9 March 1999

Slide

The snow falls thick all around, obscuring my view of the far off end of the street. The silence is deafening, until a snowplow roars by scattering slush, salt and gobbets of half-frozen slush in its wake.

I close my eyes as the chill of melting slush seeps into the hem of my pants and think about how pretty the snow looks, unblemished on the grass across the street.

The minutes tick by slowly for the four of us, huddled in the bus shelter, looking up hopefully every time the distant thrum of an engine is heard. Still the bus does not come. Conversation rises and falls, discussing the relative merits of taking the bus and the Metro instead of driving on "days like today."

I am silent, folded in on myself as the tip of my nose slowly turns numb.

At last the ghostly shape of the white bus pulls up. Only its bright yellow and orange stripes are visible through the haze of snow in front of my eyes. We climb aboard, awkward penguins stuffed into fat coats, swathed in scarves and hats.

I do not have change for my dollar, the conductor tells me with disgust to get change from another passenger, not to waste money. As I set my bag down and prepare to beg, the gentleman behind me smiles kindly and says "Don't worry about it, I've got it."

"Thank you," I reply, gratified by the generosity that adverse circumstance seems to bring to the fore.

Five minutes later the ungainly bus as heaving its way around the corner of Van Dorn and Eisenhower, flakes piled high on the windshield, wheels churning in the slush. With effort it crawls up the slight incline of the hill, reaching the peak I breathe a sigh of relief thinking that the worst is over.

Then a slow feeling of horror creeps up my throat as I see the view through the front window shift alarmingly to the left.

Within seconds the bus has spun 90 degrees and is sliding slowly sideways down the hill blocking three lanes of traffic, one oncoming.

With my heart in my throat I grip the metal post that is fixed into the floor and ceiling. I can feel the center of gravity of the vehicle shifting further and further towards the what is is now the front side of the bus. The driver is absolutely silent as he grips the wheel tightly, concentrating only on steering as any good driver would.

I am tilting forward slightly now as the wheels begin to lift up and suddenly I feel as if we're not going to make it: the bus will tip over and I have 5 seconds to get out of this seat or I will be thrown forcefully across the width of the bus into the opposite row of seats.

Then the back of the bus slams into a sign on the side of the road and the slow slide stops.

We're fine. We're still blocking three lanes of traffic, one oncoming, but we're fine.

The cars around us continue to drive around the bus.

The driver calls out "Is everyone alright?"

Every answer is affirmative as he slowly turns the wheel and points the bus back into its proper lane.

The bumper is left behind on the roadside, slowly disappearing beneath a fresh layer of snow.