August 24, 2014 – I saw a school bus drive by our house today. There were no students onboard, so I’m guessing the bus driver was familiarizing herself with the route before the first day of classes later this week. I stood on top of Yoga Rock and waved to her as she went by. She tooted hello and fluttered her arm out the oversize window. Such a noble profession, bus driving. I could easily picture myself behind the massive, black wheel driving eager, young learners across this fine town of ours.
Then it hit me like a lightning bolt! I have a license to drive! I could get myself a new hat and command the impressive yellow taxi. I can handle a Vespa, a van, and a cobalt blue 1955 Dodge pickup truck. How different could a school bus be?
Sawyer must have read my mind. She jumped up next to me and bumped me with her wing.
“I believe we’d need a special sort of license to drive something that big,” she began. “Do you really want to go through that process again?”
I looked at her for a full beat before replying.
Sawyer shook her head and laughed.
“Actually,” I conceded, “as much as I’d like to drive the bus, I think I’d like to be a passenger even more.”
“That should certainly be easier to arrange,” she said before hopping off the rock and leaving me to my own thoughts.
Sawyer was right. Soon, this bus would be making regular trips up and down our street. On one of those occasions I, Happy the hen, vowed to be in a seat by the window.
I ran to Coop #3 and ordered myself a new backpack from the school supply store. Then, I made myself a fluffernutter sandwich and sat on the thinking log until I figured out how to make this dream come true.
I’m still thinking. I’ll figure it out though. If I can navigate the streets of Paris, I should be able to pass myself off as a human first grader. Okay, maybe third grader. I am tall after all.