This week is an odd week. It is the fifth (at least I'm counting it as the fifth) week in June. My blog schedule is for four weeks only, so this week is extra. So, I'm going to share a story I've written with you.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who
rode the city bus every day to school. She was an ordinary girl, but
even extraordinary things happen to ordinary people sometimes. The
first time she rode the bus, there were many new faces. All were
adults going off to work, and she was terrified she would miss her
stop, get lost, and be stuck on the bus forever. Maybe she would be
on the bus so long, she would become a ghost, and wander that same
bus for all of eternity.
However, this was not the case, as she asked a benevolent
young woman when to get off, and successfully made it to school.
This was the first of her many
adventures aboard the city bus, and goodness, how many she would
have. On this particular day, she was studying the “usuals;” what she called the
people who were on the bus mostly every day. There was the
grandma-ish lady with graying hair (her nametag said Nancy), and she
worked at a hospital, and the older lady with curly blond hair;
Charles the Accountant, the “Jodi Picoult” lady, named because
she always read Jodi Picoult books, the lady with the bright pink
Kindle and shoes that clopped, the man who read, the lady as old as
the hills (she really did look like it), the young man with the
yellow winter coat, the man only as tall as she was, and the lady
that walked fast. Every day, people were bleary-eyed and tired,
dozing off in their suits and fine clothing. Conversations rarely
started, but when they did, she found them irritating, for they
caused too much noise at too early an hour. Today, she was sitting at
the very front of the bus, in one of the sets of three seats that
faced each other, and, with such an awful lot of things to carry,
what with schoolwork and an instrument, it was a bit of an ordeal.
Her bus whizzed along the highway
quite confidently, being a commuter bus, and having the privilege to
use the shoulder. On this route, few turns existed, but, the turns
that did exist were harrowing. She was ever afraid she would fall,
and, this day, she actually did. She fell with her knees over her
instrument, which had also fallen, and the floor scraped her hands,
although barely. She got up quickly, righted her instrument, and
struggled not to be embarrassed. Nancy, the hospital lady asked if
she was all right, and then put her foot in front of the girl's
instrument so the girl could focus on keeping her balance. When she
left the bus, she was glad she had time to regain her dignity.
This is the first of the many adventures of
Emily Hattinkson.
Do you like to write?
Spruce Nogard
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