NOTE: This story was written during Hurricane Sandy. Comments and insights wanted, however, don't be harsh! Sex is toward the end for you impatient readers...
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As I took a wobbly step onto the school bus, the sky was washed with variant hues of yellow, red, and violet. Through the trees, it seemed as if the road was being led into a portal that was gurgling fire. It was 6:43 AM exactly. My dark brown eyes were blurred as darkness still remained in the west. When I did a little jog up the bus steps, I gave Ace, the bus driver, a wink and a shallow "Good Morning."
Ah, Ace... Ace was an older gentleman, probably in his fifties. However, his facial structure remained handsome and his salt-and-pepper hair was something I deeply admired. His voice was strong yet somehow laced with gentleness. His ethnicities were made up of Greek and Dominican, which was a surreal combination that was evident. In the morning, I usually greeted him casually out of respect, but in the afternoon, we had full conversations about each other's lives. Ace and I would talk about school, future plans, family life, and other stuff.
Ace had been my bus driver for the past three years. After more than 400 days of conversing, we had become quite familiar with each other. It was more than just hopping onto the bus and mumbling 'Hello' as you pass by. Developing some sort of a relationship, whether it be a friendly adult-child or staff member-student one, is key in a school environment. Everyone has a story that makes up their life. While Ace is driving the bus, it seems to get brushed past and hidden under the wheel. I decided to give it a shot one morning. Luckily for me, Ace accepted my plea for conversation as a sophomore three years ago. That was how I found out his wife of 31 years passed away from stage three breast cancer when I was in 8th grade two years prior. You could see it in his eye and hear the aching in his voice when he talked about Aria: genuine love. Aria was bronze and gorgeous similar to Ace in the pictures he showed me from his wallet. She was Dominican and Mexican he said with her dark brown wild hair flowing.
Plus, my generation has no respect for anyone who has a stressful and potentially dangerous job. Whenever Ace would be late or face a mechanical difficulty with the bus, the other students would respond with disgusting insults and threats. Every day, it bothered me. Here is this sweet guy who is being paid by our parents' tax dollars to safely drive us to school (and trips) and they castigate him for an error not in his control? "Bus drivers are people too!" I'd hear occasionally. It irks me that people even have to justify that.
For some reason, I sat in the front seat to Ace's right that morning. Little did I know it was going to change both of our lives, but allow me to tell my story.
"Good morning," Ace shakily replied.
His face was shadowed and grey. It appeared as if all of his blood was suctioned out from his body. The veins in Ace's hairy, muscular arms pulsated as he tightened his grip on the 18' steering wheel. His surreal hazel eyes that usually twinkle had a dull, mundane effect. In fact, they took on the sickly color of charred wood.
"You okay, Ace?" I trembled with a hint of concern.
"Yeah," the older man forced a minuscule smile onto his surprisingly weathered face. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
With a loud, gauche hiss, the bus doors slammed shut and the air brakes sighed with relief as the bus resumed driving. I was one of the first stops, so our conversations could be as long as 25 minutes.
"You're not looking so great this morning," I confessed.
"Not to worry, Sol," Ace smirked into the mirror at me. "We are fine." His nickname for me was "sun" in Spanish.
Ace was driving a little faster than usual, which continued to bother me. As the minutes continued to unravel, his eyes grew more bland and lifeless. After two stops, I could notice his strength to pull the door handle closed was deteriorating.
"Ace," I called to him.
No answer.
The Blue Bird Vision was still in motion, however, Ace's posture was as straight as an arrow and his stare toward the road was glassy. I called his name three more times and he didn't respond, flinch or even blink.
"Ace, pull over," I commanded, a bit surprised that I had.
Ace said nothing. The bus was beginning to accelerate faster as his foot slowly increased force onto the gas pedal. 45 became 50 which hastily became 70 mph. His eyes began to glaze over and his eyelids twitched until they were shut.
No one else was noticing this since they weren't close enough or really cared. If anything stopped them from going to school, why should they protest? I didn't want to start any hysteria, but I needed his full attention.
"Ace! Oh, my Lord!" I shouted, snapping out of my seat.
Lifeless, Ace slowly slid onto the steering wheel, slumped over. The bus gradually began to swerve as I approached him, panicked. I snatched up his thick hairy wrist. No pulse.
I pushed Ace's body against the window, so I could somehow stop the bus. Throwing myself into the bucket seat, I quickly twisted the steering wheel to the right as we were about to collide into an oil truck driving in the opposite direction. My paradise switch to rigorous prayer was immediate.
Suddenly, everything happening around me went silent. It seemed as if everything occurred in slow motion. When I turned my head to look toward the back of the bus, a few of the boys were pointing at something out of the right side windows and it was apparent that they were screaming. Like a switch, my hearing flashed on.
"LOOK OUT!" two kids cried from the back.
With a loud screech from tires, everything went black.
Chapter 2- Te amo
"You think she's awake yet?"
"I don't think so, but her vitals are stabilizing."
The fluorescent white lights flooded the room as my eyes painfully opened. A sudden pain shot through my right arm and ribs when I shifted my body. My eyes flashed open as I cried out. As I quietly sobbed, the faint beeping of machines echoed in my ears.
"Ms. Reyes?" A male voice called. "Are you awake?"
I finally got my first glance at my current location. The ceiling was a painfully bright white while the walls were washed in a beautiful hue of dark cerulean. The floors were a standard tacky white tile. I was in a hospital bed, with hundreds of IVs sticking out of my arms and a hideous cream white polyester gown chafing my inflamed skin. Plus, with the tubes in my nose, I was gasping for breaths. The machine to my left was beeping each time my heart adjusted to my movements.
Confused, I turned to my right and there was a man sitting in one of the visitor chairs. It was a police officer. The expression on his face motioned that I was horrifying to look at. He was dressed in full uniform for the Lakewind Police Department. The officer knew to continue when he gathered unsavory eye contact with me.
