Ellen Yeomans

THE STORY

SHE CALLS US NAMES

Every Day

Get on

quick

Sit down

quick

Don’t look around

Don’t sit up front

Don’t sit far back

Don’t get noticed

Middle is safest

Middle is invisible

You hope.

Every day.

False Advertising

Bright yellow buses

looked so cheery

on picture book pages,

on television screens,

in the tiny toy section of

Fay’s Drugstore.

You thought it would be

friendly.

You thought it would be

fun.

You imagined singing.

You thought you’d swap sandwiches

with a bus best friend.

You thought wrong.

You Thought About Telling

The first year

was confusing.

At some point

even though you knew,

you understood

the pattern was every day

it would always be every day

you decided not to tell.

You protected your parents

from the truth,

wanted them to think

Everything was okay

Everything was fine

Everything was just like

the books on the shelf.

Besides, they knew her.

And they liked her.

But This Year Is Different

You pose for the

First Day picture.

Your brother, your baby brother,

beside you this time,

finally old enough for school.

Your brother loves cars

He’s the Vehicle Connoisseur

Cars, and trucks and planes,

but especially buses.

His love-worn

mini-metal one

in his pocket, right now

making his hands smell like pennies.

He is a little scared about school.

He is a lot excited about the school bus.

So why didn’t you warn him?

Mom takes one last picture with the bus doors open behind you

with your brother turning away, ready to go.

Take your little brother’s hand

Help him climb those big steps

Be sure to sit with him

Keep him safe

Have a great day at school!

But you had to get there first.

The First Mistake

Nod quick to the Driver.

Your brother tries to sit

in the empty front seat

across from little Mattie.

You jerk him out and up

hustle him down the aisle

select the right seat

turn to him

his lashes laced with tears

because you’ve hurt his shoulder

and hurt his heart.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry

You whisper-shush him.

We can’t sit up there.

But my friend Mattie gets to, he sobs.

He wants to see out that wide bus window,

he wants to pretend to steer

and shift.

He hopes to honk

that great bus horn.

He wants to see how the lights work

flash yellow, flash red.

Of course he does,

he’s the Vehicle Connoisseur.

She Calls Us Names

Tells us

We’re animals

We’re trash

We’re poor

Our parents should never have had us.

We’re monsters.

Why does she have to put up with such scum?

She’s never hit anyone

Touched anyone

So what if you did tell?

Would she get in trouble?

Even if she has never hurt one of us?

Because she hasn’t ever hurt one of us.

Right?

The Bus Driver Says NO

When you try to bring little Mattie

back to the center seats with you.

She has an assigned seat now.

Mattie always smells

a little like cat pee

and a lot like wood smoke.

And no one sits with her.

Why didn’t you try

to save her that first day?

What If?

What if you lived closer to school? What if Mattie did?

What if you could convince them to move?

You’d be a Walker, not a Rider

And your brother would be a Walker, not a Rider

And you could “air out” Mattie all the way to school.

And all your problems would drive away.

Side Effects

Every day you arrive at school

with a sore throat

trying to talk loud enough and long enough

to drown out whatever he might hear.

You can do this all year if you have to.

You will protect him his whole life if you have to.

Except

What if one day you are sick?

And next year you’ll change schools.

Your baby brother won’t. Then what?

Holiday

The day she is absent

is like the day before Christmas break

like the day before summer break.

And even though you have to go to school,

everyone is light

and loud

and happy.

If it could be like this every day

you could rest your voice.

There Comes a Day

Your voice is tired.

You are tired

of pretending that the ride is fine,

and you try to tell your parents

try to explain

and they love you

but they just don’t see

what you see

can’t hear

what you hear.

They ask your brother what he thinks

Sometimes Mattie gets picked on and

some days the boys are rowdy, he says.

He looks at you and you can see

that he is protecting too,

that he is protecting you.

Your parents say they’re sorry

and they’re sure it’ll get better and soon.

And then they are laughing about when they were young

and the school bus hijinks they remember.

But your brother’s hands don’t ever smell like pennies anymore.

True

You ask Abby, who used to sit with you

before your baby brother went to school

You ask Abby,

Have you ever told? Do you think anyone ever has?

Abby says, My grandma told me to have more respect.

My grandma says not to bother her and just behave.

Keisha, beside her, leans forward and says,

I heard the Milton boys told last year. Principal said

they misbehave on the bus. It’ll be on their school record.

Abby says, It’s true, they do.

Some of us cut up when she calls us names

and it’s true

everybody’s a little poor over here.

If we acted better, maybe she’d be nicer?

Try Again with Just Mom

The bus kids must be exaggerating

because she is in the PTA

and helps out with the Cub Scout den.

Her own kids are good kids.

They’ll talk to her at the next meeting

try to see what they can do to help get

the kids on the bus to behave.

Now What?

We’ve had a Stranger Danger Assembly

and a Bully-Free Zone Program

and two years of School Safety

and something like: Character-Counts-So-We-Won’t-Tolerate-Bullies Day.

But none of that seems to fit what’s happening here.

That Day

That Day Mattie

got yelled at because someone TOLD.

That Day Mattie got yelled at

because of the trash in piles by her front door

and her mother’s dogs

that roam in the yards and stand in the street.

That Day Mattie got yelled at because she reeked

That Day Mattie cried and peed in the aisle

That Day you stood up and shouted,

Leave Mattie alone!

and the whole bus went dead quiet.

You took her to the too-busy school nurse

for some clean pants.

And the too-busy school nurse

looked at you funny when you said who made Mattie cry.

On the Bus

She told you to shut up so you do because you don’t want your brother to be her next target.

She told you to shut up so you do because you don’t want to be her next target.

She told you to shut up so you do because Mattie has missed school since that day.

She told you to shut up so you do.

But you start writing everything down.

This Time

you don’t try to talk so much

that your brother won’t hear.

Instead,

you write

every mean thing she says

with dates.

And then you borrow

what you aren’t allowed to borrow

you borrow your mother’s phone.

You will be in Big Trouble.

But you record it all

over and over

the curses

the comments

the names.

The way she taunts

Malcolm and Ginnie,

her new targets,

every time she stops at their house.

Tells them every time it looks like a pigsty.

Tells them every time how it suits them.

You feel your face redden

and try to nod and smile at Ginnie

so she knows you’re on her side.

Of course, she does what you do,

doesn’t look anyone in the eye

as she takes a seat.

If you don’t look

you don’t cry.

Usually.

And Then

It happened pretty fast.

The too-busy school nurse

stopped and read

stopped and listened

to the video

on Mom’s phone that you sneaked.

The not-too-busy school nurse called the principal

to see

to listen.

And they would have called Mattie

from her class if she had been to school since

the bus driver bullied her for the last time.

New Driver

You let your brother sit up front

so he can pretend to drive.

Mattie sits in the seat across the aisle.

Not smiling

yet. But not crying

either.

Your brother calls over to Mattie,

uses his penny-scented hands,

shows her how to steer.

Mattie puts both hands on her pretend giant wheel

and steers like she knows exactly where to go.