Mustache

I was in my room. Remembering that I had promised myself not to wear the black backpack again. The lakes of sweat had made me hate it. The breaking plastic and melted leather made it look miserable, in pain for coming back from retirement, forced to carry a limited edition twelve font family Bible, an Anthology that was even heavier than the Bible, a three inch binder, a literary comic book, a collection of short stories and my mom's lunch box. I tried carrying it in so many ways to avoid getting my back drenched but my arm was too sore to do the usual "one armer." I inhaled, closed my eyes and wore it like my school nurse, Mrs. Napkin, suggested when she checked our entire class for scoliosis in the sixth grade. I grabbed three lollipops from the counter and ran out the door.

"Ey, Ruben."

"Hi, uh, Eh... Em... Emma," I said. "Can you hold these?"

"Are they for me?"

"Yeah." I grabbed the gate with both hands and pushed it.

“Let me put the lock on it,” I said.

“Hurry, the bus is turning already.”

“Go, tell Frank to wait up, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Once I finished tying the two-foot chain around a fence pole and the gate I ran to the bus stop. Emma was behind all the other kids from our colonia, in a straight line ready to get into the shakiest bus of the school district. “Hopefully she sits by herself so I can sit with her,” I thought. She was the only girl whose hair I’d ever notice to have movement with the wind, the softest curls that smelled like sandia. I guess that’s one of the many reasons why I loved sitting with her on the bus.

As I climbed the three stairs onto the bus I heard Frank the bus driver say, "I usually just take off.”

"Well it’s really nice of you!" Emma added.

“Hey, thanks… Emma," I said.

"Hope this is the last time you run late. You need to be at the bus stop tomorrow morning or I am taking off."

          I skipped a row of seats from where she sat and glared at him through the long and triangular rear-view mirror. His mustache framed the bottom half of his face. His hypnotizing Oakley's framed the top half. I wondered what he stared at. Whatever it was, it wasn't the road because when we were on the bus, we practically drove on sidewalks. I imagined him staring at Emma, who had her head on the seat in front of hers.