Waiting by the bus stop

The sun rose two hours ago and continues to rise on the sky. The intensity of the light becomes stronger, and I feel piercing rays of sun warming my skin. The sky is clear, but not without clouds. A faint breeze is present and carries fresh summer air with a hint of mowed grass. From a nearby plum tree, birds are chirping. In my mind’s eye, I see them as bluebirds. A sudden rustle springs from the leaves, and a bird jerks out. I realize it is a goldcrest. I am sitting on the bench by the local bus stop, but I am not waiting for the bus. Actually, I do not know what I am waiting for. Half a mile away, I hear the droning from tires against asphalt. As it comes closer, engine noise also becomes noticeable, and a car passes me by. In reverse order, it fades away and disappears completely. Nothing ever really happens in this quiet village. Once again, I only hear the twosome of chirping birds and faint wind. I begin to listen… And I begin to feel.

I had stayed the night at my friend’s place. His mom, enduring night shifts at the glassworks, had not yet returned from work. My friend did not have to attend school this day, but I had to. “Bye, I must get going before it is too late,” and I had left the house. Somewhere along the way, I decided to skip school and now I find myself on this bench with no intentions, without a purpose. What does it mean? Why did I skip school? What is it I want?

I feel strong. Nobody owns me. Not even the school. I can do whatever I want. Like the birds, I am completely free to fly away. To float, to soar like the wind; wherever I please — I feel free!

I have nothing to do, so I continue to sit on the bench.

I feel a bit sad. Why do I not have anything to do? Have I no purpose? What should I make of my freedom? I feel a bit anxious. What if I get caught? What do I say? What is my excuse for sitting out here? I have no answer.

I think of the future. What is in store for me? Is everything already decided or will the story be written along the way? I hope that I become someone great. Someone important. I want to make a difference in the world. Will I be able to? How will I transcend myself? I am not that person now, so when I become that person, I am no longer this person. From caterpillar into butterfly – will I still be me? Why someone great? Does that even matter? And what happens if I fail? Will I be able to look myself in the eyes and forgive myself… or will I break? Will they forgive me?

I have no answers, for I am too young. Too inexperienced to even guess. I know nothing of lifelong struggle reaching climax in self-disappointment nor extensive hard labor transformed into success reaped.

I am but a child that holds no experience in raising children; the dormant joys they wake in you — evoking bliss; the submerged worries they pull to the surface for heavy breathing — almost asphyxiating.

I have witnessed no wars, no conflicts, no every-ten-years life crises.

How can I provide any answers at all?

I cannot. I can only speculate and let life happen. Seek out experience. And as I collect the jigsaw pieces of life; Try to solve the puzzle — Ad hoc.

A brake valve releases a blast of compressed air as the bus stops in front of me, and the driver gives me a look. I stand up, he opens the door, and I enter the bus… headed for the city.