a chance to say hello

I missed my bus today. There I was at the stop, on main street; I had a croissant—chocolate—and I had my bag and I had a plan which consisted of getting on the bus, sitting down, and getting off at my stop. I had yet to plan when my next stop would be, but I knew it would come to me and I would get off when I was ready and the time was right.

A girl in an orange shirt spoke next to me. she asked, “How are you today?” And I told her I was good and I told her about my plan to get on the bus and not get off until I was ready. She told me she didn’t have a plan, that she usually just waited until the  bus had gone by a few times and she knew when she would get off. That seems crazy to me—what if the bus never came back? 

But when the bus came by, and my croissant was getting cold and my bag was getting heavy and all the cars on main street stopped behind the bus because the bus had reached its own stop, I did not get on the bus. I stood there, and the girl in the orange shirt got on and took her seat. She waved goodbye and her orange eyes that matched her shirt said, “Do you still have a plan? Or will you miss out? Will you never get on this bus because you’re too scared about whenever you might get off?”

So I looked at her and she turned away and got on the bus. But I didn't. The doors closed and the driver didn’t give me the slightest bit of attention—though I thought she might have liked me a bit if I had gotten on the bus and said hello—but the driver didn’t give me any attention, and as the bus left I did feel scared. I felt scared because the bus might never come back. I may have missed my bus and missed the point of the girl in the orange shirt. I may be missing out on a lot of things, like a different girl and maybe even a poem or two. And that bus never came back, so I never did get on, but I still think the driver would have liked me had I gotten the chance to say hello.