The Bus

The Bus

By Marah Holman

People love to ride the bus sometimes, 

I used to love riding the bus on the way home from school, 

Because during that time, the sun was getting ready to set, 

And it would make its light bounce onto my eyes, causing me to squint. 

It was different on the way to school. 

On this ride, I would be scared of getting my day saver and trying to find a seat fast enough,

Before the driver set off once again. 

I would usually stand where the wheelchairs would go and hold on when the bus sped. 

I was too scared to look around, too scared to see eyes on me when I didn’t want them to be, 

Too scared to walk upstairs for fear of falling when my hands were full of my bag and anything else.

At times, I would brave it and look behind my shoulder to find that there was no one there, 

Those eyes I felt on me, they did not exist, 

And those thoughts about my skirt accidentally riding up my leg were not needed.

Seeing this made me feel superior that I was on the bus first, 

And the people who got on after me had those thoughts and feelings instead.

It’s not that I wanted them to feel that way, or think that way, 

It’s just that I didn’t want to feel that way either.