"Yeah, it takes like an hour to get like three miles."
"I love it - gives me more time to sleep."
"You don't do homework?"
"Nah, I can do that tonight."
The bus hummed and rumbled through the streets on this particularly wintry day, even for New York. A bright yellow tube, contrasting the gray snow and slush on the ground as well as the blurred collage of clouds painting the sky, leaving the sun to appear as only a dull, whitish hue of light. Most of the trees are dead, or in the process of dying; withering branches howl in a light breeze that passes through the corridors and hallways of woodland in our own backyards. It seemed a dead, alien world, impossible of ever harboring any life, yet it was so close to home.
"I always try to finish homework so I can play the rest of the day," one childish voice piped up.
"Yeah, but that means you gotta do it right when you get home," retorted another.
The voices were those of my two good friends, Jeff and Arden, sitting across the aisle from me, who was in an especially bad mood for whatever reason. Maybe I was tired - I don't remember.
"Hey, how close are we?"
"To where?"
"Our street, duh."
"Oh, I dunno...about five minutes?"
"Cool."
Meandering past rows of suburban ranches and a seemingly endless amount of culdesacs, all piled high with snow, shoveled freshly that morning, I turned my head towards the outside world, tuning out of the conversation going on next to me. Through the fogged window, I could see little, but what I did manage to point out was nothing special: a few kids donning winter coats here and there, playing in the snow or chucking the occasional snowball, a fellow suburbanite, scraping obtrusive frost and hardened snow - unwelcome guests - off the windshields and mirrors their car had, the occasional bus passing ours, like a split image of ourselves, waving back to us, as well as dormant trees waiting for Spring so incredibly patiently. I could never be that patient, I thought.
Finally, the bus halted to a stop for the umpteenth time. The doors, creaking open, exposed us to the bitter, thin air outside. Shuffling down the line of other kids who, too, were wearing multiple layers and rubber snow boots, I could finally hop down off the last step of the bus, bidding adieu to the driver as I usually did. Now Jeff, Arden, and I lived in another duplicate culdesac, the scenery no different than the dozens I passed each day. Another series of Cape Cod-styled homes, painted with a bland palette of colors. Another set of families, following the exact same routine, day by day by day. The sun hung low in the sky, falling steadily, but slow enough to notice no difference; we trotted slowly down the street, making our way home, stopping in Arden's driveway: a heavily sloped and notably icy surface. To break the boredom, we decided to engage in a snowball fight, as most kids usually would in our suburb this time of year. Hastily packing one and shipping the other to our foe, it was relatively fast-paced - exhilarating, up to the point of which I slipped backwards on the icy driveway, landing hard on my back. It wasn't much of a hassle to get back up usually, but since I was in about four layers of thick clothing, head facing down on the slant, it was exponentially more difficult than I was used to. Arden saw this as a ideal comedic opportunity. While I was in the process of getting back up, Arden manages to slip the boot off my right foot, leaving it in only a sock that was gradually getting wetter, colder, and damper from the ice and snow scattering the area. After successfully regaining my balance, the snowball fight quickly transitioned to a keep-away kind of game. As Jeff and Arden (who were exceptionally taller than I) joyfully passed the boot back and forth to each other, up and down the driveway, I finally gave up; I would simply have to come back for it later. My home was only about one hundred feet away, so it wouldn't be an uncomfortable trek.
Hurriedly nonetheless, I finally made it to my house, debriefed my dad on where my missing boot was, and was instantly send back out to retrieve it, only my tolerance for this keep-away game was rapidly declining. In a fit of rage, I stormed back to Arden's home to find Jeff and him, still playing catch with the boot. As Jeff caught it, I snagged it from his grip, and punched him as hard as my arm would allow, directly into the bridge of his nose. Blood flowing out, I momentarily felt victorious, but also greatly saddened by what I had just done. It truly was the first time I've ever punched anyone, but even then, it reflected my character. Character which had acted poorly in my fit of anger and annoyance. This annoyance, I would later blame, to be from being overly tired that day.
Eventually, I apologized to them, despite an unspoken grudge that postponed our friendship for a few days. It's funny how a few, petty days seem so earth-shattering to children, when they are nothing compared to months, or even years of going without ever bonding with someone. Ironically, I bonded with Arden and Jeff more as I grew up in New York, but it would practically die when I moved to Wisconsin, but I'll save that story.
Finally, the bus halted to a stop for the umpteenth time. The doors, creaking open, exposed us to the bitter, thin air outside. Shuffling down the line of other kids who, too, were wearing multiple layers and rubber snow boots, I could finally hop down off the last step of the bus, bidding adieu to the driver as I usually did. Now Jeff, Arden, and I lived in another duplicate culdesac, the scenery no different than the dozens I passed each day. Another series of Cape Cod-styled homes, painted with a bland palette of colors. Another set of families, following the exact same routine, day by day by day. The sun hung low in the sky, falling steadily, but slow enough to notice no difference; we trotted slowly down the street, making our way home, stopping in Arden's driveway: a heavily sloped and notably icy surface. To break the boredom, we decided to engage in a snowball fight, as most kids usually would in our suburb this time of year. Hastily packing one and shipping the other to our foe, it was relatively fast-paced - exhilarating, up to the point of which I slipped backwards on the icy driveway, landing hard on my back. It wasn't much of a hassle to get back up usually, but since I was in about four layers of thick clothing, head facing down on the slant, it was exponentially more difficult than I was used to. Arden saw this as a ideal comedic opportunity. While I was in the process of getting back up, Arden manages to slip the boot off my right foot, leaving it in only a sock that was gradually getting wetter, colder, and damper from the ice and snow scattering the area. After successfully regaining my balance, the snowball fight quickly transitioned to a keep-away kind of game. As Jeff and Arden (who were exceptionally taller than I) joyfully passed the boot back and forth to each other, up and down the driveway, I finally gave up; I would simply have to come back for it later. My home was only about one hundred feet away, so it wouldn't be an uncomfortable trek.
Hurriedly nonetheless, I finally made it to my house, debriefed my dad on where my missing boot was, and was instantly send back out to retrieve it, only my tolerance for this keep-away game was rapidly declining. In a fit of rage, I stormed back to Arden's home to find Jeff and him, still playing catch with the boot. As Jeff caught it, I snagged it from his grip, and punched him as hard as my arm would allow, directly into the bridge of his nose. Blood flowing out, I momentarily felt victorious, but also greatly saddened by what I had just done. It truly was the first time I've ever punched anyone, but even then, it reflected my character. Character which had acted poorly in my fit of anger and annoyance. This annoyance, I would later blame, to be from being overly tired that day.
Eventually, I apologized to them, despite an unspoken grudge that postponed our friendship for a few days. It's funny how a few, petty days seem so earth-shattering to children, when they are nothing compared to months, or even years of going without ever bonding with someone. Ironically, I bonded with Arden and Jeff more as I grew up in New York, but it would practically die when I moved to Wisconsin, but I'll save that story.
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