It was my 7th birthday that summer. I had always hated having my birthday during summer recess, and I still do. Everyone is off on vacation, making it near impossible to have a decent party with all my friends. So when I asked my mom for a princess themed party, she tried explaining to me that I should wait until the fall. Being the one-track-minded child that I was, I automatically associated “wait until fall” with “your father will come then.”
I got myself so worked up, so very excited, that I started telling everyone I saw. Guess what! My daddy’s coming home soon!! Just for me! And as I told every person in the grocery store, or on the playground, or the street, my mother just stood with this ignorant smile on her face. It was a combination of being reminded that her husband was gone, and that her daughter was mistakenly excited over false assumptions. But of course, my mother being as passive as she was, didn’t correct me. It wouldn’t have mattered by the time September rolled around, but if she had only told me when I first declared my exhilaration, the unraveling events might not have occurred.
The hard plastic of my Pretty Pony lunch box smacked against my side as I ran to catch the school bus. My mother and I had moved across town into a smaller, more affordable apartment. With the move, I was transferred to a new school, so I was sent friendless to the first day of second grade.
My clean pencil box housed neatly sharpened pencils. It wouldn’t be but a month before all of them would be either lost or sharpened down to the metal piece. But that was okay, because for that day it was all clean and happy and nice. Just like me. Catching my breath, I plopped myself down on the nearest empty seat. I pulled a backpack strap off one shoulder and pulled it around the other side and into my lap. I began picking at a scab on my right knee below the hem of my new pink skirt. I sat fidgeting with my backpack, opening and closing the outer pocket and checking to make sure they were still inside. Ten neatly sealed envelopes, purple, with a little glittery heart sticker on the outside. I got to choose ten people to come to my birthday party, and I was beyond excited. I knew I could make lots of friends by inviting whoever I wanted to be my friend to the party.
I was staring out the window, watching as the people walking their dogs trekked forward, yet moved backwards, as though they were moonwalking. I had started a game counting the number of people wearing jackets versus the number without (it was a fairly cool day for early September) when the bus slowed down at the next stop. The few moments afterwards seem to move in slow-motion when I recall that day, though I’m quite positive that it was all happening at a normal pace, if not quicker.
As the dog walkers came to a halt then began moving forward, I looked forward at the bus entrance. Kids, big and small, came jumping up the stairs and ran down the aisle, slapping high-fives to friends and hopping into seats. The bus erupted in excited chatter, though I sat quietly, alone in my seat. But as the door began closing, I could hear a kid screaming to the bus driver to wait. The door re-opened and there he was, climbing those two steps like they were nothing. Billy Vincent. Casual, yet out of breath, he strolled down the aisle and looked for a seat. A few guys in the back popped up and yelled to him. As he raised his hand in acknowledgment the bus driver turned and yelled at him to sit down. With my first-day-of-school luck, he sat right next to me. I scrunched up against the window, careful not to invade on his personal space, but I couldn’t help but breathe in his fantastic scent. Now, I’m not saying I smelled him. He just sort of flew into my nose. I swear to this very day, he was the only third grader I knew to ever wear cologne.
Submission Name: Past My Expiration Date- Pt. 3
