There are days when things happened and they seem to say things like: "you should have stayed in bed, maybe today is not your day." You take those things and roll them into just one thing and call it a sign, an omen. On this one particular morning, it was as if the very gates of Hell were disguised as my bus doors. I stepped on to the bus; all was fine. Then, first intersection, the door swung wide open, all because a trigger was not...triggered. A new student pick up note got sucked right out of the wide open, driver's window. Oh, and have any of you ever tried to drive down the road while using a cup of coffee as an IV bag, and then see an animal on the road, only to realize that it is not a dog staring at you but...a large group...of deer? It was nice to find out later that slow drip caffeine had become such a fashion statement. And, then, there was the small matter of a foam cushion turned soppy sponge upon which you then must sit...the rest of the day. Yep, all the signs were there; though I did miss the biggest one: "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." It was there, right above the bus doors in clear, fairly large letters. Okay, maybe everything was fine. The sun could have pierced the clouds and washed all this "badness" right out into the ditches. Maybe I was overreacting, but when the first student tried to get on to the bus and stumbled, I was not so convinced.
She got up out of the stairwell just fine, maybe with an embarrassed titter. She staggered down the aisle to her seat. Okay, one time incident, that's all. At least, it had better be; I was starting to lose my good mood. But, it happened to the next student, and then, the next. Oh, oh. A pattern was forming. And then, another. Then, for a touch of flavor, a murmur was added. Another student got on to the bus. The murmur grew into a light patter. But now there was movement in the seats. It got so bad that I had to pull the bus over to the shoulder; motion in the aisle is a big distraction.
The commotion, the murmur was this: shoes were missing, just one from each of the students who had gotten on the bus. Fortunately, there were pairs of gym shoes waiting at school (I don't know what would have happened if there were no gym shoes). But, now there was a mystery: what happened while boarding the bus? I searched the length of the entire aisle; everyone searched the entire length of the aisle. I searched under a seat or two; everyone searched under a seat or two. No sign of any of the missing shoes. I began to wonder if the troll had moved out of my old bus and on to the new one; though, I could not tell you why. Trolls hate new things. In spite of being armed with that troll knowledge, I looked and smelled for tell tale signs of troll, just in case. I sought a nest of coarse hair or the distinct smell of troll (which is very much like moldy soil or feet, after wearing rubber boots too long, or maybe even a good Limburger, or other noteworthy, stinky cheese. Though, I must confess...I do like stinky cheese.). But when I got to the front of the bus, I noticed no signs of troll or shoe.
However, I did hear a sound. It was hard to describe, except to say it could have been the sound of grinding teeth. It was not the sound you would expect from a troll either; there would be far more lip smacking and "yum, yum" sounds. No, this was something all together different from all the noises I had heard, so I sought out the source. As I moved to the front of the bus, I thought the sound might have been coming from the heater by the door. So, I moved in for a closer listen.
As I got closer to the heater, I abruptly stopped at the top of the stairwell. I sensed a movement on the stairs, about halfway down. And as I leaned out over the steps to get a closer look from the top, I began to take stock in the fact that the movement was not on the steps, but actually was one of the steps. It, the step, was chewing. It chewed for a minute or so, paying no mind to the person, hovering from above, watching it masticate. Then, without thought, it swallowed. And to my surprise, this step suddenly, in deep baritone voice, belched out, "What?"
"Oh, nothing," scrambling to back into my driver's seat nearby.
"Then move on, man. It's rude to watch a thing eat."
I plunked myself hard into the seat and sat puzzled, "Whatcha eatin?"
"A tasty morsel."
"I see."
"No you don't. I swallowed it already. And as it is rude, I never chew with my mouth open."
"Ah, good to know. Uh, anything else you might need?"
"Yeh, keep everyone from stomping those big rubbery things on me."
"Um, okay....need anything else? A drink maybe?"
"NO!" Rumbled the deep baritone voice, shaking the entire body of the bus.
The bus was completely silent for the rest of the trip into school. I myself was deep in thought. I never once considered that I would need to feed the stairs, and judging from the conversation, it was not the time to ask what it favored. Though I quietly accumulated a quick list of possible things. As I am still tallying up the list of possibilities, I have reached item number 16, right after the shell of an old grandfather snail and puppy dog tails. I did briefly consider rude and unruly children to be part of the feeding list, but removed them, as I could have gotten into a bit of trouble with the school administrations and the school board itself. Oh, yeah, and parents who thought their children did absolutely nothing wrong. As for the rest of that particular day, the sun finally came out after hiding behind clouds for almost a full week. And hearing of our bus dilemma, the Ministry of Silly Walks traveled all the way from England to demonstrate some helpful ways the children could get on to the bus safely, shoes intact. "Knees up, people! Way up!" I guess you could say that the signs wore off, or at the very least, the omens changed. It turned out to be a beautiful day...and very entertaining to boot, as long as the Twits don't show up.
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