school. I do, however, remember my sister's first day of school. At the time, though,
it's apparent that I didn't give a thought. I left her standing on the long flight of concrete
steps leading up to the old red brick school.
The trip to school was awful. My mother told me to stay with Diane on the bus and make sure
she got to the right room. That seemed easy enough. When we got on the bus, the driver,
Jaz, told us to sit in designated seats. I said, "I've got to sit with my sister." Jaz replied, with a cigar in his mouth, "You don't gotta do nuttin'." His real name was Mr. Jazzorka and he ran a car repair shop near the school. Needless to say, his attire left something to be desired. But
he kept the bus in good repair and volunteered to drive the bus. No body messed with Jaz. So in tears, I went to my assigned seat and Diane went to hers. At least I was able to get off the bus with Diane and take her to her classroom.
By 3 p.m, I had completely forgot about the Jaz incident and evidently my sister, too. After
the 20-minute ride, the bus stopped in front of 7071 Winona. My mother was smiling at
the foot of the long driveway that ran uphill and leveled off at the beginning of our front steps.
As I crossed the street, smiling right back at her, I saw her smile turn to disbelief and then to
a sort of worried horror. "Where's your sister?" she demanded. I remembered then, for the first time since 9 a.m., that I had a sister. "I think I forgot her," was my weak reply. "You were supposed to get her on the bus this afternoon." Then the words of the eloquent Jaz, came to mind. Apparently, one of my "gotta do's" didn't get done.
My mother grabbed my hand and ran into the house to use the phone. She called the school,
talked to the principal and told her we were on the way. She grabbed her purse, and without
letting go of my hand, raced down the steps and the driveway and up the hill and down a
hill and across a street, and stopped only when she came to the bus stop sign. At that point,
the Hohlfeld's did not have a car so public transportation was her only recourse.
We had to wait only about 10 minutes, but then we faced another 20-minute bus ride. The
bus stopped at the corner of Ivanhoe and Smiley and we wasted no time walking about 30 yards
to the aforementioned steps. Sitting on the steps was my sister and Miss Lewis, a teacher I
had last year in second grade. Diane actually looked like she was enjoying herself while I, on
the other hand, was miserable. I had had visions of her lifeless on the long flight of
stairs with vultures circling her tiny little body. But there she was, talking and laughing with
Miss Lewis, the young and beautiful Miss Lewis. Last year, all I got from Miss Lewis was
a few smiles, here and there. And this year I had the fearsome Sister Hilda.
My mom thanked the teacher over and over again. Miss Lewis said she had found my sister
waiting on the steps and realized no one was picking her up. Diane told her she was supposed
to wait for her sister. When she asked Diane "What's your sister's name?" she knew
exactly whom Diane was waiting for. Then the principal got involved and asked Miss Lewis
to stay with her until we got there. We said goodbye to Miss Lewis and went back to
Ivanhoe and Smiley to wait for the Lindenwood bus to stop. On the ride home, and even
after we got home, my mother didn't mention what an idiot I had been, which made me feel
even more wretched.
I had told my mom on one of our bus trips what Jaz had told me that morning, which seemed
like last month. So, the next morning my mom walked across the street with us to talk to
Jaz through the opened bus door. Diane and I were busy getting on the bus, so I didn't
hear what mom and Jaz spoke about. A few minutes after my mom went back across
the street, Jaz pulled the huge brake into the on position and headed toward us. I thought maybe he was going to kill us, but instead, he took each of us by a shoulder and plunked us down in one seat. I guess there are some things people "gotta do." Even Jaz.
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