High School School Bus

By Jessica Lake

When I was in school I took the bus.

Was it grammar school?

No.

That was close enough to walk.

And yet I certainly know it happened.

Middle school was close too.

For sure I took the bus to high school.
But this was way before that. Middle school would make me 12 or 13.

That’s too old.
Fuck.

Can you see how my memory works? It’s busted. There are no dates, videos, photos, soundtracks, I see scrambled objects. Just a glimpse from the passenger window of fast moving Country Squire Station Wagon. And me narrating some words. I have to guess my age by what size I am.

We lived in a barn red split-level house. I shared a bedroom with my younger brother Jeff and older brother Eddy. And yet I have no recollection of us being together.

You ask, “How can one remember events without dates?” The answer is not very well. Only high school was fare enough for a bus. That is depressing. A seventeen year only still the graduating class fool.

School proved troublesome for me. Everyone hated me? Or being a shrimp—I was a natural target for pranks. I played fool. As in a king’s court. Banana cream pie dripping down my face.

The truth is I was harmless, didn’t fight back, and never complained. I’m pretty sure I kind of liked it.

“Oh, woe is me.”

Back to the school bus.

The driver would stop at my bus stop. Everyone would file onboard. The kids made sure I got on last.

And as I walked down the aisle the kids refused me any empty seat—except way in the back.

And as I walked down the aisle the kids would scream insults, kick and punch me and try to knock books out of my hands.

Sometimes on the way to school the kids had so much fun at my expense that the bus driver had to stop.

Eventually, the bus driver got a great idea.

She reserved a seat for me at the front of the bus. I sat right next to the driver’s kids. When we got to school I had to wait until everyone else got off first.

Problem solved.