Bus Ride
(this was an attempt to create a short short story)
Ismael turned his head to the window of the bus. This was his first ever bus ride without his parents. The trees seemed flying as the bus speed pass through each one of them.
Why does this trip takes too long to get their? Ismael asked himself after the ride started a few minutes ago.
The bus had blue comfortable seats. Ismael could freely move from his seat to the one just beside him. There were many vacant seats through out the bus as well. Even though the air conditioner was just turned on a few minutes ago, the air inside the bus was cool.
The lady conductor herself looked pretty with her uniform; tight white polo and blue jeans. The driver was very manly with his mustache.
The conductor approached Ismael smiling. She stood in front of him slightly leaning to the seat in front of Ismael’s.
“How old are you son?” the lady said to Ismael while holding the bus ticket
Last month was Ismael’s eight birthday. Just this morning in the dining room, his mother concluded that he is old enough to ride a bus by himself.
“But mama,” Ismael argued. “I can’t”
“Darling, it is just a thirty minute trip,” her mother said smiling. “If I am not busy I would love to go with you visit grandma.”
Ismael pouted as he ate his breakfast cereals. He chewed his food as if gnawing the flesh off a chicken drumstick.
Bus rides gave Ismael chills up his spine. The air inside the air-conditioned buses is heavy, carrying different odors from people sweating heavily because of the cramp space. One time Ismael saw this kid a few years younger than him puking on one of the seats.
“Finish your meal and get dress,” his mother’s voice snapped him back into reality.
Ismael felt his feet heavy as he dragged himself off his seat. He heard the roaring engine of a bus and smelled the stench of its tires rolling non-stop through a day.
“Ismael, please hurry up,” his mother’s voice was getting louder. “Your grandmother is already waiting for you.”
Yes, grandma is waiting for me, Ismael whispered to himself. They had not seen each other since his birthday. Ismael entered his room and approached his drawer. He pulled out a green polo shirt with a crocodile on its right chess side. This was the gift his grandmother gave him. She placed this on her lap as she sat on her wheelchair during Ismael’s birthday party.
Ismael took of his clothes and slowly slid the polo shirt on. He took one of his cargo shorts out from his drawer and then put it on.
“I’m eight years old miss,” Ismael said to the conductor.
“Eight,” the lady smiled. “I guess you’re old enough to be riding alone. Where to son?”
“I am going to my grandmother’s house,” said Ismael as he took out fifty pesos from his pocket. “One to Mintal please.”
“Mintal it is,” the lady gave Ismael a ticket in exchange for his money. “Here son, your change.”
The conductor then smiled one last time and proceeded to the back of the bus. After a few moments, the bus started to slow down. The driver opened the door and a young man stepped in.
Ismael stared at the man. The man was wearing a tight red shirt and tight cargo pants. He seemed to have rosy cheeks and red lips. The man found him a seat across Ismael just as the bus started to move.
Ismael turned his head slightly towards the man. Looking at his side, Ismael saw the man smiled at him. Ismael quickly turned his head back to the window, seeing again the trees the bus passed by.
“You look handsome darling,” Ismael’s mother said to him as he came out of his room. “Seems just yesterday you were my baby, now you are my young man.”
His mother approached him and buttoned his polo shirt. She tacked it in his shorts and combed his hair the way Jose Rizal would do it.
“Here Ismael,” his mother handed him two fifty peso bills as they walked outside their house. “Remember that the fare from Calinan to Mintal is only twenty five pesos.”
Ismael did not bother to listen. He added all the expenses in his thought. Twenty-five pesos from their house to Mintal, add six pesos for the tricycle ride from the highway to his grandmother’s house. Multiply it by two for a total of sixty pesos.
“The extra money will be your allowance for the rest of the day,” her mother drew Ismael back to reality as a tricycle passed by. She called the tricycle and gave the driver six pesos.
“To the bus terminal please,” Ismael’s mother said as she gestured Ismael to enter the tricycle. She waved her hands goodbye to Ismael as the tricycle moved away. When Ismel saw his mother entered their house, he un-tacked his shirt and re-combed his hair using his fingers.
The bus stopped again. This time a woman wearing an all white uniform and white shoes entered. She had a pony tail and small pearl earrings. She walked passed Ismael and sat behind him.
Ismael wanted to look back to closely see the lady, but he could not make himself kneel on his seat the way he always do when his parents were with him. This time, he stayed on his seat, glued his vision to the trees that seemed to be flying. He swung his legs for a while but he stopped them later using his hands as he heard the lady behind him chuckled. He bit his lips and started counting the trees starting over every time he misses one. Over and over again he counted. He can feel his heart pounding his lungs as the lady’s chuckle echoed into his mind. Over and over he counted the flying trees through the window near his seat and then through the window of the seat near the man in red. Counting, yet thinking about the lady behind him.
The tricycle stopped. Ismael got off and saw the bus waiting in the terminal. He slowly dragged himself near the bus, looking down he bit his lips. He counted every pebble he passed by, starting over starting over every time he misses one. Over and over again he counted. He can feel his heart pounding his lungs as the sound of the bus’ engine echoed into his mind. Over and over he counted the pebbles his left foot kicked then the pebbles stepped on by his right foot. Counting and thinking about his grandmother waiting for him.
Ismael pressed the button near the window. A red light turned on then the bus stopped. Ismael stood slowly, careful not to look behind him, to the lady in white. He walked passed the man in red to the conductor who was sitting near the driver. The bus door opened. Ismael steeped down and saw a group of tricycles waiting for passengers near a street intersection. The bus door closed, he took a deep breath and looked back. As the bus moved, he saw the man in red smiled at him. He turned and called a tricycle.
“To Santan Street please,” Isnael said to the driver with a smile.
