In Order To See Life, You Have To See Death

I talked to Josh about how I will have to get on the bus with “The Stoners”, as I affectionately call them, as we walked through the campus to get home. “The Stoners” are a group of young high school students, many of which smoke both cigarettes, as well as other substances, always try to act cool by spitting at people, and just general intimidate others. Since I, being of sound mind and body, do not like to be degraded, as I do not believe I should, I tend to avoid this lot in favour of sitting amongst some trees a few yards away from their congregation. Luckily, almost all of them leave on the bus before mine, so I only have to go near a handful, reducing my stress greatly.

However, as I await the coming of my bus, I decide that now would be a good time to look through my English novel and get some quotes for the impending essay that I shall have to write. So I sit down on my jacket with a young tree (which I am not on a first name basis with) looking over my shoulder at what I am reading and the wind turning the pages when it has finished. While I read, a bus comes somewhat silently and removes the infestation from my sight, leaving only a few other university students as well as the nicer of the mob of high schoolers. My shoulders relax as I finish waiting for the 8 to arrive; my bus to arrive.

I enter the doors and notice a vacant seat on the left, just past when the senior citizens are supposed to reside. Quickly, I delve into my novel once more, and begin to hear of what the world may be like in a meager 500 years. I continue perusing the page until a person gets on beside me, and I move over slightly and tuck my backpack in front of my lap, and continue on my imaginary adventure. We arrive at the corner of Weber and university when one of my favourite little bus mates (my term, referring to someone who I often see on the bus) boards the bus.

She is wearing a pink parka (who says you can’t be fashionable and functional at the same time?) and carrying on with a few of her friends as always. What I really like about her is her personality. She will talk to anyone when she feels like it, but she is not intrusive. She once had a conversation with two adults she just met on the bus about kidnapping, and stated her points very eloquently.

So, I return to my book again after that minor interruption, only to hear a thud (although the sound was probably something different, my memory is modified every time I recall what occurred.) I looked out of my fantasy world and thought Did we just hit the curb? This simple idea is rapidly proven erroneous as I hear murmurs of a car and an accident. The mundane term does nothing to stop my heart from kicking up a notch. I glance over to my left to see an elderly woman getting out of her purple car which has just hit the bus opposite of where I am sitting.

The next few minutes were a bit blurring as they are bound to be when you begin to panic slightly. I say only slightly since I figured that I would just escape back into my book for a while, lest I be asked to do something. While reading, my mind could not focus on the words, and I started to smell something. Instantly, immediately, I think that something is burning, however, for some reason, I don’t panic. In hindsight, I can only guess that I was not able to make the mental leap required to associate burning with potential explosion and that with death.

Due to the smell dissipated with speed, I return to the story until I am rudely interrupted again. This time, it is the same young girl who I admire so talking to the bus driver. What they say I can’t recall, but I do remember the bus driver asking the people on the bus if they thought it was her fault. A resounding no answered her.

The funny thing was that the same girl overreacted a little, and blamed the senior for the problem. An oriental woman tried to help the girl understand by stating that when you get older, your reflexes are slower. She comprehended that, and for the rest of the time I saw her, she no longer blamed the female in the purple car. She even said that it really was just an accident.

Many people decided to depart the company of the bus driver and the rest of the occupants of the bus as they had places to be, and an accident did not work with their plan for the day. I was fortunate enough to not have anything to do afterwards, so I stayed behind, hoping that maybe I could do something. Why, you may ask. Well, there had been a nice young man (I say young because he was probably in his mid 20’s, which is young in the grand scheme) who had been standing on one side of the car that had hit the bus, making sure that everyone could get around it well.

Then we were jolted forward. Looking out my window on my right, I see a man in a blue car with a long scratch down the side. Seems he needed gas, and since the bus was blocking most the driveway, he tried the old idea of mind over matter. It failed him miserably. His first line uttered? “It’s more on my car then on the bus,” I believe. He thought that the fact that he had been inconvenienced more than the bus driver should make it acceptable. I thought this slightly daft at first, but later discovered that he was trying to have her not call the cops since he didn’t have any insurance.

By this time, the situation had been assessed by everyone onboard, and no one had been hurt at all. This was good. One of my more humorous memories has to be of the bus driver looking the woman’s teeth by taking her finger and moving her lip out of the way. That, and now, as people began to walk of the bus to check both accidents and try to see the next bus. Eventually, I was left alone on the bus.

I sat in my seat for a while, thinking about nothing in particular. After you are in a situation like that, and all the danger is removed, all you can really do is reflect. However, my thoughts meandered back to the idea of having the whole bus to myself, and although I didn’t do anything, I still think it made me feel good to know that I was the only person on the bus for a little while. It gave me some time to think things through, and yet not have to. Simply be safe was enough for a while. But, I finally gave into getting out of the bus in favour of seeing what had happened to the bus itself. I really only stayed on the less damaged side and thought about nothing some more.

I heard sirens. I had an instinct to look to my right even though the sirens appeared to be coming from my left. I had got lucky again, and saw the fire engine round the corner and park on the street behind the senior citizen’s car. They first checked on her and were informed of the situation, and about two minutes later, more sirens were heard and an ambulance arrived on the scene. This was then followed by another ambulance about three minutes later.

But why do I glaze over this part? Because, we all have seen movies and television programs which depict this things as grand rescues and feats of heroism. In my eyes though, the feat of heroism had yet to happen. And so, as I saw the next bus loom ever closer, I knew that my time there would have to end. And as such, I still did nothing, as there was nothing to do. Except wait, and get on the bus when it arrived.

And it did arrive, the whole aged thing that it was. It was in fine working order, I assure you, but after being on one the newest buses, and then being transferred to one of the oldest, it shatters your idea of a chariot to take you home. And the rattling of the bus made me wonder if it was an ominous sign.

If you recall the girl I mentioned early, she was still present at this point. In fact, she sat directly across from me, and said after about three or four stops “What grade are you in?” This question stuck me as odd, but I responded confidently “Grade 12.” “Oh. That’s why you’re so quiet.”

The words made me light up inside, and I turned to look ahead at what was upcoming on our ride, smiling. My mate keep talking to some friends, and said something that astounded me, not because of what she said, but that she said it, and that she was so young (13 or so). “You keep thinking that it is going to happen again.” But, not to be outdone, she remarks less than a minute later “It is almost as if nothing happened.”

The second statement floored me. Not only was it true, but it was almost exactly what I was thinking, and the truly amazing part is that she said it out loud, and that she actual thought of it. I mean, no one was hurt, no one was emotionally affected greatly, and the only things that had been damaged were physical. It was really like it had never happened.

I looked out my window surprised at this little girl still, only to see an oriental woman in a silver car panicking slightly as our bus turned left, and she turned right on the inside of our turn. For a split second though, I thought “It’s going to happen again.” And then her other statement slapped me in the face. And I was amazed all over again.

She got of the bus a stop ahead of me, but she stayed with me somewhat. For when I got off the bus myself, I paused and said “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.” And I sung during my entire walk home.