i rode the bus to and from school every day until i was fourteen and old enough to drive. in conway springs, our bus number was bus 4. the ride to school was a short five-mile journey, with the bus stopping at only a few homes before dropping us off at at the elementary door. the way home, however, was another story: we were literally the last kids on the route and spent at least an hour on the bus each afternoon, finally getting home after four o'clock most days.
i remember the heat of the kansas afternoons. we pushed in the tabs on all the windows to slide them down and let the wind blow through the non-air conditioned cavern.
i remember the dust that blew in off of the gravel roads, and the way it settled on the backs of the plastic-covered red bench seats.
i remember how the older kids sat in the far back seats, an area off limits to us as younger children. when the bus was nearly empty, the few of us left crept to the back to sit in the coveted spaces.
our bus driver for most of my childhood was a woman named carol. we thought carol was the best bus driver--she didn't yell at us very often, and she listened to radio stations that we liked. at some point when i was about ten, i decided we should buy her a present, and i made a secret collection to buy her a t-shirt with iron-on tranfers that read "bus 4 loves carol." i remember how proud i felt presenting that gift to her. i was sure at the time that she was surprised.
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