If my bus routes were women my date last year was a woman who liked reading books in the park and taking long walks on the beach. She might surprise you with a water balloon sneak attack on a hot day, but not often enough to make you nervous.

My afternoon bus route last year consisted mainly of picking up a large load of kids and dropping them off relatively in town. By the time I left town I would only have ten to fifteen kids, depending on the day. My route then meandered on long country roads through alfalfa fields and past grazing cows who may or may not have looked up when I honked at them. Many of the kids would move up near me to chat. It was a pleasant route to end the day.

My date this year is a woman who is pretty enough, but high maintenance. She wants to spend a lot of time with me, which is pleasant, flattering even. She can dance like no other and has great taste in clothes. It’s just that I better pay attention to the hidden meanings in her conversation. Oh, and don’t not notice that she had her hair done. Time with her is exciting, but fatiguing.

Unlike last year’s route, where I picked up big loads and got rid of them quickly, except for the few with whom I meandered through the countryside, this year I pick up one large load and we are together for sixteen long miles. The difference is like taking your wife and child out to dinner at a quiet restaurant four blocks away versus loading your wife and eight kids into a van and driving across the country on a family vacation. It’s an entirely different commitment level.

It takes a while to load fifty to sixty middle school students. They have seating assignments, but I gave up on trying to enforce them within a couple of weeks. Once the chaos of seating is over I get the bus rolling. I cruise at about 5 mph through the circus of the school grounds. There are other buses coming and going, kids crossing the bus lanes in and out of the crosswalks, and new sixteen year old drivers trying to force their parent’s cars into the driveway between the buses.

It’s not until I exit school property and turn onto the city street that I begin to feel the pressure of all those kids behind me. I can feel their energy pressing at the walls of the bus, pushing me toward the windshield. It’s just potential energy, but it could ignite at any moment.  

I have a short stint on the Interstate before I exit. At the exit I turn onto a highway that will take me up over the ridge to the small town where these kids live. This is the point of no return. If I were in The Matrix this is the scene where I have to choose between the red pill and the blue pill. Once I make the turn there is no turning back.

I’m speaking quite literally. Highway 28 is well-enough maintained, but it’s just two lanes with no shoulder and no turnouts. Just a few feet to my left semi-trucks come roaring by at 70 mph. Just a few feet to my right is the edge of the road with an incline that will roll the bus should drift that way. If the bus breaks down I’m stopped in my lane with 65 kids, worrying about being rear-ended.

On the highway the kids have an advantage over me. I have nowhere to stop to correct behavior problems that may arise. In such a narrow lane I can hardly glance in my mirror to see what’s going on in the back of the bus. If the kids ever understood the bad situation I am in on the highway I could be in real trouble. Bus drivers have State secrets.

 When I commit to the highway I focus on the road. The kids behind me are talking, laughing, teasing, yelling. I’ll check my mirror briefly at times. Usually I see a kind of motion among the seats, like choppy seas, although most students stay out of the aisle like I demand. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of hat being stolen from behind and a kid turning to pursue it. Other times I detect a basketball arcing across the aisle. I can get on the intercom and address these issues verbally. So far that’s been enough.

When I top the ridge I can see our little town sitting like a green splotch amid the miles of yellow grasses. It’s just five miles away. Did I say “just”? There’s the saying, “so close, yet so far away.” There is wanting to buy a hamburger, but being a dollar short. There is needing to use the toilet, but somebody beat you into the stall, and you can tell they are sitting there browsing on their phone.

As I feel the energy in the bus growing (I see somebody hop seats) the miles become longer. The bus is moving in slow motion. I hold out my hand and reach, but town ignores me and looks the other way (“Tory, Bart is swearing”). Oh, just let me make it to town one more time.

Finally I reach the sign telling me of the lower speed limit ahead. I slow down to 35 mph as I reach the park. I make a right turn, two blocks, and then a left. Half a block later I stop and open the door. As the first large group of kids get off the pressure is released. The bomb is defused. The world isn’t going to end after all. I will hear the birds sing tomorrow.

I actually like driving bus. Believe it or not, I enjoy getting to know the kids. Many of them are pleasant, and some are downright polite. But to get to the enjoyment part you have to be able to deal with the pressure. The pressure is real . . . especially during that last five miles.

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These books by Tory Anderson are now available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback format: