The school bus or traveling psych ward?

As any good driver would do I slammed on my brakes as I noticed the school bus sign swing out. As the little man stepped off the bus I felt his gaze turn upon me. He couldn't be more than 8 years old but his eyes held the wisdom of the ages. As he looked at me I suddenly felt very alone and afraid. There was a hidden power in those eyes. Someone, somewhere, once said, "Don't give him any sugar. It'll make him hyper." And it is still true today. The boy did not take another step toward the house for what felt like an hour until his father called to him from the front porch. But I could not leave for the sign still remained. The symbolic "STOP" that was of the highest authority in our land. And he could not turn his gaze from me. We were in a silent war brought upon us by no one really. I did not choose it neither did he. I wasn't really sure why he was looking at me. What had I done to him? He would not turn and simply walk to his house. What was keeping him so curious about me? What was to be my fate? I had literally met thousands of children in my travels but none as strange as this young man. Would I have the courage to go on? Would his father be able to get his attention so he would just go inside? How many other victims would suffer the poisonous stare from him? Perhaps it was the thoughts I was thinking prior to stopping. Could he have heard what was playing in my mind? Did he know my little skit I was playing out when I saw the bus come to a stop. The little skit went something like this: I was enjoying a brief excursion to pick up parts for the work I was doing on a street not too far from the street I was currently on. As I saw the bus coming to a stop and the sign swinging out I came up with a funny little scene in my mind. I was talking to an unknown, unseen passenger and I was talking about the rules of the road. "Sure", I said, "you have to stop but there's no law that says you can't wail on your horn to make them hurry up across the street." I chuckled to myself as I saw the shocked look on the unknown, unseen stranger's face in the seat next to me. "Yeah, just wail on the horn and yell obscenities until they hurry up and get across." I even described a scene where the cars front tires were locked up and smoke was coming from the back tires. The children would run across, driven by the fear of being run over, when the brakes finally let the smoking tires in the rear engage the pavement and the car would careen forward and the wide eyed expression of the child as the car lunged forward. "Ha, ha, ha" I laughed out loud as my van came to a halt and I watched the child exit the bus. Then reality came crashing down all around me as I could not escape that cold, deadly stare from one as young as this one. "But there's no way" I said to myself. "He couldn't have read my mind. It was just a funny little skit I was imagining just to entertain myself." But somehow, through an unknown ability even his parents weren't aware of, little Johnny had read my thoughts and felt the fear from my little skit. And then the fear turned to rage as he got off the bus. And the rage identified it's cause. And that cause was me. So for the next hour we did not dare move. My foot was firmly planted on the brake and I monitored the gas gauge to insure I would not run out while we were locked in this stare down. His father called multiple times and then, as I felt the final strands of lifeforce about to exit from me, the child turned away and waved to his dad and began the walk down the sidewalk to his house. But he did make one last stop. And took one last look. As my van approached 90 miles and hour I knew I had escaped with my soul in tact. But it will be a long time before I venture back to Webster street. And never will I watch any more children come off the bus. From now on I'll just pay attention to that mounted, swinging stop sign to allow me to continue. If I've learned one thing from this experience it's this - don't dare to dream when the school buses are out and about. He may be riding and waiting. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.