A bus driver tried to kill me today. I don´t think he would have minded much had he destroyed all of us, the way he drove.
First, he ran over some kid´s soccer ball. Big pop! Leaving a group of ten-year-olds looking shocked and dejected on the side of the road. Then he almost bashed full on into a car. Thankfully, the car stopped just in time and the bus driver swerved sharply to the right to avoid decimating the poor man's automobile.
Most of the time, buses around here go around at all speeds with both doors wide open, passengers holding on so they don´t fly out.
Today, the doors were shut. That Bus Driver, he blithely ignored my shouts of "Abre la puerta, por favor!" Everyone, every single head on the bus turned to look at me, but not The Bus Driver. So I ran to the front door. People were still stepping on the bus as he hit the gas to leave, all the while me pleading with him to stop, please stop. He was not happy, but he did.
Then, I ran to the back where Lila -- five years old -- still sat and quickly began to to shepherd Lila to the door, down the stairs and out. We didn't have enough time. He stepped on the gas again, leaving me holding Lila by one hand, swinging in mid-air. I screamed again "Para. Para. Para." Please stop! Others on the bus began screaming as well, and again. Finally, he did, albeit with an evil sideways glance
and a mouthful of bitterness and sighs.
I grabbed Lila under one arm, grabbed the rest of my things in the other and leaped to safety.
What to do? I gathered the biggest New York City attitude I could muster to throw in The Bus Driver's direction, but by then, he was long gone. Besides, I thought to myself, I am not in New York anymore, and I am the stranger here.