the pride and the fall (part two)

At 16 I began traveling, which meant only one thing. 

Alcohol. And lots of it. 

It was with this added stimulus that I began to take my practice of falling to an even higher level. 

In Montreal I slid from a bathroom counter into a sink and got stuck there. In Germany I face-planted onto the floor of a dance club. I spent a year studying abroad in France, and it took less than two weeks for me to find a set of stairs at a bar to fall down (I also ripped my pants in half and vomited in my purse that same night, but that's a different story). 

And then, there was the bus. 

This episode, for once, did not involve alcohol (although there are plenty of bus-related incidents that did). No, on this day my mood enhancement came from none other than Ms. Britney Spears, and her latest cd, In the Zone. Was I ever!

I had gone straight downtown after school to purchase the cd, and my headphones had not left my ears since. The latest dance hits propelled me from store to store, and soon I was bopping happily across town to my bus stop, refusing to let the afternoon’s accumulation of bags stop me from sashaying back and forth or throwing in the occasional twirl. 

“This,” I thought, not for the first time, “is Life.”

I continued to mambo about I awaited the 51, wondering how my good vibes would be received by the Betton commuters. It was always such a dour, miserable-looking bunch; they needed someone to model lightening up and letting loose. Imagine if I danced right onto the bus!

“Perfect!” I thought as I saw it turning the corner. ‘Toxic,” my favorite track, was blasting in the headphones, and I was as glee filled and nimble as I would ever be. Here came the 51 with its wild-haired driver, here came the open door and the step and.... Jesus he was going by fast!

In all my reverie I had forgotten that this particular driver did not like to actually stop the bus so much as slow down and swing the door open. The vehicle was rolling extra-rapidly today; perhaps he sensed my liveliness and thought I could handle the transition.

I couldn’t.

Panicked, I was only able to get one foot in the door before the bus resumed speed. The other foot was left dangling in the air as I searched frantically for a place to steady myself. But my arms were bogged down with bags, and my equilibrium was thrown off by the weight of my enormous backpack. 

Armless and off balance, my only hope was to launch myself as far upwards and into the bus as possible. 

Thankfully I angled my body so that I managed to miss the driver as I came crashing down, with a great explosion of books, bags, and Britney Spears paraphernalia, into the center of the aisle. 

For a moment, there was only an aghast silence as I floundered about on the floor. 

When I finally righted myself, I was met with a sea of horrified faces. Not horrified in that they were concerned or moved to help, but horrified that anyone would dare make such an entrance onto a bus. 

The scandalized, silent eyes followed my every movement as I scrambled around the bus collecting underwear and cds from heads and laps and under seats. 

Cheeks crimson, tears welling up, I searched in vain for a corner to conceal myself in. But the bus was almost full, and so with all eyes still upon me, I took a position in the center of the milieu, holding onto an overhead strap and staring boldly ahead as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

As we slowed for the next stop, a sharp corner threw me off balance. I could hear the universal intake of breath as one of the bags on my elevated arm hit me in the face, and I staggered to keep the textbook-loaded backpack from dragging me back and forth like a pendulum.

That's when I could hold it in no longer. To the extreme chagrin of my immediate neighbors, I chuckled. And chuckled again. The bus lurched forward, we all swayed, and I found myself emitting strange gurgling sounds in my attempt to staunch the flow of giggles. 

Now I was being regarded as if I had bats coming out of my ears. I tried to breathe deeply, but every time I caught one of the looks, I began to splutter again. By the time we reached Betton, the feelings of revulsion toward me were so potent that I almost expected some kind of celebration when I pressed the “stop” button by my side. I'd never seen a crowd part so quickly as this one did to let me out. 

But there was one other person who appreciated the humor of that afternoon, I soon realized. As I passed the bus driver, I kept my head held high. He, in turn, nodded solemnly as he always did. But his eyes were twinkling. And from that day forth, whenever he saw me waiting on the sidewalk, even years later when I came back for a visit, he always slowed to a full stop.