Bus stop

I hated going to school as a young child, especially having to travel on the school bus– having to get onto the bus in front of so many others who often jeered at me, being squashed into the bus, sitting next to people I didn't like and didn't want to sit next to.

The bus was noisy and hot in summer and cold in winter; someone always seemed to be having ‘wars’ with someone else and there was always some ill feeling in the air.

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The timid six year old waited anxiously for the bus to arrive, fighting bravely against waves of dread at having to say goodbye to Dad or Mum. Getting on the already crowded bus packed with noisy kids who would invariably jeer or make fun of her was the biggest challenge she faced each school day. Every morning it was something different – the colour of her jumper, the shoes she wore, the size of her school bag, how her hair was parted – so she never knew what she could have done that day to try and avoid criticism.

She just wished that she didn't always feel so different to everyone else.

 

Once she arrived at school the day would go smoothly, as she usually got top marks for her spelling and reading. However this also drew attention to her and gave her enemies more fodder for tomorrow’s teasing; but still she was never deterred from trying to always do her best.

Going home on the bus every afternoon was another harrowing experience to be endured. If she had had a successful day at school there would certainly be comments made about how ‘brainy’ she was, how she must read encyclopaedias for bedtime reading, how she was just being so smart to show everyone else up.

Somehow the half hour bus trip to her stop passed before the next hurdle came. Would someone be waiting to meet the bus or would they be running late?

If there was no one there to meet her she knew the ritual – get off the bus, and walk about 500 metres down the dusty country road to the first house where Mr & Mrs Byrnes lived.

“Gran” Byrnes and her husband, “Grand Mister” were old people about her grandmother’s age who had never had children but loved everybody else’s as their own. Gran Byrnes was a wonderful cook and always had lovely fairy cakes or chocolate slice or date scones for afternoon tea.

It was a long lonely walk in the heat anxiously scouring the roadside for suspicious creatures and jumping at every rustle in the grass, but she knew that once she reached the house she would have fun waiting for Mum or Dad to pick her up.