was still wet. The nearest streetlight was at least 100 yards away, and the darkness from the tree shadows reminded me that I was small. The boys wouldn’t talk and it felt even colder.

Finally the bus found its way to us and the warm air hit our faces as the doors opened. I’d climb inside and find a friend to sit next to. A 20-minute ride full of stops, turns, and bumps started my school day… in the dark.

My sophomore year, I finally figured out that my neighbor across the street could drive and I convinced her to wait every morning for me to run out to her silver car, until I could drive. After that, it was blasting heat and mixed CDs all the way. On my drive to nanny at 7:14, I pass kids waiting on the bustling city streets waiting for their big yellow ride, lattes in hand, faces illuminated by flashing crosswalk signs and headlights.

Although it was dark, and oh so cold, I can appreciate the still silence in the trees against the smooth lake with the nearing sound of a school bus in the background. I can also remember the sound of my mom saying “shit” when that nearing sound was not so near, and had in fact already come and gone.