The Bus Stop

Joi Dallas

Every morning at about 7:14, when I leave the house to walk to the 38 bus stop, I see Bus Stop Boy. He walks on my side of the street, down to Conshahacan Avenue with his little brother. He lives three doors down and has to pass my house, so I know he sees me rush out the doors every morning. He has light brown hair, wears glasses, and is the most freckled person I have ever seen. I only noticed him in the first place because I'd glanced at his face and thought maybe he had a rash before I realized what the strange pattern of dots were on his skin. Sometimes I feel bad for him, having to take the bus even when it is 8 degrees outside. Sometimes, if I forget my ipod, I'll wonder what his life is like, the Bus Stop Boy who lives three doors down.

In the mornings I leave to go to school with my little brother. No matter the weather we can always be seen walking down Cranston Road toward our bus stop. Most mornings I'll see this girl come out of her house right after me. In my head I call her Bus Stop Girl, since I've never spoken to her. She walks down the street, same as me, but on the other side, to the 38 stop at the corner. Sometimes I hear her singing along to her ipod, or just mouthing the words, and sometimes she's smile for no reason. Unless it's cold. When the weather is especially frigid she's still and quiet, and once I saw her crying, her tears halfway frozen on her cheeks. As I said, most mornings I see Bus Stop Girl, but on the days when she's not there I wonder what she's doing and what her life's like.

Author's note:

yea yea i know i ditched everyone but my excuse is...i have none :) oh well reviews are lovely