See You Later

                   I mumbled “See you later.” to Mr. Garland, swung my discolored gray backpack over my shoulder, and bolted out of the classroom into the hallway.          The fluorescent lights spread out on the ceiling were too bright, and I squinted as I made my way, maneuvering past, around, and through the swarming throng of students in the crowded hall. I walked with intense vigor; It probably looked like I was running for my life compared to everyone else’s lazy bustling, but I was too busy searching for Wilson to care.
         There was a sickening, sugary end-of-the-school-day feeling in the air, and Cave In Rock High School was bleeding students from every door of every building. Everyone had that jubilant sense of escape and freedom about them, and I wanted to leave more than ever. I wanted nothing but to find Wilson, and ride with him away from this horrid place.
         I perused the hallway and scrutinized every group of people for Wilson’s short, dirty blonde hair and purple sweater, but the hectic atmosphere of the crowded hall was much too chaotic for me to focus. Locker doors swung open and slammed, a squeak followed by a metallic bang, over and over again. Everyone was either shouting or laughing hysterically.
         The hallway was a cacophonous hell.
         Then a girl named Tabitha Owens caught my eye; she always does. I feigned checking something on my phone as she passed me by, then glanced in her direction as she faded down the hallway. I put my phone in my pocket and continued looking for Wilson. He was nowhere.
         I walked a little farther down the hallway and studied the horde of students shuffling out the door and toward the bus area. The doorway at the end of the hall was much too narrow for the number of people trying to cram through it all at once. It was almost funny to see them waddle around and squeeze between each other like confused penguins, saying “excuse me, watch out, coming through, excuse me” over and over until they passed the threshold and escaped into the fresh air. But none of the penguins were Wilson.
         I turned around at the end of the hall and stood befuddled for a moment. I wanted to scratch my head and sigh, but I wasn‘t yet willing to lose faith that my buddy Wilson was somewhere in this hallway, looking for me with the same determination. I made another lap around the hall, but Wilson was nowhere.
         He tends to blend in, especially at school, but I can spot him out of a crowd, just because I’ve known him so long. If he was in a gorilla suit juggling babies, most people would say “Hey! Why is that guy juggling babies in a gorilla suit?” But I would say “Hey! Why is Wilson juggling babies in a gorilla suit?”.
         I knew he had to be around someplace. There’s no way I just didn’t see him. I’ve hung around him so long his appearance is burned into my consciousness. Though I must admit, sometimes I just search for the faded, oversized purple sweater he wears. He bought it at last year’s homecoming game. The sweater had “Go Lions!” still barely printed on the back. I bought an identical sweater the same day he bought his, but I’d gotten a new sweater after that one was worn out. But Wilson still wore his.
         And then as my digression into thoughts about Wilson’s raggedy sweater drew to a close, I looked around and realized that my surroundings were suddenly a lot more spacious than they were a moment ago. The hallway was as empty as it was before the day began. The building was bled dry.
Everyone was long gone, and I had no choice but to believe that Wilson was too. The weight of solitude came to rest on my shoulders. I wanted to be mad at him, but I knew he wouldn’t ditch me in the hallway like this for no good reason. I idled where I was and gawked down the vacant hallway, looking from one end all the way to the other. I more or less didn’t know what to do. My whole end of the day routine just fell apart.
         Every day for as long as I care to remember, Wilson and I would meet in this hallway, talk about whatever on our way to the funnel of people squeezing through the door, then walk to his old musty Volvo, and he would drive us to my house.
         I stood alone and knew none of that was going to happen today.
         The fluorescent lights hummed above my head. They were just as brilliant as they were when I first came out into the hall. I was clueless as to why I noticed that a second time. The emptiness of the hallway magnified their brightness.
         Then a sick, anxious feeling grew in my gut as it occurred to me I did not know how I was going to get home. I felt stranded, and began chewing on my left thumbnail. It had to be at least five or six miles from the school to my house, so walking wasn’t an option.
         Then a finger tapped my shoulder from behind. “Wilson!” I thought and I spun around fast with a wide smile and raised eyebrows to see who was there.          It was, to my utter disappointment, Mr. Henry, the janitor. He answered my enthusiastic twirl with a brief display of artificial excitement.
         “ Excuse me.” He said in his usual hoarse, hushed manner. I was in the way of the broom he was pushing up the hall.
         “Oh, I’m sorry.” I said and leaped out of his way.
         Mr. Henry continued up the hall in his relaxed but still hardworking fashion, and I watched him get farther and farther away. Then just as I thought all was silent again, Mr. Henry lifted his head from staring down at the broom and shouted back at me without turning around.
         “You best get moving son, that bus don’t wait for nobody!” His voice echoed down the hall and in turn echoed in my head.
         I then knew my only option.
         I dreaded the mere thought of riding that bus home. I hadn’t ridden that horrid bus in forever, but I was pretty sure that I’d still be welcome there. Maybe that was just me being optimistic. Or should I say pessimistic.
         I didn’t want to return to the bus, but I was out the door and walking before I could convince myself not to. I strolled at a steady pace up the walk between the main building and the gym. I took a shortcut through the wet, uncut grass in an alley between two buildings.
         There was a lot of kids still around either waiting for their bus or getting on a bus. I squinted at the numbers on each bus, looking for 8-C. And contrary to what Mr. Henry said, the bus was there waiting for me. Of course I knew the bus wasn’t waiting for me, but it might as well have been.
         I hurried over to the giant yellow beast; it was leaving any second.
***
         The bus was total chaos.
         Amid the riot on wheels, a cluster of ruffians, rapscallions, and freshmen in the back shrieked and jumped from seat to seat like a pack of chimpanzees, five or six rambunctious females nearer the middle of the bus squawked like seagulls and gossiped about each other’s boobs, and the couple sitting directly behind me fervently and incessantly made out, moaning and slurping like hungry hippos.
         Mr. Stephen, the old, defeated driver, looked like he wanted to drive the bus off a cliff and listen to all the animals in the back scream before a violent, messy death welcomed them.
         We were on the second seat from the front of the bus, where all the quiet uninteresting kids sat.
         “Matthew, there’s just no way.”, I replied, trying to sway his overconfident ignorance.
         I told Matthew, the kid with the Ninja Turtles backpack and a lazy eye, my predicament, explaining how Wilson wasn’t there, and how strange it was that I saw his car still parked behind the gym like usual.
         “He’s probably just staying after school to finish up on his project for Mr. Garland’s class.”, Matthew insisted. Not only did Mr. Garland not have a project in his class, but Wilson didn’t have any classes with Mr. Garland.
         “I can’t even find the words to express to you how indisputably false that is.” I said with complete disinterest in the conversation.
         “Whatever bro, believe what you want.” Matthew said as he put earphones in and stared out the window at the boring rural landscape that never ended. I didn’t expect sympathy from him, but I was still almost bothered when I received none.
         Aside from the noise and rowdiness, kids like Matthew were the reason I hated the bus so much. As empty as his head obviously was, there was somehow still no room for other people’s problems.
         I have no idea why I mentioned my issues to Matthew anyway. Advice from a guy like him is as worthless as it is irksome.
         I spent the rest of the bus ride doing absolutely nothing. Matthew listened to his I-pod and played an invisible guitar in between messing with his phone and picking his nose. I was surprised he didn’t howl at pedestrians and lick the windows.
         After a miserable twenty minutes, the bus finally turned left onto Drayton Lane. That jubilant sense of escape and freedom hit me and I was on my feet long before the bus even neared my house.
         Mr. Stephen noticed me and his eyes became wide. Then he squinted. I could tell he barely remembered me.
         “Uh,”, he said, glaring at me.
         “That’s my house right there.” I said, pointing to the house I refused to call home. Mr. Stephen slammed on the brakes and opened the door.
         I dove off the bus and nearly tripped. A few of the chimps in the back cackled and the bus pulled away.
         I stopped in front of my house to stare with absolute stupefaction at Wilson’s car parked in the driveway. I approached the Volvo and looked inside. There was the normal clutter, but there was also a bag of M&M’s sitting on the dash. I ignored them and went inside.
         I sauntered through the living room, strolled across the dining room, and paced down the hallway to my room. The door was ajar and I kicked it all the way open. I turned on the light and, “Hey! Come on man!” Wilson yelled squinting at me.
         “Are you sleeping?” I hollered at him, tossing my bag on the floor.
         “Yeah, I sleep here all the time! What’s the problem?” He retorted, rolling over in my bed, knocking a bunch of blankets onto the floor.
         “Where the hell were you? I had to take the bus!” I screamed.
         “Oh, I’m sorry, poor Theodore had to take the bus! May god have mercy upon your grief stricken soul!” Wilson said with tart sarcasm. He sat up and started fumbling through the pockets of his tattered purple sweater.
         I had nothing more to say, and I knew Wilson would explain where exactly he was eventually. I sat down in the uncomfortable wooden chair by my cluttered desk.
         Wilson got out of the bed and muttered “I need to go get something from the Volvo.” before leaving the room.
         I stood up from the chair, and collapsed in bed.
         The mattress was old and indescribably soft.