03.26.07
Girl in a Tree
I leaned against the steel wall of the bus, my chin propped up against the the cool window frame; my cheek and ear against the glass.
Beyond the glass, what met the eyes was more fleeting; less real. The desert passed. Trailer parks passed. Markets passed. A more familiar wall of trees appeared, and the bus squealed to a stop. My pants slid over the hot vinyl, and my feet fell to the metal floor. I watched my feet and the floor, on down the steps to the edge of the asphalt. The doors folded shut, the engine roared, and the cloud of exhaust warmed my lungs.
I swerved around the potholes in the driveway, following the edge of the shade cast by the trees, and ascended each speed bump as it were a hill. I heard a girl giggling somewhere above me.
It was a familiar voice, and as I turned toward the canopy, I recognized her face. The orange-haired girl.
“Don’t you go to school?”, I scolded and frowned.
She laughed and lobbed an orange down at me. I caught the orange reflexively, and nervously pulled my book bag around to conceal it. I started nervously back to the Mission.
