Take Me (556 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by The Walrus (View user info) at 2004-09-13 19:23:40 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
The first day was always the hardest. It took me at least a few days to memorize the route I'd be taking every morning and every afternoon, five days a week, ten months a year.
I had driven the route once before, without actually picking anyone up, as a practice for my first real day. Despite this I still found myself constantly checking the small sheet of paper at my side, "Gordon Hargrove, 137 Wideline Lane". I passed a small sign on my left:
"Entering Forest Grove, Population 465."
Forest Grove was a much different town then where I had moved from just a few months ago, the suburbs of San Francisco. This small town was hidden away in the abyss of society. It was mostly overgrown with woods and foggy clearings, habitat to seemingly hundreds of endangered species, making me fear hitting even the smallest chipmunk in case it has a spot on the list as well. It seemed as though the town's population was entirely made up of parents and their elementary school children, it had nothing that would be able to coax anyone in between to live there. The town has only one business, a small connivence store at the "center of town." It was a bit different then what most would think of as a center of town, a bustling business center for the whole community. This was more of an infrequently used intersection with a small shop tucked neatly into one corner.
I glanced again to my left, "Gordon Hargrove, 137 Wideline Lane".
I didn't hate the small community by any means, the peaceful state of rarely used roads and the occasional small house surrounded by overwhelmingly large pines and oaks was quite relaxing to me actually.
Besides, now there were only 22 kids to pick up, much easier than the 45 I had outside of San Francisco. Maybe I'll like it here. I turned into Wideline Lane, steering the large yellow bus into the narrow one way street. Almost immediately I sighted a small child, hand in hand with his mother, waiting at the end of one of the gravel driveways.
He was your average 3rd grader it seemed, his hair was trimmed neatly into a buzz cut, round glasses fit snugly against his small face. He wore his shorts dangerously high, obviously the work of his mother, who herself looked a bit like a high school geek, with her own ridiculously large glasses and unkempt hair.
I pulled the lever below the dashboard to my right, swinging the doors open slowly with the creak of an under funded transportation system. I smiled and spoke a hurried hello to the couple before watching the child hug his mom and then skip gaily up the short set of stairs leading to the aisle between the seats.
He chose a seat a few rows behind me as I closed the doors and began pulling forward. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the two newly divided family members waving to each other. Next up, "Lindsey Fulton, 456 Carmel Drive".
The same goodbye procedure was performed by Lindsey and her Dad, and then by the next eighteen kids as well. It was slightly irritating, but I tried my best to smile and carry on.
I had just two more stops to go and pulled up anxiously to the next driveway. But this time it was slightly different. There was no one waiting hand in hand with this kid. He was bent over, apparently watching something on the ground below him. His clothing was loud and didn't match in the least, his shorts were nearly down to his shoes, obvious hand-me-downs. His hair was wavy and uncombed, shaking ever so slightly as he stood up and made his way to the open doors. But his eyes were what was most intriguing, they each seemed to want to do their own thing, struggling against each other to go this way or that. He wobbled slowly up the steps, mumbling incoherently to himself about airplanes or something like that.
He fell into the seat directly behind me, suddenly going quiet as the other kids whispered amongst themselves. I watched him briefly through the mirror situated above me as he gnawed gently on his knuckles. I figured everything was okay and continued on my way to the school, picking up the 22nd and final student a couple blocks down.
I turned into the school entrance, the small brick buildings ahead of me quickly became more visible. The school was just two medium sized buildings, placed side by side with a small field in front. It looked like the work of severe maintenance issues, small patches of grass and weeds sprouted up randomly amid the clumps of dirt. Rocks were strewn about, as if scattered by playful children. A few kids played tiredly in the field as I pulled up beside it. The kids all stood up from their seats, grabbed their nearly empty backpacks and filed out slowly, chatting loudly amongst themselves. Thinking everyone had left the bus I began to close the doors and get up from my seat to briefly check the bus floors for any items left behind by the forgetful students. Immediately after standing I realized not everyone had left, there was still one kid remaining. In the seat directly behind me sat the wild eyed child, still gnawing on his knuckle.
"It's time for school kiddo," I said quietly, "you have to get up now."
He looked up nonchalantly before going back to his knuckle.
"You have to go to school now," I said again, this time a little bit louder.
To this he looked up again, then reached down and lifted his backpack with the hand he wasn't using as a chew toy, and began to stand up. The backpack pulled his weak body back into his seat though, and he began to chew his knuckle submissively yet again.
"You want some help?" I asked, "here you go."
I pulled the backpack up onto the top of the seat in front of his, my own. He responded by slowly removing himself from the seat and wobbling uninterestedly towards me, turning so I could place the light book bag on his shoulders. As i rested it on his back he stumbled, luckily I caught him before he had the chance to fall. He made his way slowly down the stairs, withdrawing his fist from his mouth.
His knuckle was raw and bleeding.
I watched him go, wandering apparently aimlessly, but slowly making his way to the door. He passed the other kids without even showing any realization of them being there. He disappeared inside the swinging door, leaving me staring in wonderment towards the cloudless sky between the two structures. Who was this kid?
I pulled out of the driveway, my mind still drifting back to the mystery child. As I stopped my bus at the end of the short drive I glanced to the sheet on my left. "Harold Kanina, 323 Cantercourt Lane." So his name was Harold. A whole lot of good that does me.
I continued on my way towards my small apartment in a bordering town, parking the bus in a designated spot I had received from the landlord a few days before. I climbed out and made my way to the door and up the stairs to my simple flat.
A week passed by, the school's rhythm began beating itself into my brain. Drive the kids there, drive them back. Drive the kids there, drive them back. Over and over, repeating itself endlessly day after day. Every stop a parent performs the same agitating goodbye and hello hugging ritual. It was driving me nearly out of my mind. Except for one stop I looked forward to and dreaded at nearly the same time.
Every day Harold would be waiting there, mindlessly staring at his fingers, rubbing his hands in the dirt, tapping the mailbox impatiently, as if he simply had no interest on what went on around him. I don't think he did anyway. Then he would climb onto the bus and take the seat directly behind mine, where he would begin chewing on his knuckles again. Occasionally I'd tell him to stop, but he ignored my pleas. His knuckles were raw and bloody every time he left the bus.
But on the second Tuesday I was driving the bus, Harold was occupied with something else as he waited. In his hands he held a small slip of paper which he was bending and staring at intently. As I pulled up he, as usual, looked over calmly and uninterested. He climbed the stairs slowly, still studying the paper between his small, stubby hands. As he reached the end of the top step he stopped in front of my chair. He paused there for a few seconds, staring at his paper. Then he looked up briefly and glanced into my eyes. He held the paper outstretched towards me. I leaned over to read it, quickly realizing it was actually a postcard. On the front was pictured a cactus, framed against a setting sun with massive sand dunes in the background. "Tucson Arizona," it read, "Home of the Giant Cacti."
Harold let go of the picture with one hand, using it to tap his fingers against the front.
"Take me," he said in a soft voice, "Take me."
"Take you there?" I asked, "No, I can't do that Harold, I'm not allowed to."
He waited a second, still gazing intently at the card, "Take me," he repeated.
"No Harold, sit down, you need to go to school"
He brought the postcard back towards him, pinning it against his chest. His eyes now looked up again into mine, sadness now spread across his lonely face. The first expression I had ever seen him make. Then he let the postcard fall to the ground and made his way to the same seat directly behind me. He didn't even gnaw on his knuckle this time, he just sat and stared at the floor of the bus beneath him.
I reached down and picked up the postcard, placing it next to the list of bus stops I still kept by my side. Then I continued on, picking up the last kid on the way to the school, and then letting them all off. Harold left at the end of the line without even an effort to resist. Not that he would have done it verbally, his eyes spoke for him. He rarely said anything, and when he did it was short and to the point. But his eyes showed all, they were insane, unlike anything I had ever seen.
I left for home, the sad expression on his face still imprinted in my mind.
The next day Harold again got on the bus with a postcard, this time of a huge, solid rock face. "Yosemite National Park" it read in the corner. He showed it to me, then proceeded to tap it violently.
"Take me," he said while staring at the ground.
"No Harold, I told you yesterday, I can't take you anywhere, go sit down now"
"Take me," he repeated.
I only shook my head, not wanting to argue with the adolescent any longer.
"Take me!" He yelled out to no one in particular this time, before letting the postcard slide out of his hand to the floor and sitting silently in the seat behind me yet again. The whole bus stared, astounded, at the kid in the front row. The kid with the crazy eyes. The kid who spoke but two words. The heart broken kid seated directly behind me.
I reached down and picked up the card, placing it on top of the one I collected yesterday before continuing on my way. It persisted in this fashion for a couple weeks, every day the youngster brought a new postcard, I have no idea where he found them all.
One time he even brought a postcard featuring two naked women on skis atop a snowy mountain. "Megeve, France, Where Dreams Come True" It read. It occurred to me briefly that I shouldn't keep it, because of the risk of being caught by my boss with it on my dashboard, displayed for all the small children to see. But I couldn't throw any of them out, and so I placed this one on the bottom of the stack, now growing increasingly large.
I was so fascinated with the child that I became nearly obsessed, every day after work lying on my mattress, staring at the ceiling, wondering what would be pictured on the next postcard to reach my bus. I couldn't help but feel simply awful for the child. Who knew where his parents were, did they even take care of him? What was his family like, where did he keep finding these cards? I only know he wanted very badly to go somewhere, anywhere, to see the world. The way he stared in amazement at the postcards led me to think he had never set foot outside this boring town.
After another week it started driving me mad. I couldn't do anything to help this kid, I didn't even know what the hell was wrong with him. Where did he belong? Why did he come into my hands? What the hell was I supposed to do? It all made no sense to me, I surely wasn't the brightest man in the world, but I'm not sure if even the wisest could understand this kid.
And so it continued. Day after day, always a new card, always the same two words reaching my ears, "take me, take me, take me."
*****
Monday morning, it marked the second month of my job. In the eyes of the "Boss" I was doing quite well, I was always on schedule, I never missed a pick up. I was earning enough to provide for myself and my small apartment.
It couldn't have mattered less to me.
7:46 AM. Harold climbs onto the bus. In his hands is a card, "Miami Beach" it reads. On the cover is a steady, sandy slope leading down to the ocean's edge. Small, gentle waves lapped against an outcropping of rocks on the right side of the card. It was a relaxing picture to say the least.
"Take me," he mutters, hope still edging in his voice.
"No," I answer abruptly.
He doesn't even try again, he simply drops the card and moves into his seat. Miami Beach now has a place in my stack of cards.
We continue on to the school, pulling up alongside of the small field outside of the two brick buildings. The students file out, one by one.
Except for Harold.
He stayed glued to his seat, eyes staring at the ground.
"Harold we're here, you have to go now," I said in the gentlest voice I could muster.
He wouldn't move. I leaned against my own seat, facing his. He slowly lifted his eyes up from the paper, finding mine and gazing into them. He maintained the eye contact for seemingly minutes on end. Neither of us moved. The school bell rang, class had started. Harold still didn't move. His eyes finally drop from mine to the floor.
I sat back down in my seat and closed the door. I could wait no longer.
I began to drive away. I drove over the highway towards my apartment, I could see the run down brown building I called home on my left as I passed by. I glanced into the mirror, Harold continued to stare at the floor without interest or excitement. I drove through towns and across highways, gradually coming to terms with my choice. Finally I could see our destination ahead. I slowed the bus down as I reach a closed gate before me. Attached to the gate is a sign.
"Sudsbury Lake, Closed to Business:
Hours: Friday - Saturday: 8:00 AM to 10:00 PM.
Sunday: 1:00 PM to 8:00 PM"
I turned right and continued down the road before pulling up alongside a small clearing a little ways down. The bus was clearly visible, but it didn't matter at this point. I began to get up from my seat to get Harold, but I had barely turned when I found him waiting quietly next to me. Eyes aimed, as always, towards the ground.
I pulled the lever and opened the door to my right, Harold strode down the steps, gently lowering himself to the soft earth below him. He briefly glanced around before looking back down to the ground he stood on. I followed him down the three small steps and grabbed his tiny hand, leading him across the street to the small chain fence bordering the closed public beach. From here we walked slowly against the wall towards the direction we had just came from, his hand still pressed into mine.
Finally we stood before the large rusty gate that barred the way into the sandy beach we needed so badly to enter. Here Harold released his grip on my hand and slid through a small gap between the red iron bars, showing a gracefulness I never envisioned he possessed. He waited on the other side for me to climb over, jumping down beside him. Then he began to walk towards the ocean, then his legs started moving faster, he was jogging now, now he was running, now he was sprinting, as hard as he could go. I strode alongside him, trying to keep pace. He finally reached the sand and threw himself down on top of it, pushing his hands into the beach and letting the sand slide on and off of them curiously.
I sat down in the center of the beach, watching the child entertain himself. He played in the sand, he climbed onto every rock, he dipped his feet in the ocean, he dug holes in the beach, he ran freely from place to place, enthralled by his new surroundings. Hours passed and he continued his fun. He had just finished digging his deepest hole yet when he stopped abruptly and stood up. He walked slowly towards where I was seated, avoiding my gaze. Then he sat next to me, staring straight ahead towards the horizon before him. We sat there together for a few minutes, perfectly peaceful, the silence interrupted only by the restless sea and the occasional squawk of a lone bird. Then Harold started to fidget a little, and then he all together turned towards me, daring to look into my eyes. What I saw in his eyes was no longer a mystery. I didn't see insanity, I didn't see confusion, I didn't see an incognizable gaze. I saw a child. That's all there was.
A voice called out behind me, but I dared not break my gaze, I didn't want to lose him again to mystery. I needed it to stay this way.
The voice got close enough for me to make out the words "Hey you! Hands over your head and step away from the child!"
I didn't even turn around.
"Step away from the child now sir!"
Neither Harold or I made a move. We stayed completely still.
Countless seconds passed. Minutes maybe? I lost track.
My arms were now pinned against my back by the man's strong hands, but it wasn't important. I understood.
User Reviews
Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 12:37:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment