I missed the bus this morning with some other mother’s kid, a seventh-grader who lives on the cul-de-sac behind us, who Peanut and I see most mornings when out for our walk. He’s small, and sweet, which is a very Southern description and not one I usually use, but he is, in such a way that I’ve never mentioned he should come over and play because my children would eat him alive.
Today, he was several steps ahead of us and in a hurry, and I didn’t say “Good morning,” because I knew why he was rushing. He was about to miss the bus. But Peanut wanted to catch up, not understanding that her friend might be in a little trouble, and so we trotted close enough that when I stepped on an acorn, he heard it and turned.
“I think I’m going to miss the bus,” he said.
“I think you’re going to, too. We don’t want to slow you down.”
“OK! I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” he said, and he hurried on.
Seconds later, we both saw the bus pull up to the distant corner, and he turned around again, shrugging.
“Guess I missed it,” he said.
“Don’t you think if you run, they’ll see you and wait?”
“Maybe. Bye!”
And he ran a few steps, but the bus pulled away without noticing him.
“Oh, well,” he said. “Now, at least, I can stop and pet Peanut.”
So he did, and then he went to tell his mother, I suppose, that he needed a ride to school.
And I stood there with the dog, thinking how different some people’s lives must be, yet, still, so very similar.
And then Peanut and I walked home to start dragging the boys of Shady Brook Lane out of bed.
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| Once upon a time, the Neumann kids were at the bus stop on time. |
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