riding the bus

My recent trip down high school memory lane (see "Oh the things you see" Oct 13) has reminded me of another guy I had a memorable relationship with in tenth grade, specifically, my bus driver. When I started riding the bus, I would sit wherever I could. Usually, wanting to sit as far away from the other kids as possible, I would end up sitting right behind the bus driver. He was a cute college student with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. At least I think they were blue. You have to remember, this was fifteen years ago. Before too long, he and I started talking. We would talk about all kinds of things; religion, books, people, I don't remember what all. The way the route was set up, I was the last one off the bus, and it was about a two hour ride for me (It didn't start out that way, I don't know if it was changed to that by coincidence or design). Soon, if I couldn't sit right behind him, I would move there when everyone else got off. We talked and talked. We had really good, long conversations. Now it never occurred to me that cute guy+great conversations=potential romance. I was kind of a late bloomer, and even though I had had crushes on guys, I didn't really know where crushes went when they progressed. Also, I was very out of touch with my feelings, and it was only later that I started to identify and catalogue many of them. Like, after I started getting action. "Oh, that feeling means I'm horny! Hey, I really wanted that guy in high school! Who knew?" Yeah, I was dumb. Plus, to me, the bus driver was an "Adult," even though he might have been as young as 18 for all I know. Just like missionaries and cute teachers, he was off limits, because he was grown up and I wasn't. And why would an Adult want a fifteen year old? It never occurred to me that he wasn't actually that much older than me.
One day we were driving along a narrow gravel road, and a truck was driving the other way, going really fast. When the truck passed us, the driver didn't get far enough over and his trailer hit the driver side mirror on the bus, spraying me with shards of glass and pieces of the metal frame that flew in through the open window. The bus driver (I wish I could remember his name!) stopped the bus, asked if everyone was ok, then ran off the bus and yelled the crap out of that other driver. Then he came back, came and kneeled (!) in front of me and that nasty bus floor, took my face in his hands and gently turned my face to each side as he checked me for injuries, then checked my hands and arms. As he did this, he asked, "Are you ok?" Being struck dumb temporarily, I just nodded yes. "Did you get cut?" he asked. "no," I mumbled. I could barely breathe at this point, and was very star-struck by him at that moment. "Man, what a jerk!" he exclaimed, "You could have been really hurt!" He was so mad, and so worried, I was really surprised by the intensity of his reaction. I thought it was sweet that he was such a good bus driver to show such concern for one of us students. I retrospect, I believe that if I had been a little less naive, and a little more forward, I think I coulda bagged me a college man that year. Oh well. It's probably all for the best. I'd hate for the poor guy to have gotten himself arrested or something. Why didn't I see that there were guys that thought I was interesting and treated me well instead of pining away for dorks in my class that didn't even know I existed? *sigh* That's the way it goes I guess. The orchestra director also liked me, I think, but that's a tale for another time. :)