The Bus Ride
by
Robert Dominguez
09-22-04
What have I become, where am I going, and what is to become of me? This was just a morsel of questions that I pondered over during a year long period in 92. It was hotter than usual that day as I rode the city bus home from work. I should have been converting to a junior, but instead I dropped out of high school as a sophomore, so a sophomore I still remained. I worked as a grocer at the local food store, each day I would see students after school talking and laughing amongst themselves over who was cute and who was quite the opposite. I overheard talk of prom, football games, cheerleaders, and even college, yet none of what my ears fell upon neither persuaded or altered my view of going back to that which I had so prematurely left. The New Year was upon us and all I could do was glaze over my feeble paycheck as it swayed slightly to the left and to the right rocking with the motion of the bus. Three weeks before school was to start and the only excitement I could muster was enough to look out the window in hopes of catching a glimpse of some beautiful girl walking by, only knowing too well that no good girls would want any dealings with a high school dropout. I gazed outside viewing nothing but a slight visible reflection of myself.
I appeared sad and beat down, and yet still I had no desire or motivation to remedy the dismal apparition of myself. I have become what I have become under my own stupidity and through my actions I will lie in the bed of despair that I have so willingly made for myself. As the old saying goes, one should never cry over spilt milk. The gap was closing and my destination was near, soon I would dismount the bus and go home where I would get ready for another monotonous night followed by an equally long day. I could easily attribute my present state towards others, a fatherless home, my environment, or even an attentionless mother, but the fact remains that what has transpired lies solely upon my shoulders and my shoulders alone.
The bus slowed its speed until it finally came to a complete stop. People began to ascend the bus while the rest of us waited to exit. As I stood in line with my hands in my pockets, I began to scan the crowd through the large windows again. Only this time something unique caught my eye. There was a young student waiting to ride the bus, although what drew my attention was not who he was but rather what he embraced underneath his arm. They were books, blurry and slightly visible through the dirty glass, but books nonetheless. Then it happened, as if some divine entity had grabbed hold of my whole being and shook it violently, as if reason were tangible and given to me to use against the embodiment of ignorance. My love for books has never been a question; prom, football games, cheerleaders, and all other school activities would never have enticed me to come back. When I saw the individual with literature in his possession, I felt that he along with the world were advancing to a higher plateau of intellect as I stayed behind staring upward at the new level of modernism. I no longer wanted to be left behind. I felt like a child trying to catch up with his parents who had long strides, walking with determination. In my mind I began to run faster until I eventually caught up with them, and then I knew what had to be done. I enrolled in that fall, graduated and later went to college, joined the Marine Corps and eventually joined the Dallas Fire Department where I now help others in need. I cannot begin to speculate why books were my beacon back to the shore of reason. Maybe it was my love and admiration for them or just chance. As the old saying goes, one should never cry over spilt milk, but on the other hand no one ever said you couldn't clean it up and pour you another glass.
“Copyright © 2004 by Robert Dominguez Jr. All Rights Reserved.”