Steve Sheinkin

THE STORY

THROW UP

Sometimes I can tell when something bad’s about to happen. I once said that my sister was going to get hurt, and that night at dinner she told everyone she had a raisin up her nose. No one believed her, but she kept saying it so my dad got some tweezers. She cried because the tweezers poked her, but my dad said, “Sit still,” and he really did pull out a raisin. It had blood on it.

I had that feeling again when I got on the bus this day. Our bus driver is very fat. He wears a fur hat all the time like the kind they wear in Russia. His face is always red and sweaty. No one has ever seen him stand up. This day, his face was even extra red and sweaty, and you could tell he was sick.

I sat in my same seat in the middle of the bus on the right side. On the back of the seat in front of me were naked drawings of different teachers from our school. No one ever sat next to me, except sometimes for a little while to touch my hair and say they were looking to see if there were any birds living in the curls, because they said it was like a nest.

It was a hot day, but we couldn’t open the windows anymore. Too many kids stuck their heads out like dogs do. “You might get your head chopped off,” the driver said, “and then I’ll be in big trouble.”

When there were still seven kids on the bus, the driver pulled over. “This isn’t a stop,” one kid said. “The bus driver is lost again.” The kids all laughed.

The bus driver picked up his radio and said, “Eighty-four to base.”

The radio crackled, and a guy said, “Come in, Eighty-four.”

The driver said, “Vic, I don’t feel so good.”

The guy asked, “What’s the matter, Clark?”

“I think it’s the flu. Remember I felt dizzy before? Now I feel a little nauseous.”

The guy asked if he could finish the route, and the driver said he thought so.

The next stop was a street where three kids got off, and the stop after that was a street where the rest of the kids but me get off. We were at that stop. I was watching the bus driver. He was still sweaty, but his face was white instead of red. His eyes were closed. His lips were moving even though he wasn’t saying anything. The last girl was at the top of the steps when he leaned toward the door. I thought he was trying to stand, but he didn’t take off his seat belt. He started throwing up. The girl screamed, and jumped down the steps, but some got on her leg. It was orange and creamy, and there was a lot of it. It made a milky spilling sound. He threw up four times. It dripped down the steps and fell out onto the street.

It looked funny, but then I smelled it and I almost had to throw up, too. I covered my mouth and nose and lay down on my seat. I heard the bus driver cough and spit. Then he threw up a little bit more. I took deep breaths through my mouth, which is good for not smelling, but I could taste it a little. Then I looked up over the seat. He picked up the radio and said, “Eighty-four to base,” and spit onto the stairs while he was waiting.

The guy came on and said, “What now, Eighty-four?”

The driver said, “I just got sick on the bus.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

The driver said, “Yeah, on the steps and everything. It’s a real mess.”

The guy said, “Oh man, Clark,” and he sounded angry. “Is there anyone still there?”

The driver looked up in the mirror and saw me. “One kid.”

“Oh, man,” the guy said. “Wait there. I’ll send someone to get him.”

And then we just sat there. He said I could open my window, and I did. I stuck my head out and I could see the hill my house was on.

“Can I walk home?” I asked.

“I can’t let you.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because of insurance reasons.”

I stuck my head out the window again and breathed the air. A little kid rode by on his bike and asked what happened. “The bus driver threw up five times,” I said.

“Why don’t you get off?”

I said, “Insurance.”

I looked out the window for three minutes, and the little kid kept sitting there on his bike watching the bus. Then I heard the bus driver’s seat squeak. He was standing up. No one had ever seen him stand up before. He looked at me and said, “You mind if I come back there? The stench is killing me.”

I said okay, and he walked past me and sat in the very back seat with his legs out in the aisle, because he wouldn’t fit the regular way.

“The other bus should be here soon,” he said. He face was back to being red. He shook his head and said, “I’m very sorry about that.” When he talked there was a string of yellow spit between his lips that stretched up and down but didn’t break.

I looked at the naked pictures on the back of the seat in front of me, because if I looked at him I might have to talk to him more. I wondered if he was going to let me go out the emergency exit in the back—or would I have to walk through the throw-up? I could even jump out the window if they would let me.

I thought I heard a bus coming and I looked up, but it was a truck. When the truck went by it was loud, and when it left I could hear the bus driver breathing. He was taking breaths every second, and his nose sniffled. I thought he was laughing at first, but he kept going for so long, and nobody ever laughs that many times. I was afraid to turn around and look at him. I thought he might get mad or embarrassed. But I turned a little bit and pretended to be looking out the window, and I could see him, because one thing I can do is see sideways. He was leaning forward with his arms crossed and his head facing down. His eyes were closed, but tears were coming out of them. He was shaking a little. I turned back around before he could see me.

Then I heard talking from outside the bus. I looked out and there was the little kid, and also the three kids from that bus stop. The girl had on new pants. They looked at the throw-up on the steps and then ran away, laughing. They came back and walked around the bus and saw the bus driver in the back.

“What’s he crying about?” one of them asked.

“I don’t know,” I said out the window.

“Why don’t you get off?”

“I’m not allowed,” I said. They laughed, and two other kids came on bikes from down the road. Soon there were a lot of kids outside the bus, and some of them were even in junior high. They walked all around the bus and kept shouting to me, “Do you like it in there?” “Does it smell good?” “Are you going to cry, too?”

I didn’t answer, but they kept asking.

The bus driver wasn’t making noise anymore. I looked back and his head was resting in his hands. His fingers were fat and they covered his whole face. He wasn’t shaking. The kids outside started shouting and I looked, and there was another bus coming. It was a little one. It stopped behind us, and the other driver got out. The kids told him that our bus driver threw up, and he said he knew all about it. They showed him the throw-up, and he made a face and said, “That’s disgusting.”

The new driver walked to the back of the bus and opened the emergency door. The kids were around him, looking in. I bent down to pick up my bag from the floor.

“What’s his name?” the new driver asked.

Someone said my name was Nesty and someone said Stevie and someone said Stephen, and the new driver said, “Come on, Stephen, I’m gonna take you home.”

I had my bag on my lap. All the kids were looking at me. Our driver pulled his legs in so I could get by. But I didn’t get up.

“Let’s go. Hurry up!” the new driver said.

“Maybe he died,” a kid said.

Another kid said, “Maybe it’s past his bedtime, and he went to sleep.”

They all laughed. I turned around and looked at the seat in front of me.

“What’s your problem?” the new driver asked. “Don’t you want me to take you home?” I didn’t answer, so he asked our driver, “Clark, what’s this kid’s problem?” Our driver didn’t say anything. The new driver said, “Stephen, are you coming out or not? It really doesn’t matter to me.” He waited a long time and said, “Okay,” and the door slammed and all the kids cracked up.

The little bus drove away. Some of the kids left and some sat down on the side of the road and watched the bus. I could hear the bus driver moving around. His seat squeaked until he stopped moving. Then it was really quiet. We just sat there together.

Soon it started to get a little bit dark out. I turned and looked right at him. He looked at me. It was the first time I ever saw him smile.