A Seat
There are people in this world who, in passing, in just a mere moment, can alter our lives for the rest of our lives.
For both the good and the bad.
Doctors. Priests. Educators.
I think of these people when I find my better tendencies slipping.
But none of them more than the girl on the school bus.
I think of her from time to time. I want to know that she's OK, that she's happy. That life has treated her as well as she treated me.
I think of her whenever I think I should give someone what they've got coming to them (or bestow upon myself what I think I'm entitled to).
I don't know her name, and I never will.
---
In 7th grade, my young life was a disaster.
I could barely function, let alone fend for myself, in society. I had gone from a well-adjusted, popular student excelling in advanced classes just a few years before to being a perpetually ridiculed recluse with no friends, struggling to make D's.
I was weak, a bit overweight. Never a smile on my face.
My stop was the last stop, so I always stepped aboard to a packed school bus. There were still some seats, but the bus driver didn't seem to care much if no one would let me sit down.
It probably offered her some early-morning entertainment, just as it did for the other kids.
I remember seeing those short buses pull up to school with the handicapped kids. I wished to myself that I could ride on one of those instead. Maybe I'd fit in better there. Perhaps I'd get a seat.
One morning, I was late to the bus stop. I saw the bus pulling off. I had on a cheap bookbag loaded with books. As I ran to the bus, the straps broke. The bus stopped. I could hear all the kids laughing at me. My books were scattered all over the pavement and my knee was bleeding. I gathered my books in my arms and climbed aboard.
Everyone was looking at me, pointing, jeering. I didn't know how I was going to stand up for the whole ride to school with all the books in my hands. Every eye I looked into reflected cruelty and hopelessness.
Then, I heard her voice.
It was a deep-timbered voice for a middle-school-aged girl. It had the inflection of the Southern black woman who spends her spare time singing in a Gospel group. Warm and sure and real.
"Come here, baby. You sit next to me."
She slid over next to the window and patted the seat. I sat down next to her.
---
I don't remember the rest.
All I can really conjure up is the pain and embarrassment of it all.
I can remember the confusion, then her voice, then sitting down, then ... nothing else.
That nameless girl didn't make all the pain go away, but she did brand me indelibly with an undeniable truth: It's always a good thing if you can make people feel like they're not all alone.
10 comments:
I love it when you make me feel what you're feeling. That's the true mark of a great writer, Eric.
It's one of the reasons I think blogging is such a wonderful find - you can put your thoughts down on the page and then good folk will say they understand and appreciate what you're saying.
Blogs are better than those group therapy sessions. You don't have to leave the house.
Junior high was some bad years.
Yeah, junior high sucked. I was friends with a bunch of people that I didn't even like.
My family was like a pack of gypsies. We moved ALL the time. During my 5th grade year we made the mistake of moving into the most popular girl's old house. She never forgave me. I had stringy blonde hair and coke-bottle glasses. I was skinny and a book worm.
The kids used to dunk my head in the water fountain and TP my house. They'd invite me out places and then never show up. It was awful. Somedays I wish I could go back to that time and protect my little self. Somedays I wish I could find all my classmates and show them my wonderful quality of life.
And somedays I'm just glad for the lessons it gave me. I use them and remember them daily. They make up who I've become.
Very true, and beautifully told, Sugar.
thanks, cindy.
duckie, i never thought i'd say this ... but big ups to the west coast massive.
simon, it's interesting how little people disagree with you. i guess it's one of those things where you just don't say anything if you don't have a positive thing to say. interesting. except not in politics, i've noticed.
jay, i see it less as therapy and more as being sure to share when somebody does something brave (that's a little bit of hyperbole, but then again everything is around here).
tom, what think about something like this usually is that i hope i can teach my children to be the good kids and stand up for people when they most need it.
rusty, ain't that the truth? it's strange how that works.
tink, you and i might have been friends. :)
usually imagining going back and protecting yourself is another way of keeping people at arm's length. even today, if someone's lied to me, i can feel my anger as someone who constantly felt preyed upon.
the strange thing is ... when i was in high school i became very popular. and let me tell you, the experiences before that helped turn me into quite a mentally abusive asshole in high school. there were times, particularly out drinking, that i became the exact people that girl protected me from.
that's an important lesson, i think.
i still battle it a bit with a tendency to mask weakness with detachment and bravado. it's all about how you react to how your life unfolds.
queen, i can't tell if you're talking to me or tink. but i agree (with her, that is).
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7th grade was a miserable, awkward experience.
I copied, pasted and printed this and attached it to my computer monitor with other quotes I love:
"It's always a good thing if you can make people feel like they're not all alone."
So simple, but so undeniably true.
belle, i'm glad it makes you think about that. because it's just another way to express the central thing that makes humans good.
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in'it.
"that's one word, not two. in'it. see? in'it."
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