A Cherished Fear

In the cool, dampness of the morning, I stood in absolute fear, waiting. My heart was racing, my hands shaking and clammy, my mind screaming in terror. I wore a smile on my face, but it was for my mother's sake. I can remember it bounding to a complete stop. My eyes widened, there was no turning back. My mom let go of my hand, and gave me a nudge. The smile melted from my face like ice-cream touched by the sun. I tried to keep it, but it just wouldn't stay. I started to take that first stride forward, but my feet had been set in stone. In the middle of the sea of my emotions, and the solidness of the road, I turned back around once more to face my mom. She smiled and waved; a gesture to reassure my conflicting thoughts. I stepped up on the first step of that huge, yellow bus, and breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Steve Meyers bellowed loudly with a smile big enough to show every one of his white teeth,

"Hi ya! Take a seat right there, number one!"

This was the epitome of what I remember about my first day of school. I do not remember much of the day, it was all about the bus ride. I was not nervous about school, just riding the bus. I had seen them many times before- long, yellow, a myriad of windows with scrawny children's faces staring out or making questionable gestures. In my mind, a bus was not only filled with school children, but also intimidation. Everything in my body was teeming with anxiety as I waited for the bus, and the longer I waited the more time my heart and mind had to fight each other.

This worry about the bus ride had never transpired before that morning. I was a child extremely happy about the thought of going to school, laying in bed the night before tingling with excitement, unable to close my eyes, restlessly thinking about the day that lay ahead of me. Uno… dose… tres… quatro…cinco… sies…siete…ocho…nueve…dies. Mary, M-A-R-Y. Elizabeth, E-L-I-Z-A-B-E-T-H. Daugherty, D-A-U-G-H-E-R-T-Y. I was going to show my teacher how smart I was. I could count to ten, even in Spanish! No worries about writing or spelling my name, I could do that too. This manner of thinking went on way into the night. The more I thought of to tell my teacher about, the less tired I became. I was so moved with excitement that I had to fight myself to stay in my bed. The clock, on the other hand, was not moving at all. So I lay there and thought of things I could tell my teacher, like why blue was my favorite color. Of course, because it was my brother's favorite color. I eventually grew tired. My eyelids would slide down, then almost immediately pop right back open. There was always something else I couldn't forget to tell her. As the night came to an end, so did my awareness, sleep had taken over at last.

My sister, brother, and I were up before the sun. My siblings however, were no strangers to school. I sat at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal I remember doing all the morning rituals that seem normal to everyone- brushing teeth, combing and fixing hair, getting dressed. The anxiety over riding the bus never hit me until we were outside, waiting for it to arrive. Then, I started to get petrified.

After Mr. Steve Meyers instructed me where to sit, I found myself next to a brown-haired girl. I was still nervous, yet the panic seemed to subside a little. The bus pulled forward. I sat staring out the windshield. The scenery looked exactly the way it did when I was in my mom's car. That may have drowned my fears a little, almost in a comforting way. Finally I turned to the girl, in slight relief,

"Hi! My name is Mary, what's your name?" She smiled, her freckled nose wrinkled up with delight,

"Whitney."

From that day on Whitney became my best friend. In school we were inseparable. She was there for me since the day I needed her most. The day I realized I had bus fright. She eased the worry, and even made bus rides fun. We played, sang, talked, and even ate - although eating was forbidden. Every morning we'd make a pact to save some of our lunch, just to eat on the way home. I think it was the excitement of breaking the rules, and not so much that we were hungry. Sometimes during the winter we'd put our fluffy coats up over our heads and tell each other ghost stories. Other times, we'd play doctor. We seemed to find everything from pencils to erasers in random bones. Some of my fondest memories take place on that bus.

Children are scared to go to school for various reasons. For myself it was the bus ride. All throughout school I never liked to ride the bus. I would try to

think of a million reasons why I should get driven to school, or how to miss the bus. But, now, as I look back on the bus riding years, it wasn't so bad. I have many great memories that take place on a large, green seat next to friends, laughing and giggling. There will always be that bus in life. Things that's fill us with so much fretfulness and unease. It is nice to know that as we grow older, those horrible bus rides can become cherished memories. Although, I must admit, if I had to arrive to my high school graduation by bus, I may have never made it.