Friday, Dec. 14, 2007 @ 1:36 pm
At the bust stop fifteen minutes early. Final exam. It is raining, and the sun is not yet up.
I wait with the same three people each morning. I have never spoken with them.
I watch a crane moving slowly across the dark sky. I watch the chain lower, the men working below. I think about a scene, over and over, repeating parts of it, rewind, fastforward, cobblestones, and the bright blue of the swimming pool. The chain raises, and there is nothing hanging from the end.
I turn around. The three people are gone.
Panic. Look around. The bus is in front of me, stopped at the red light. I run up to the door. Panic. He shakes his head No at me through the window in the door.
Final exam. I was here fifteen minutes early. The dirty bus moves into the intersection.
I run down the block, across a street without looking. I run faster, downhill, around the corner. Final exam. Panic. Run. Run. I can see the stop, and the bus is not yet there. I run.
The bus pulls up to the stop. The door opens, and I step on.
You were going to get us both in trouble. He jokes. I cannot breathe. Final exam.
I sit down and concentrate on breathing. My lungs are thick and are not taking in the oxygen. Tears are streaming down my face, the back of my throat.
Why didn't they wake me from my daydream?