Wendy Part One, Wendy Part Two, Wendy Part Three

It’s like Wendy always knew she wanted to be a writer. So she lived this epicly mad life all so that she would have a story to write about. She knew from an early age that she wanted to tell stories. What better way to tell stories, than to live them.

When she was young, she would act out stories all of the time. She would sit in her room, and her back yard and allow her imagination to run away with her. She would create these scenarios in her mind and act them out. Speaking the different voices out loud. Her parents thought there was something wrong with her.

Wendy created many problems for herself with her imagination. Like the time that she went to school with her new sneakers when she was six. She had just watched a cartoon in which a smaller guy had tied the giants shoelaces together. While sitting alone in the grade school girls restroom, Wendy decided to act out the scene. She did so, including tying her own shoelaces together.

As she went to leave the restroom and return to class she realized the error in her ways. She could not get the shoelaces to be un-tied together. She shuffled her way into her classroom where she was met with an angry impatient teacher. Mrs. Liddle.

Mrs. Liddle did not much care for Wendy. She grew quite tired of her constant shenanigans. You see, Wendy liked to do things to see what would happen. So when Wendy showed up to class with her shoelaces tied together Mr. Liddle sought her tiny piece of redemption. Wendy would suffer through the remainder of the day with her shoes tied together.

The day was not made to be much more challenging given the new predicament. Riding the bus at the end of the day though, that was a task. When approaching school bus number nine at three fifteen pm, Wendy realized the predicament she was in. The three steps up onto the bus were much wider than the length of shoe string she had to work with.

Wendy stood back a ways, watching the bus fill with the rest of the kids from her middle school, and the towns high school. After she was sure no one else would be coming up behind her, Wendy decided to proceed with her plan.

Wendy had come to the conclusion that she would not be able to get her feet far enough apart to climb the steps in a normal fashion. There was however, a guard rail on the left side of the steps. She grabbed the rail with both of her hands and hoped up the first step. She cam down upon it with a bit of a ruckus which attracted the attention of the first few rows of passengers.

As she reached her hands further up the railing in preparation for her next hop, the passengers who had begun watching her began whispering and snickering. They began slapping the shoulders of people in the rows behind them, pointing to the spectacle in front of them. As Wendy landed her second hop, over half of the bus had its eyes upon her.

Wendy’s hands found the top corner of the railing just as the entire bus’ eyes found her. As she landed her third and final hop, red faced and winded, she lifted her head up and rounded the corner of the rail. Facing the contents of the bus and searching desperately for a seat, her eyes met everyone else’s just as the bus erupted with laughter.

An older boy, six seats back, waved to her in an inviting manor. He seemed much older, probably high school age. Wendy though to herself, “boys must get nicer as they get older.” She thankfully shuffled her way to the seat he was waving her to. Graciously smiling at the boy who had just saved her from standing at the center of attention for another agonizing second.

As she shuffled past the fifth seat, he stood up and moved slightly behind the seat in the aisle. He put his left arm out in an inviting manor. She shuffled past him and into the seat next to the window. He slid in next to her just as she breathed a sigh of relief, exhaling an exhausted thank you.

The bus jolted forward and then back again as it always did at the start of its fifteen minute journey to her house. Her olive green home on it’s little corner lot was only five miles down the road from her school, but there were two stops to be made first. The first stop is when it began.

As the bus jerked to a stop, the breaks made their sounds of air pressure release, and the driver pulled the lever which swung open the folding door. Two siblings stood and began making their way to the front of the bus with their backpacks slung over their right shoulders. Shouting their goodbyes and see you tomorrows as they passed familiar faces. At this exact moment, Wendys face found itself smashed against the glass widow of the bus at the same time that the right side of her head directly behind her ear found itself smashed against the raised metal window frame.

The so called saving grace that Wendy had been so thankful for not three minutes before had just smashed her head against the bus with both hands. When she reached her right hand up to the injured side of her head, she turned it towards him. Only to see the biggest shit eating grin on his stupid ugly face as he laughed hysterically at her misfortune.

The bus made it’s jerky lurch forward again as it began down the road towards its next stop. Wendy kept her eyes adverted to the floor with her head down as she cupped her hand over the recently tender spot behind her ear. As the bus made it’s second familiar stop, the lone resident began his departure from the bus. At this time Wendy’s false savior decided that her face should become one with the bus window yet again. Bruising the tender skin in the top of Wendy’s boney hand.

Tears began to swell around the insides of Wendy’s red, sad eyes as she lowered her sore hand to her lap and began rubbing the bruise with her other. As she sat there with her shoes tied together, her head throbbing, and her hand burning, the urge to bawl uncontrollably became overwhelming. The bus had already began moving again though, and Wendy did not want to give this ass hat what he was clearly after. So she bit her lip and refused to cry.

Seeing as how her was determined to get his way, the douche bag decided that he needed to step up his game if he wanted the water show to begin. Taking her refusal to shed tears as an invitation to bounce her head off the glass repeatedly. Much the way someone would bounce a basketball while dribbling it down a court towards the goal.

Wendy had never been so thankful in her life as she was at the exact moment her olive green home came into view. As the bus proceeded down the hill, slowing down for her stop, Wendy decided upon her plan. As the bus jerked to a halt, jack ass stopped dribbling her head, and slid out of his seat. He stood just behind it again in the aisle with his right arm behind the seat, and his left hand outstretched openly across the aisle.

Wendy slid herself slowly out of the seat. Stretching her tied together feet into the aisle first. Reaching her upper body across the seat as she slowly pulled herself and her book bag out of the aisle. In one smooth, long motion she slid out with her book bag in her left hand. She kept the book bag in front of her, concealing her right arm and she pulled her right hand closer to her chest. outstretching her scrawny, boney, right elbow, and connecting it with his unprotected member. Hard.

Calmly, as if she hadn’t just elbowed someone in the nuts, she stood fully erect, throwing her backpack back over her shoulders, and shuffling her way down the aisle towards the front of the bus. She did not turn around to see the damage she had done. Although she did imagine him laying in the aisle, curled up into the fetal position, sucking his thumb, and crying like the little bitch that he was, as she rounded the corner and hoped down the three steps of the bus. That was exactly the satisfaction that she wanted and therefore, she just imagined it was the case.

As the folding door outstretched itself closed, the bus began to jerk forward and pull away with the rest of it’s passengers. Wendy began shuffling her way up her gravel driveway. As she walked she thought about how stupid she was to believe that boys got nicer as they got older. Boys never got nicer, they just got better at inflicting pain. Maybe they even enjoyed it more with age. image-Laura Elizabeth

More of this story; part one, part two, part three

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