I was on my way home when I saw a little girl on a school bus banging on the back window in terror. My world stopped. Something was terribly wrong. But what danger could a small child be in on a seemingly safe school bus? I chased after the bus to find out, but my heart couldn’t take it.
The rain pounded on my windshield as I drove home, and every drop reflected in my heart. Today was the worst day of my life. First my fiancé cancelled our wedding last week, and now I lost my job. My head was a jumble of thoughts and emotions…..
‘Stay calm, Molly,’ I whispered to myself, clenching the steering wheel with my knuckles. “There has to be another way. If one door closes, another opens, right?”
But the words seemed empty. How could I go home and tell Mum she’d been sacked?
She was worried herself. Ever since Dad died, she’d been my rock, and the last thing I wanted to do was let her down.
My phone rang for the fifth time. It was Mum again. I pulled over to the kerb and answered.
“Yes Mum, I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’m driving…”
“Molly, honey, have you seen the weather report? There’s a big storm coming. Please be careful.”
I swallowed hard. This storm was nothing compared to the one raging inside me.
“Yes, yes, don’t worry. I’ll be right there.”
“Is everything okay? You seem a little out of sorts.”
“I’m fine, mum. Just… tired. I need to go, okay? Love you,” I hung up the phone, my throat constricted.
How could I tell her that I had lost my job just for speaking out against my superiors? Their excuse was that they ‘didn’t meet quarterly plans,’ but I knew the real reason.
‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ I muttered, putting the car in reverse gear.
Little did I know that I was about to find out.
As I merged back into the flow of traffic, a yellow school bus rumbled past me. Something caught my eye in the rear window: a little girl, her face pressed against the glass, tiny fists pounding frantically. She was crying out for help.
“What the…? Oh my God…is she okay?” I gasped.
Without thinking, I started the engine and rushed for the bus. The child was clearly in trouble, but why? What danger could she be in on a seemingly safe school bus?
‘I’m coming, hang on honey,’ I muttered, signalling repeatedly.
The bus driver didn’t seem to notice anything, continuing down the road as if nothing had happened. Panic rose in my chest and I made a split second decision. I drove around the bus and sped in front of it, forcing it to stop in the middle of the busy road.
The driver, a heavyset man with a thick black moustache, jumped out of the car. “What kind of stunt are you up to, lady? You could cause an accident!”
I ignored him, squeezed past him and rushed onto the bus. The noise came down on me like a wall. Children huddled around the girl, screaming and laughing.
I rushed to the back of the bus where the girl sat alone, her face flushed and covered in tears. As I approached her, I froze. This was not at all what I expected.
‘Oh my God, are you having an asthma attack?’
The girl nodded convulsively, her chest heaving as she struggled for air. I knelt down next to her chair, my heart pounding frantically.
‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
She pointed to the ID hanging around her neck. Her name was Chelsea.
“Okay, Chelsea, we’re going to help you now. Where’s your inhaler?”
Chelsea shook her head, unable to speak. I looked up and saw that the driver had followed me, his face pale.
‘Do you know where her inhaler is?’
He shook his head. “I…I didn’t even know she had a problem. It’s so noisy in here, I couldn’t hear anything.”
I held back a rant and started searching Chelsea’s backpack. Nothing. Panic swept me up from the inside when I saw the little girl’s lips start to turn blue.
‘Help me look!’ I shouted to the driver.
We searched under the seats, in the aisle, everywhere we could think of. To my horror, I realised that the other kids were laughing and some were even pointing at Chelsea.
‘This isn’t funny!’ I pounced on them. ‘She needs help!’
And then it hit me. I started grabbing everyone by their backpacks, ignoring their protests.
‘Hey, you can’t do that!’ – A freckle-faced boy shouted.
I found it in the third bag I checked: a blue inhaler with Chelsea’s name on it. I pounced on the boy to whom the backpack belonged.
‘Why do you have that?’
He turned away, muttering: ‘It was just a joke.’
“A joke? She could have died!”
I hurried back to Chelsea and helped her use the inhaler. Gradually her breathing evened out and the colour returned to her face. I held her hand, whispering soothing words as she came to her senses.
The driver stood still, kneading his hands. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”
I turned to him, blazing with anger. “Those kids are your responsibility! You should have checked to see what was going on when you heard the noise!”