RIDING THE BUS TO SCHOOL AN EXPERIENCE IN ITSELF.

Byline: Julia Harm

DURING all the emotional changes I faced in my high school career, there was always one continuing factor: the bus. Every morning, I would wake up at 5:30 a.m. to get to the bus stop by 6:40 a.m. and arrive at school by 7:30 a.m. It was a tedious journey requiring two buses and a 30-minute layover in between. The same routine would be repeated in the afternoon in order to arrive home by 4:20 p.m.

I can still remember my first ride, nervously waiting for the 79 eastbound bus to come hurtling by. Sticking my head out over the curb, straining to see the reflection of the sun bouncing off the bus windows, announcing its presence. I waited in anticipation and nearly cheered when I finally saw it coming. I raced to the door and plopped in my $1.50 (today it's $1.65, with transfer). I received my transfer and quickly sat down. Those transfers always made me so nervous, printed on such thin paper that I would always fear handling them too roughly or losing them.

My head craned to see out the huge front windshield, my body jerking back and forth as the bus made its stop-and-go movements at every stop sign and bus stop. I squinted my eyes, scanning every sign and praying I wouldn't miss my exit. When I finally saw it, I excitedly pulled the bus cord, a small ``ding'' resounded through the bus.

I jumped off and hurried across the street, energy pulsing through me as I waited for the second bus to come.

Those first few weeks were filled with excitement. I almost laugh now as I think of it. How I would race to be at the front of the line to get on the bus. And how I would always try to ring the bell first when my stop would approach.

I remember I always wondered why the other people on the bus were not as excited as I was. How could they possibly be calm enough to do things like sleep, talk and work?

It baffled me.

But after a few weeks, my nervousness dissipated and my daily expenditure of $3 was replaced by a monthly one of $20 for my bus pass. The curiosity of the bus itself disappeared as my eyes were opened to a whole new world.

A majority of the bus riders were regulars. I became familiar with the faces and lives of these people. There were an eclectic mix of students, domestic helpers and business people. I learned a great many things on that bus, almost as much as I did at school. I learned une peu de francais and how to decipher trigonometry while hurtling down the street at 55 mph.

But more importantly, I learned about the lives of these people. I watched them as they cared for each other, watching out for people who were virtually strangers. They depended on each other for a little gossip, a morning smile and sometimes a little kindness that could be found nowhere else.

Riders used laughter and conversation to speed along the time spent on the bus. And it worked: The past four years have flown past me. And as I find myself on my daily route for the last time, I am saddened at the prospect of never seeing these people again.

The trip was grueling at times, what with running behind schedule and breaking down sometimes, but the human connection I found on that bus made the rough times a little easier.