Aurora 2021 Mag

Mary Goss

Bus Stop

The boy was at the school bus stairwell before Don could open the door. Chuckling softly at the new kid’s enthusiasm, Don checked for traffic before whisking open the double door escape. “That’s not his stop,” Jason said from the punishment seat directly behind Don. The words barely carried from the first row. Don quickly checked his overhead inside mirror to gauge the youth’s expression. Jason didn’t care for anyone. “He’s only been here a week,” Don said. “He’s probably going to grandparents.” “He doesn’t have any. Luke just got here. He’s having a hard time of it.” Jason looked around and shut up. Don watched the lad scuff his shoe and glance back at the bus before walking determinedly away. “He’s only seven,” Jason whispered. Perhaps, Don decided, it was the overly large backpack the lad hoisted. Or the hard, determined, old man expression on the small-framed figure. The inner debate took only seconds. Don hit the flashers again, then opened the doors. Before stepping out in the convenience store lot, he yelled: “Jason, you’re in charge.” Don knew he had a window of three minutes to spare. Otherwise his supervisor would nag. Again. And his pride would take a beating. The coffee shop gang of bus drivers kept tabs and times. He was leading the route wars until now. He would be certain the lad was safe, not a runaway, and then back to the bus. His bet mattered. “Hey, kid.” Don quickly caught up with the lad at the corner. To the right were downtown businesses. To the left was housing. Maybe the kid didn’t know which apartment building he wanted. “Hey, where’re you going?” “To see my dad.” “Need help? We all do, sometimes. How about directions? I’m good at that.” The lad nodded. Don grinned. This was easy. “Where you headed?” “Which way to heaven?”

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