Nobody Can Say It's You

28

Alswyth could almost feel the palms of her hands moisten as she stared at the gargantuan yellow cube in front of her. The muscles in her shoulders pulled tightly against the cords developing in her neck.

She had never wanted to drive a school bus.

Her feet felt glued to the pavement - two concrete boulders penned inside size eight leather sneakers. These big creatures could be hard to manage on the curvy mountain roads.

She licked her dry lips. No sense putting off the inevitable. She willed her wrist to grasp the guide bar, hoisting herself inside the contraption.

The odor of sweaty kids slapped her in the face. For the thousandth time she wondered why in the world she'd taken the classes and passed the exam to drive this thing.

But she knew why. 

That empty wallet in her right hip pocket held nothing but her school identity card, her driver's and bus licenses, and a couple of wads of lint that had lived in the corners for god-only-knew how long.

Besides, Cordell had run off. 

What other choices presented themselves? 

The twins needed to eat. She did too, for that matter. 

She slowly shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth. 

She would never describe herself as between a rock and a hard place. Those two monoliths had ground her into dust ages ago.

Alswyth knew she'd only herself to blame. She knew Cordell. She knew he was unreliable. He'd gone out of his way to show her often enough when they were dating. But still, her heart was set on him. She'd made him hers, and he'd left her with a bed of thorns and monthly bills.

She cranked the bus, letting the motor idle.

"God help me if one of my girls gets sick," she muttered.

Although she loved her mother and the old ways, she refused to even entertain thoughts of putting her daughters lives into her mother's hands. She shook her head violently. The cloudy images that threatened to break into her conscious mind scattered. Her vision cleared.

Her eyes shot up to the mirror above her head. The aisles of Bus 15 were relatively clear of candy wrappers and homework papers. A tiny grin curled the straight line of her lips. Even after all these years, she thought, nothing much had changed. The old bus looked very much the same as it did when she'd ridden it as a kid.

Besides, in three days, the schools would be closed. Teacher workdays. No pay for her, but at least she and her girls could spend time together. A gift, she decided. Definitely a gift.

She turned on the windshield wipers.

How long had it been raining? Three days? Four? She'd lost count. Every creek and stream had overflowed its banks.

Her fingers beat a nervous patter on the steering wheel. She stared out onto the soggy landscape. There was something laying as heavily on her as the low clouds outside, but she could not put it into words.

She glanced back at the house. It was too nasty for the girls to go to school today. They could use the time off. They were good girls and had been working extra hard to help her around the house. One day off from school wouldn't hurt them at all. Everybody deserved a break now and then.

She pressed the gas pedal and steered the ungainly vehicle down the muddy path that served as her driveway.