The Great Aim of Education is not Knowledge but Action - Herbert Spencer
The time seems to go on when I'm riding the bus. Still sleepy from having woken only an hour, before getting on to the drafty bus. The laughter, and chatter from the other students a constent noise in my mind. Shifting around, uncomfertable in the small compact space of the seats. Talking effortlessly with friends, about fun times shared, or fun times to have later on. Listening to the bus driver, as she loses her patience with some of the kids. Constantly looking out the windows, taking in the quite landsape as it rolls by. Wanting nothing more than to be off the bus, and doing something else.
Waiting in the cool fresh air for the doors of the yellow bus to welcome me in. As I walk into the bus instantly my head wants to go back onto my pillow for some more relaxing quiet sleep. The loud muggy crowded bus doesn't allow me to close my eyes for five more minutes. The children laughing the smell of sleep and coffee in the air doesn't help much eather. Waiting as our bus dawns closer and closer to our finial destination. My body gets anxious and is longing for the rest of the world of fresh air and the new day to begin. The education I want to get is right infront of me as soon as I get off of this muggy crowded bus. As the students stand as if they are to enter a prison they inactively get off the bus one by one. Into the enviorment that will mold and reconstruct their minds.
As you get on to the bus and sit on the ice cold seat the moister in the air it’s as thick as water. It’s hard to think when there is dozens of voices going all at the same time about random things. There is what seems to be an endless tree line all taller than the bus is long. The bus driver looking from the road to the kids like she had a 64 ounce of Coffey and downed it as soon as she got it she seems to be looking for a certain person. The middle school talking as if no one was round for miles as loud as can be talking over everyone else so that they may be heard, and moving all over it’s like a vast sea of little kids never ending to land. I am weary of the bus ride ready for school for there is a computer and many other things to do there, also there is no middle school in the class room.
Once you sit down their is no turning back you just their in the most dull seats you hear the screaming of young middle schoolers and the conversations you never wanted too. the more you keep to yourself the more you hear, laughs crys and the most stuipedest things you will ever hear. as you sit you hear every little thing from your neigbor listing to music or the sound of someone texting on their phone you sit their keeping to yourself on the loudest bus in the world but you still hear evey little thing that goes on.
In a rush, I ran down Coiner Park. I was late. My legs were dragging from the restlessness of the night before. I ran for the bus before it could close the doors, and said “Morning” to the driver in the same mono tone as I usually did. I walked down the track and found myself towards the back. The stench of after-smoke got to me and the air was warmer on the bus than it was when my dad had dropped me off. I settled myself next to Emyn and pulled out my book and iPod. The bus began in full motion, pulling out of the park and onto Main Street. I put on M83, and began to read. The book felt warm in my hands and each word drew me in like a drug. From time to time I would glance up to a different scene; a deserted town on a bleak Thursday morning, a mountain side full of winding and sun glistening roads. I turned my attention towards the open lake that seemed to run off of the edge of the mountain. Its reflection was still and very clear. The sun was high and we had a rush of cool air. The music was blurred, with each piece almost syncing in unison. My seat was growing more and more uncomfortable, I could feel the iron bar that was made into the seat with the cheap 80’s upholstery form in my back. I put my stuff away quickly realizing a familiar look-out point. The bus was louder than I had heard from the feedback of my music. The kids were screaming – but it all seemed to be silent to me. I was still drowsy from the long night, with no sleep.
It was 8:19 a.m.
“Another day” Is all I could hear in my head.