You should issue trigger warnings.

Well done!

What were triggered are memories. I rode the bus from 5th grade right through to graduation from high school—eight years and, for the most part, I traveled with the same kids year after year.

Dad didn’t think it was important that I have a car, but Mom paid the price. It was she who had to pick me up from after-school practices. We lived west of town on the other side of the South Platte River, and it was a long distance from our house to the high school. I walked home from time to time, but it was a haul. Because it was a fair distance to school, we were picked up quite early (0720) in order to arrive in time for the first bell (0830).

I have only a dim recollection of the bus drivers, but my memories of the kids who rode the bus are vivid. The kids who rode the bus that serviced Platte Canyon Road before it looped through Columbine CC were farm and ranch kids who lived west of town on the other side of the river. We were often treated to country music duets sung by Roberta Rutledge and Nancy Simms as we rode along. Nancy had a big voice like Reba McEntire and a personality to go along with it. I had the hots for her right through sixth grade, but my affection was never reciprocated.

Then, there was Rita Dickenson. For as long as I knew her, and we rode the school bus together for 8 years, Rita wore her hair in a single, long pigtail. I often conspired to sit behind her so I could pull it. It was irresistible. How ironic it was that 10 years later, Rita and I would find ourselves in Medford, Massachusetts, both of us grad students at Tufts University, Rita at the med school and I at the Fletcher School of Law & Diplomacy. Rita practiced pediatric medicine in Boston for her entire professional life.