Skip to main content

Similar to last year the school bus would handle that and after asking around I found the bus that catered to our neighborhood. Unfortunately I failed to inform the driver of my presence, perhaps thinking he already knew, and so the first day back from school after all students had been dropped off, with much amazement he spotted me and turned around asking, “Who are you?”

“I’m new at school. They told me this is the bus I should take.”

“Where do you live?”

“On Mirdamad Boulevard.”

He was beside himself. “Mirdamad? I already covered that area. Why didn’t you say something when we were there?”

I fumbled for an answer. “I thought you were gonna circle around back.”


The ride back to Mirdamad was by no means spent in silence. The entire drive the driver went on and on complaining about my failure to speak up the first time we were in the neighborhood. When we finally arrived at my door step he got out with me, spotted a few random people on the sidewalk and began sharing his sob story with them. 

Thankfully after that first incident our residence was now known to the driver and so there was no repeat of such incidents. That’s not to say there were no incidents period. One morning as I left my book bag outside (to indicate to our bus driver that I would be getting on the bus in case he didn’t see me at the door) and briefly went back in and then out again, I realized my book bag was missing. I couldn’t imagine anyone stealing it but I remembered that I had heard the garbage collector coming by while I was inside. I quickly ran to the end of the street and made a left onto Shangarf street towards the old river where normally the garbage would be delivered and dumped. Sure enough the garbage collector was there, preparing garbage to be burned. Thankfully my book bag wasn’t amongst the items being prepared. He gestured towards a wall and explained, “The book bag was torn so I thought it was garbage but when I lifted it I could tell there were things in it so I put it to the side in case anyone came to claim it.” I retrieved it and made it back in time for the bus.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...
One day I took the minibus back from school. It was completely packed yet I somehow managed to squeeze myself in. I knew sooner or later some people would get off and per the unwritten rule of busses and minibuses everyone would gradually move towards the end of the bus and thus save me from getting crushed against the door. We had only travelled a short distance when the minibus stopped to let some passengers off. Another passenger and I stepped down to allow them to pass and as we stood there the passenger suddenly exclaimed, “What happened to my wallet? Did someone just steal it?” I wasn’t sure if he was serious or just making a not-so-comical scene about not identifying which pocket his wallet was in, however, it soon became apparent that his wallet was indeed missing. Initially I briefly considered the possibility that he might have suspected me as the pickpocket and thus directed the earlier conversation towards me. Once we were back on the bus though he repeated his commen...
Stacey was a nurse so Kurt knew she would be able to give him a pretty good idea of how critical it was. On the other hand her knowledge of medical jargon could make her words seem foreign to Kurt. “He’s sustained two injuries. The first one was right on impact, his brain was shaken around pretty badly. It might have even rotated and perhaps nerve fibers were stretched and veins and arteries might have torn too. The second one is an open wound where the skull broke. The brain is exposed in that area. He was probably hit by some kind of sharp object during the collision.” Stacey unsuccessfully tried to disguise a horrifying yelp that she let out. “It's possible the area around the wound is undamaged. He might be facing long-term disabilities. He’s lost a lot of blood and his blood pressure has really dropped from the trauma. He’s really weakened by the blood loss. Plus there’s the loss of oxygen to the brain. The damage may be catastrophic. And then there’s infection…” “When w...