Elizabeth

Our bus driver Merv was reasonable, if he saw you running down your driveway, he’d wait for you. Most of his passengers had long driveways. Settlers had often built their houses on the top of hills, to avoid flooding, I guess. Our house was a century old, most of our neighbors’ houses were the same age. If Merv didn’t see you, he kept going. His bus was never late like the Chatsworth bus. Merv rarely spoke. He nodded at us as we stepped onto his bus. He was respected. There was no bullying on Merv’s bus; no rowdiness or disrespectful behavior was tolerated. Usually, all it took was Merv to glare into his rearview mirror at his passengers. We nudged one another and whispered, “Merv”. Seeing his eyes on us, was all it took to bring us back to our senses. One time when a high schooler was being rude. Merv warned him. The cocky jock didn’t heed the warning and mocked Merv. Merv opened the door, he spoke one word, one time. “Off “. The bus sat with the door open, on the highway shoulder, until the boy got off the bus. This was in the late seventies, no one had cell phones, that boy walked home. That’s how Merv kept us on time, and we were the quietest most polite passengers in all of Grey County.

Our long driveway was crowded with trees, we would have to be past the trees, for Merv to see us. Every morning it was a ritual; the dogs would start barking, we’d look out the front window, if we saw the yellow school bus, we’d drop our toast and yell at each other run. We snatched our bags fleeting to get past the trees. We had a couple seconds more than most, Merv had to turn the bus in our narrow driveway. If he had turned and we weren’t there, he drove away, leaving us in the gravel road dust. 

We lived down a country road that came to end after two miles. Our house was a mile in, but we were the only school children on the road, all our neighbors’ kids had grown up.

When Merv drove back  back to the highway, we usually turned left to continue the route and start into the city, but one day we turned right. No one spoke although everyone wondered, “Where we were going?” No one dared ask Merv, for fear of getting kicked off the bus. We drove two or three miles the opposite direction than Merv turned the bus into a small driveway off the highway. A girl we had never seen before got on the bus. She looked like she was from another century or civilization. She had long perfectly brushed thick black hair, it captivated me, it was beautiful and seemed to move as one unit, not one strand was out of place. The girl wore a long loose dress to her ankles. Almost no one wore dresses to our school and certainly not long to the ankles. The dress style was old-fashioned like something my grandmother might have worn but even she wouldn’t wear ankle length on a normal day. The girl sat straight up, perfectly positioned, her head facing forward. She ignored, all whispers. Someone quietly mocked “hey it’s Laura Ingals!” Merv gave his stern look into the mirror and the girl was never mocked on our bus again.  She said, “Good morning.” to Merv as she stepped up the school bus stairs. Her skin was a lovely almond color, we were all white, having only one black family in our city at the time, she was like a charming doll coming to life.

I watched her from a distance, she moved slowly and deliberately, never slouching.  Merv stopped at the high school first, dropped them and then drove on to our junior high. There were only few of us in junior high on the bus. I followed her off the bus. She walked gracefully to the main door. She seemed to know where she was going. As it turned out we were in the same class. The teacher introduced her to us “Elizabeth Hycith” Even her name was from a different century, she didn’t go by Beth or Liz but Elizabeth. She was intriguing to me. Our classmates looked at her and kind of snickered, she was different. Different was not easy in a small town. She didn’t flinch or show weakness. She remained aloof in her bubble of dignity and self-assurance. I wished I had such confidence.

I was always thinking about how others thought about me: what I wear, what I say, who my friends were. I wanted to melt into the social fabric of school not be noticed, certainly not be different. Elizabeth was different she had an air of sophistication beyond her years.

For days I watched her, I was in awe of her clothes, hair, skin tone, and her strange aloofness. She was always polite. She spoke when addressed, never voluntarily, she seemed reserved but not shy. I was shy but one day when we were few on the bus between the high school and our junior high, I worked up my nerve and moved to a seat behind her. I spoke “Hi Elizabeth”.

 She responded gently “Hi Sandra”.

“Can I sit with you after school today?” I asked

“hmm” for the first time she seemed uncertain “ok”

So that’s how it began. We became bus friends. She was not like other friends. She didn’t have TV so knew no shows nor characters. Her imagery play was often very silly. I enjoyed her simplicity. She talked of her home life but never telling as much as I wanted to know. She always held back. They did not have electricity. Once I pointed out the hydro line near her house as Merv drove the bus into her driveway.

 “Yes, but it’s not hooked up”, “My parents don’t want it”. Elizbeth said.

I was curious asking: “Don’t want electricity? How do you keep your food cold?”

“In the basement in a cold room.”

“How do you do your homework?”

“By lantern”

I had so many questions. Her responses were always brief.

I wanted to visit. I tried to invite myself over, I invited her to my house, but she said her parents would never agree. I begged to go to her house, she said she would try. I kept asking I really wanted to see how they lived. She was not Mennonite, or Amish I asked. In fact, her parents didn’t even believe in God. I wanted to know so much more. I had never met anyone so different before.

During this time, my heart was troubled. Guilt, I felt guilty, on the bus we were like best friends, once we got to school, we acted like we didn’t know each other. I never told her to do that, it was just understood, she was a social detriment. When partners were chosen, she was always last. She ate lunch alone. She sat outside by herself at recess. I would look over and feel a twinge of guilt. I wanted to change it. I told her so, she told me no. She preferred to be alone at school. She said it was easier. Still I felt uneasy.

This was our routine for many months. Then one morning, Merv turned the bus into her driveway. She wasn’t there. She had never been late before. Merv waited for her, which he didn’t do for anyone, he even honked, but she didn’t come. He did that for three days, on the fourth day after picking us up and driving back to the highway, we turned left as we had before Elizabeth became a passenger. When I was stepping down from the bus I turned asking, “Merv, what happened to Elizabeth?”

“I was told she not taking the bus anymore”. He spoke tenderly.

For months, whenever, our family drove past her house along the highway, I tried to see her, try to spot her on her lawn or in a window. It might have even been years, I kept checking, kept hoping to see Elizabeth.