The bus driver slams on his brakes. 

I look at my house, hoping she’s not home. 

I'm filled with a sense of relief. 

Running down my driveway

My backpack swinging, hitting the sides of my arms. 

Sprinting with joy, readying to relax. 

The bus screeches as it comes to a halt

Anticipating whether her plans hadn’t fallen through.

Looking through the dusty, creaking windows.

Filled with irritation 

Dreading to walk down my driveway 

Heading towards the mailbox to spare myself some time. 

The bus comes to a stop. 

I look up seeing it's my house. 

Rushing down the narrow bus isle,

My backpack hanging off one shoulder, hitting every other seat. 

Going down the steep steps, I look up. 

Her car isn't there. 

Racing my brother to get to the television first.

The bus comes to a halt. 

The breaks slowly pressed 

the sting of the screeching noise hurting my ears. 

Hoping

Anticipating

Praying she’s home. 

Looking out the dusty creaking windows. 

The bus rumbles 

the bus driver watching me in the mirror, waiting for me to move.

Wishing she still had plans.

Walking towards the mailbox, to buy myself some time.

I stare at the blank parking space.

Drowning in a sea of guilt, 

I can’t help but think this is my own doing.