because even though both of my parents are Jewish, neither of them practice and they never sent me to any organized religious thing.” I look out the window and see that the snow is coming down faster.
Rosie continues. “My life’s like a soap opera, only without breaks for commercials. I’m used to it. I’ve lived with it all my life. And it’s always going to be a little like that. Well, at least it’s not boring.”
The second bus pulls up.
People cheer.
The bus driver tells us not to all pile out at once. It’s too cold out and everyone could get sick standing around. Anyway he says that they want to try out some new seating arrangement.
Rosie and I end up sitting next to Stevie, the littlekid who throws up a lot. I hope he manages to make it to Port Authority without losing his lunch. It’s a little tight, three people in a two-seat place. I think they put us together because we’re all pretty skinny. Then they hand us Gina Raymond, five years old and another Divorce Express regular. She sits on my lap.
I hope none of us has to get up to go to the bathroom.
There are still people standing, but not as many. And later they’re going to switch places with people who are now sitting. One of the good things about sitting with four people in a two-seat place is that we won’t have to get up.
Someone starts singing a Christmas carol. Lots of people join in.
Then Rosie begins a Chanukah song. People join in again.
The bus skids a little.
I hope that Stevie’s stomach is okay.
The driver’s going very slowly.
One of the high school seniors starts singing “Trees,” the regular version. I guess that some of the adults went to Kilmer or just know the song because there are a lot of people singing.
Then Rosie and I start to sing “Cafeteria.” The other Kilmer kids join in.
People on the bus laugh and applaud. They start passing out food that they’ve brought along for the holidays. I contribute the granola cookies my father gave me. We get some great cookies, fruit cake, and pumpkin pie.
The pumpkin pie’s so good that I get the recipe for my father. He’s going to love it.
The bus creeps along.
On the side of the road I can see cars pulled over.
Gina’s fallen asleep. She’s got her head on Rosie, her middle on me, and her feet on Stevie and she’s sucking her thumb.
The closer we get to New Jersey, the less snow.
It’s always worse upstate, at least at first.
Finally we reach the Lincoln Tunnel, go through it, and pull into the Port Authority building.
Stevie hasn’t thrown up, something else to be thankful for.
“We’re here because we’re here because we’re here because we’re here,” everyone sings.
We’ve been on the bus for four and a half hours, two hours late.
People get off the bus stiffly, like they’ve been in a rolling sardine can.
We’re in the middle of the bus, so it takes awhile for us to get out.
“Free at last,” Rosie says as we step off the bus. “I can’t believe I’ve still got a subway to catch.”
I hear someone call my name. “Phoebe.”
It’s my mother. She’s got this worried-changing-to-glad look on her face.
She hugs me. “Where’s Rosie?”
“Here,” Rosie says, raising her hand.
People who go to school raise hands instinctively. I’ve noticed that.
My mother hugs her even though they’ve never met before. I guess she’s been really nervous. It’s the first time since the very beginning that she’s met me at the bus.
She stands up, catches her breath, and says, “Rosie, you are to spend the night with us.”
“Yay,” Rosie and I both say at the same time.
My mother continues. “Your father has to work late, and your stepmother couldn’t leave her children to wait for you. It’s too late and dangerous for you to get downtown by yourself. Your parents andI’ve decided that staying with us is best. Your father will pick you up tomorrow morning.”
Rosie and I look at each other and smile. It’s all arranged.
Rosie continues. “My life’s like a soap opera, only without breaks for commercials. I’m used to it. I’ve lived with it all my life. And it’s always going to be a little like that. Well, at least it’s not boring.”
The second bus pulls up.
People cheer.
The bus driver tells us not to all pile out at once. It’s too cold out and everyone could get sick standing around. Anyway he says that they want to try out some new seating arrangement.
Rosie and I end up sitting next to Stevie, the littlekid who throws up a lot. I hope he manages to make it to Port Authority without losing his lunch. It’s a little tight, three people in a two-seat place. I think they put us together because we’re all pretty skinny. Then they hand us Gina Raymond, five years old and another Divorce Express regular. She sits on my lap.
I hope none of us has to get up to go to the bathroom.
There are still people standing, but not as many. And later they’re going to switch places with people who are now sitting. One of the good things about sitting with four people in a two-seat place is that we won’t have to get up.
Someone starts singing a Christmas carol. Lots of people join in.
Then Rosie begins a Chanukah song. People join in again.
The bus skids a little.
I hope that Stevie’s stomach is okay.
The driver’s going very slowly.
One of the high school seniors starts singing “Trees,” the regular version. I guess that some of the adults went to Kilmer or just know the song because there are a lot of people singing.
Then Rosie and I start to sing “Cafeteria.” The other Kilmer kids join in.
People on the bus laugh and applaud. They start passing out food that they’ve brought along for the holidays. I contribute the granola cookies my father gave me. We get some great cookies, fruit cake, and pumpkin pie.
The pumpkin pie’s so good that I get the recipe for my father. He’s going to love it.
The bus creeps along.
On the side of the road I can see cars pulled over.
Gina’s fallen asleep. She’s got her head on Rosie, her middle on me, and her feet on Stevie and she’s sucking her thumb.
The closer we get to New Jersey, the less snow.
It’s always worse upstate, at least at first.
Finally we reach the Lincoln Tunnel, go through it, and pull into the Port Authority building.
Stevie hasn’t thrown up, something else to be thankful for.
“We’re here because we’re here because we’re here because we’re here,” everyone sings.
We’ve been on the bus for four and a half hours, two hours late.
People get off the bus stiffly, like they’ve been in a rolling sardine can.
We’re in the middle of the bus, so it takes awhile for us to get out.
“Free at last,” Rosie says as we step off the bus. “I can’t believe I’ve still got a subway to catch.”
I hear someone call my name. “Phoebe.”
It’s my mother. She’s got this worried-changing-to-glad look on her face.
She hugs me. “Where’s Rosie?”
“Here,” Rosie says, raising her hand.
People who go to school raise hands instinctively. I’ve noticed that.
My mother hugs her even though they’ve never met before. I guess she’s been really nervous. It’s the first time since the very beginning that she’s met me at the bus.
She stands up, catches her breath, and says, “Rosie, you are to spend the night with us.”
“Yay,” Rosie and I both say at the same time.
My mother continues. “Your father has to work late, and your stepmother couldn’t leave her children to wait for you. It’s too late and dangerous for you to get downtown by yourself. Your parents andI’ve decided that staying with us is best. Your father will pick you up tomorrow morning.”
Rosie and I look at each other and smile. It’s all arranged.
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