Page 2 of A Me and You Thing
Agreed. I’ll never understand why school busses don’t have seatbelts. It’s utterly ridiculous.
I return to Abi at the back of the bus. We share a worried look. The rain is now hitting the metal roof so hard, it sounds like hail.
“Shouldn’t he take these curves a little slower?” she hollers over the thudding rain, her voice cracking.
“Yes, he’s scaring me.” I also have to raise my voice.
She shivers. “I don’t like this.”
“I don’t either. Do you think he’s drunk? There’s a beer in his cup holder.”
Abi’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
I nod, wondering if my eyes reflect her fear. We clasp hands for a second in an attempt at comfort.
It doesn’t work.
The hard thrumming of the rain becomes almost ear piercing in its intensity. The anxiety level amongst the passengers becomes tangible. Everyone begins to exchange apprehensive glances. The low murmur of socializing is over; the excited laughter has ended. Our trip has just changed from a happy adventure to a traumatic ordeal. I notice a few of my fellow teachers are gripping their seats with white knuckles. I look down and realize I’m doing the same. So is Abi.
The windshield wipers are working double time, like a video on fast-forward. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such blinding rain while driving—and if I did, I’d pull over and wait until it passed.
We approach a slow-moving car. The bus driver shocks us all by going around it, whizzing past in the oncoming lane on a blind curve.
Abi and a few others scream. I stop breathing altogether as I swallow my fear, trying to remain calm. My heart skips a few beats and my perfect life flashes through my mind. I’ve heard it happens when you experience a near-death moment.
The bus driver throws his head back and laughs.
Laughs.
Fear like I’ve never known washes over me. I grip the locket Sawyer gave me before I left, wishing I was safely at home with him and our girls. It’s one of those moments when I ask myself, “What am I doing here?” I don’t belong here. This is a mistake. A huge, huge, mistake. I made the wrong decision in coming on this trip. I should be home in my safe haven with my sweet family. Not here.Not here.
Joseph hollers at the driver.“Ve más despacio! Ve más despacio!”I don’t need a translator to tell me what he’s saying. It’s obvious he’s telling him to slow down.
The driver hollers, “It’s okay, noproblema.” And he laughs like something is terribly funny.
Nothing is.
A few of the other teachers gang up and holler at him too. “Slow down! You’re going way too fast!”
Some plead with him. “Please slow down. Please, please. You’re going to cause an accident.”
I doubt he understands what they’re saying. He responds with another maniacal laugh, confirming my earlier thoughts that he’s inebriated.
We come to a flat, albeit curvy, stretch of road. Because the overworked bus is no longer fighting against gravity to climb in elevation, it surges forward and picks up speed.
As we approach the next curve in thrashing rain at way-too-fast-miles-per-hour, I suddenly know nothing will ever be okay again. I feel the wheels lose traction, I feel the way we begin to glide on the road, and I know the driver won’t be able to right us. Not this time. Not ever. I see his eyes go wide and his face turn pale in the reflection of the rearview mirror, all of his jovial humor lost in a flash.
And I know.I know.
We’re going off the cliff. I know it beyond a shadow of a doubt. It happens in slow motion, as though it takes hours to fly off the side of a mountain. In reality, I know it’s seconds—vital seconds, just a few mere moments that will rock the very foundation of so many lives. Not just ours. Our families. Our friends. The effects of this moment will be far reaching, just like a ripple in a pond eventually reaches the far shoreline, the news of our crash will reach our loved ones’ ears. And I can’t stand the thought of Sawyer’s reaction. He’ll be devastated.
Do I regret anything in my life? No, not one single thing. I have loved deeply and I have been cherished by a man who is good to his core. I know what it is to love someone else more than myself. I have lived because I have loved. In the end, that’s all that matters.
I ask myself again, do I regret anything?
Yes.
This trip.
