Until Midnight

Fabrir And Zachariah

Chapter Four

2:40 PM, Monday, November 15th, 2014

When I was younger, and more susceptible to fear, the aversion of night was not my only worry. I remember, quite clearly, that one of my fears was to ride the bus. 

Looking back at it, I can't seem to pinpoint what reason resulted in me being mortally petrified by the yellow vehicles, it's just that I simply was afraid of them. Before I commenced school, every time I'd see one rumble on past down my road I'd concave in on myself (mentally) and run back inside, for fear that the bus housed unseen dangers, like I thought the night did. 

I'd hide in a lumped heap within my bed sheets, and once my parents finally arrived home, they'd ask why I was trembling in fright. I'd tell them "the yellow monster with the windows came again." 

They'd laugh, and try and comfort me with their well chosen words. I remember my mother, smoothing a blonde curl behind her hair, and smiling. "It's only a vehicle honey. An automobile, an invention by man. It can't harm you. It's not capable hon'. It doesn't have a mind of it's own."

But no matter how much their words eased me temporarily, the fear of the buses would always penetrate back into my mind when they left. It was only until kindergarten that my fear of buses were finally alleviated. 

I remember it was my first day, and my mother had been doing my black hair up into perfect curls, so that "they could see my beautiful gray eyes." 

In the back of my mind that day, I knew eventually that I'd have to get on the bus whether I liked it or not, but beforehand I tried my best to neglect that worry. 

In what seemed like seconds, I was armed with my small pink backpack and Buffy The Vampire Slayer lunchbox (go figure). 

I was standing outside, the September morning air frigid and bone-cold, my parents with me on the front porch, awaiting the arrival of my terror. At that point I was beginning to break. "Drive me mommy, daddy. Just drive me!" I'd plea. But they couldn't, for they were late for work as it already was. 

I flailed my arms and wailed, my screams piercing the gray sky. Finally my father knelt beside me and took both of my hands, his stormy gray eyes piercing my own kindly. "Kate, sweety. I want you to listen to me. What your feeling, what your experiencing, I think we both know is fear. Now, fear, is a nasty thing. It plays with our emotions, makes us feel small like a dwarf. It closes in on us, praying on the very things we love and hold dearly," he said. 

He then resumed, "But, as all things go, everything has a weakness. Even fear. Fear is an emotion, as I've said, and like anger, sadness, and grief, it can be controlled, now matter how hard it presses heavy on us. The bus is your fear Kate, learn to not fear it, learn to control it."

And from that moment on, no matter how visibly shaken I was becoming, when the bus pulled up, I lifted my chin up and heeded my father's words. 

Learn to control it.

And when I went aboard onto the bus, I learned, there was nothing to be afraid of. I controlled my fear and it went away. 

So when the bus broke down, a lurch of fear niggled it's way into my heart. Why did it stop I think. Elise seemed to be wondering the same thing, for her expression held the same air of confusion mine did. 

The bus driver's normal countenance was replaced by an even more grumpy stare.  Not surprising I thought. He got up out of his seat, looking around. He then addressed the whole bus and all it's occupants. "Seems like we've got ourselves a technical difficulty. Ya'll (Ya'll? Really, I know it's Colorado but...) follow me outside while I check the engine."