Scotter and I are outside on the intersection in front of our home, waiting for the slow moving behemoth that will soon consume her and take her away. She is less nervous than I am. Today is the first day that she will meet the beast, but it is harder on me than on her. While she waits patiently, I stand there awkwardly, the geeky parent fidgeting more than his daughter.
And then I hear its roar as it slowly changes gears just out of sight.
Our street curves out of sight about thirty yards from our house. The trees and homes of our street form a tunnel that amplifies the sound of the beast as it changes gears. This low pitched roar is a familiar sound, one I hear all the time during the school year. But before this day, it had always come of the children of others, never for mine.
It lumbers into view, its dull, metallic hide glows ominously in the dusky 7:00 am light. It slows down and suddenly its yellow and red eyes begin to flash and blaze a hungry warning. The grill of the monster grins wickedly at me. (Wasn’t it Calvin Miller who once wrote “Love smiles. Evil grins”?) As it rumbles to a stop, its stubby red signs awkwardly extend out like vestigial wings, no longer capable of supporting flight. They too flash a red warning.
As it stops in front of us, its hungry maw folds open and a complete stranger beckons her in. She kisses me, turns and bravely heads for the mouth of the beast. Right before she enters, Scooter turns one last time for a quick wave. Then she vanishes into its belly. It hisses at me, and slowly rolls away with her inside.
And my prayers go with her.
1 comment:
I think I rode that very bus back in 1986 when I started the 6th grade. It looked about that old then, too. Bartolo.
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