"Oh, man! I missed the bus again!" I toss my backpack on the ground and sit down on the curb. Tears fill my eyes as I watch my bus turn the corner and head out of town. I have to walk home, again; I hate walking home. I wish I could call someone to pick me up, but there isn't anyone available.
Since I am a freshman--and the first letter of my last name is near the end of the alphabet--my locker is at the back end of the hall. I have five minutes to get from my last class to my locker, gather my stuff, and be on the bus. As the saying says, "The faster I goes, the behinder I gets," whenever I hurry, something usually goes wrong. For example, I have forgotten my locker combination and on one occasion, my books slipped out of my arms and scattered papers all over.
Today the most embarrassing thing happens; I trip and fall. Hurrying out the door, my foot catches on the doorstop and sends me sprawling to the ground. Right next to a group of seniors! Their laughter echoes in my head as I get up and continue towards the bus. But, I'm too late; it's pulling out of the parking lot.
Normally, I don't mind the walk; walking or riding our bikes is how we get around. Many times during the summer, I've walked the three miles between my house and town. However, the days are longer in the summer, this is fall; it'll be dark before I get home. I'm afraid of walking alone after dark.
"Oh, I hate this." I cry as I pick up my bag. "God, please help me get home quickly."
I have to walk on the shoulder of a busy highway. There are no streetlights, and the dark clothes I'm wearing make me invisible to oncoming cars.
Tall, ghostly trees line the highway. Trees so close the branches grab my arm as if trying to hold me back. Frantically, I brush them aside. Blinding headlights from a passing car sends eerie shadows dancing around me. Night sounds attack my ears; bats rustle in the treetops, hunting insects; crickets chirp love songs to each other. A dog barks in the distance, or is it a dog? Are there wolves out here? Fear grips me, propelling me forward. Panting wildly, I run for my life. Oh, why did I have to miss the bus? My heart beats rapidly. I am scared; every shadow, every noise, sends me into a panic. "What's that shadow? Oh, I don't like this. God, just let me get home safe."
Then I see it. "Oh, thank God! There's the bridge."
Narrow and creaky, the bridge is scary. But it's close to home, so I'm happy. A creek runs under the bridge; a steep path runs from the road to the water. During the day I would follow it and cross over on rocks put there by someone years ago. The creek is a great place to spend an afternoon chasing crawdads and tadpoles; at night, it's dark and murky, cutting a black tunnel through the trees. Its banks come alive with wild animals: raccoons, snakes, and rats, all looking for things to eat. Not a place I want to be after dark.
A car zooms past, so I squeeze against the railing. Shifting my bag, I try to make myself as small as possible. Sucking in my stomach, I cross quickly.
On the other side of the bridge, the trees start to thin out. The darkness lifts as the shadows disappear, taking my fear with them. I can see farther down the road and notice a light up ahead. Relief floods my body as I realize it's our porch light. A dim outline of my house comes into view, a small trailer house sitting in the middle of a large green yard. I'm almost home. A warm glow in the big front window tells me Mom is home, making a hot, comforting supper. I can almost smell it cooking.
With a burst of energy, I run towards the friendly scene. "Just a little farther."
The last few yards seem to take forever, but suddenly I am here. I fly up the steps, throw open the front door, and rush inside. As I slump to the floor, my breathing returns to normal. I look around the room; I'm home, safe!
Thank you God.
