Everyone But Us

Four // Trevor

Trevor (bus driver)

I'd been in this line of work for just past thirty years and never had I had a larger variety of kids. There were the usual energetic youngins that varied in age, gender and height, common from years seven to nine, but the real variation came in the older year levels.

There was one year twelve kid and I was positive he was in a gang. He was always scowling in my rear view mirror with his arms crossed. I believe that if he was allowed to bring one to school, he would be playing with a pocket knife. He's that sort of kid.

Then there were all the year eleven guys; Theodore, Gabriel, Eli, Jacob and the new addition, Jarrah. I'd always liked Theodore, from his first year in high school. He was an arrogant kid but he had a good heart. That's how my wife would put it.

Gabriel was a trouble maker who I didn't very much care for. He liked to objectify women and treat them like dirt. As a father of two, it made me both angry and concerned.

Then there were the two brothers from town; Jacob and Eli. They were both fairly harmless but with outstanding opposing personalities. What I would have called a bookworm and a sportsman. Respectable young lads though, the both of them.

Jarrah came on my bus just at the start of last week and I'd already figured out that he was a good kid. One of the few true gentlemen left in this world. This Monday afternoon Harlow got tripped over by Nicole and fell over, the books she was holding falling to the ground. Jarrah helped her to feet and picked up her books for her. Still, she didn't say a word.

I was a bit concerned about Harlow. I feared she had a troublesome home life from the bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes every morning. I didn't think she was abused, but something unfortunate was happening for her. I know we weren't supposed to pick favourites but she was mine. She was such a lovely young lady, despite her quietness.

Then there was Nicole who I didn't care to concern myself with. She wasn't a nice girl.

And that was my bus, the one I worked on every morning and every afternoon for every week of the school year.

I had just picked up the brothers from the city and was driving along the busy road to the school when I heard Gabe start a conversation about a television series I hadn't heard of. It sounded appalling, with blood and guts seemingly the main theme. The boys were all engrossed in this conversation, Nicole wasn't on the bus and Harlow was probably reading.

I listened in until I saw Jarrah lean across the aisle, his elbows on his knees, to look in Harlow's direction. He seemed determined to talk to her, but I doubted she would respond. I'd never heard her voice, so I doubted he would this morning.

I couldn't pay more attention to it because I had lots of young lives to be accountable for, so I kept my eyes on the road and turned the radio down, trying to catch what he was saying.

As I stopped at a red light, it occurred to me that I 'shipped' Harlow and Jarrah. As a 65 year old man, I did not know the meaning of the word until I overheard little Angel saying it a few weeks ago.

"What does that mean?" I had asked her, my mind going to a sailing ship. It had confused me in the context.

First she had laughed at me, commenting on my age in an appropriate manner. Then, she had explained; "'Shipping' is when you are wanting two people to get together, or think they would be a good match. We always use it with tv shows. Like, I ship Ross and Rachel."

And now I understood what 'shipping' meant. I, a 65 year old bus driver from Perth, shipped Harlow and Jarrah.

I had to tell my wife about this.

In the mean time, I watched the young lad attempt to get Harlow to use her voice to no avail. By the time I had pulled into the school gates he would have tried a conversation maybe ten times and she would have responded in a polite, silent manner. I hoped he didn't give up.

I stepped on the brakes and opened the door, saying goodbye to everyone as they left the bus, wishing them a good day.

I was lucky to have a good bunch of kids; a majority at least. Fred, one of the other long term bus drivers for the school, didn't have the same luck. He had explained how many ratbags he had on his bus and that he wanted to find a new occupation.

At 73 years of age, maybe it would've been time for him to retire. I had to tell my wife about this.