Bus 24-74 is one of a barrage of buses that crosses our front porch’s vantage point. In the long string of buses, it’s that bus—the one that honks. I anticipate its arrival, looking at the watch or clock, wondering if it’s time yet. At or around 3 p.m., she comes. Like clockwork. On those weekday, school days.
I stand erect at the top of the brick stairway, in full view, squinting to read the bus’s numbers. She’s never the first, or the third, or even the tenth. More like the 14th. But still, I read the numbers: 24-76. No. 24-78. Not her. Then 24-74, and out goes my hand in a salute-heavy wave.
We lose that connection in one more day. Bus number 24-74’s driver retires. Her husband’s dementia needs her. But also, 40 years of driving turned off like a switch. Her daughter, my friend, said that’s how she is—a light switch. One day, just like that, she said she’s done.
I’m happy for her. And sad for us.
Currently, I’m to the left of the staircase I mentioned before. Down on the grass. Between me and the greenest, fluffiest patch of grass, I lie on my stomach atop three layers: the tarp bottom of a tent, a 3-inch-thick memory foam pad, and my green REI sleeping bag.
“This is the best day ever,” Evelyn said, jumping up and down at our finally saying yes to putting up the tent—the same tent that arrived in the mail today. A tent I’m embarrassed by, its size like the front of a semi—the cab portion. It’s excessive. And the minimalist hiker in me, who once overnight hiked carrying food, shelter, pad, bag, and clothes all in one manageable pack, is nose-up judging me. But Jaclynn today does not give a flying eff about that. Jaclynn today is 44. She wants space—and possibly room enough to engage an interior design moment if it presents itself.
It’s this setup we’ll take to our first formal campout with the Cub Scouts. The same Scouts that devolved a bit into chaos. Remember the Scoutmaster son’s three pronged hook that made it’s way into my shirt? Anyway, this time we’ll bed down on the outfield of the Macon Bacon baseball complex. For $17 a head, we get a ticket to the game, an all-you-can-eat dinner, a hat, and a pretty bad ass camping spot. It may be most unique sleeping spot I’ve had yet. Wait, I slept in the middle of a carnival once.
But that’s another story.
Love, Jaclynn