The Bus Ride

The Bus Ride

by Emily G

Sitting in a crowd of strangers for 5 hours.

Not the way a 12 year old would like to pass the time.

I had to think of ways to make the bus ride bearable.

When you sat down next to me I wanted to crawl away.

Oh no! An old man who would bore me with his anecdotes.

Please don’t ask me questions about myself.

You did start and I was very evasive with my answering.

Yes, I had gotten on the bus in New York.

But I was really from Paris where my father was a film director.

I lived on the Left Bank surrounded by poets and artistic types.

I was an actress and had dabbled in writing children’s books.

I enjoyed traveling around America, looking for inspiration.

Hey this was fun! I could wrap myself up however I pleased.

I’d never see this old man again. He’d never know.

I’d start namedropping – Fellini was my father’s best friend.

He’d never get to unwrap this gift and see what’s inside.

He’d only see whatever wrapping I chose to put on.

He could tell his grandchildren what a famous child he had met on the bus.

The five hours flew by quickly. The trip was done.

I shook his hand with a cocky self-assuredness.

His eyes twinkled with the wisdom of his years.

Somehow I knew that I had not pulled one over on him.

He did know what was inside the wrapping paper.

A bored, self-conscious, awkward 12 year old, yearning to be someone else.