I dropped the speech and debate team and then drove to the library. I found a parking spot for my bus and shut it down. The library was up around the bend of this narrow, one-way road that circled a large city park. Before I got out of the bus I pulled a sandwich out of my lunch box and starting munching.

The day outside was gray with heavy clouds. The wind was picking up. It looked cold, but my outside thermometer said it was 55 degrees. A little girl caught my attention. She was riding one of those push scooters with the tiny wheels—push, push, coast, push push coast. She may have been eight years old and couldn’t have weighed fifty pounds. She wore brightly colored stretch pants and a purple coat.

She swerved off the sidewalk onto the grass hopping off the scooter as she did. The little wheels didn’t want to turn in the grass. The front end bounced along while the back end flipped flopped one direction and then the other. The flipping and flopping didn’t seem to bother her.

Then she hopped back on the scooter and started pushing again. By sheer will power she made the scooter work on the grass although the moment she quit pushing the scooter stopped. She was heading toward the empty playground.

She let her scooter drop to the ground as she exploded into a run. She flung off her coat as if she were uncovering a superhero costume on the way to a dramatic rescue. She didn’t seem to notice the gusting wind, the dark gray sky, or the fact that she was completely alone. There was no hesitation or wonder at this playground—it was as familiar and unworthy of comment as the light switch in her bedroom.

She leapt onto the wiggly stepping stones and deftly ran across them. She navigated the rope bridge and then climbed he slide tower. She slid down one slide, then ran up another. She disappeared into the covered slide. I watched as her feet appeared at the bottom. Without touching the ground she turned around and climbed back up. She was inside that slide so long that I began to worry. She had just disappeared. I had to look at her scooter and her purple coat, both lying haphazardly feet apart on the lawn, to assure myself a little girl really had been there.

To my relief she finally emerged from the top having completed her mission inside. She retraced her route back across the equipment until she came to the monkey bars. Like said monkey she swung from bar to bar, her body sometimes turning 180 degrees as she hung by one arm, until she reached the other side. Then she turned around and went back.

As suddenly as she had started she was finished. She dropped from the monkey bars and ran to her coat. She put it on, both arms at once, with one swift movement. Picking up her scooter she rode it across the grass forcing it push by push with her skinny leg until she came to the sidewalk. There she picked up speed.

I don’t think she noticed me or my big yellow bus once. She was lost in another world. Her face expressed one emotion after another as she spoke or sang out loud.

Then she was gone.

I’ve been outside on calm days when dust devils, as unexpected as snow in July, have overtaken me. They throw up dirt and debris into my face and then end just as quickly leaving me breathless and wondering. That’s how I felt as the girl disappeared.

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Bus Driver’s Diaries: Stories from the Driver’s Seat is now available on Amazon.com

Bus Driver’s Diaries: Stories From the Drivers Seat