Act One: the hurt. Summer of 1990. Susie is 29, Kari is almost 5, Erik is 3. I want to ride a city bus with my kids. Why? Does it matter? Just because. But not just ANY city bus - a blue Cass-Clay “Milk Bus.” I tell my kids, “Let’s have an adventure. Let’s ride the bus!” “Where will we ride it?” they ask. “I don’t know. Just around town,” I reply. But it is a chaotic summer, and the bus doesn’t get ridden. I don’t think about it much - I’m just trying to keep my marriage together. We’re thinking of moving to another house, I’m pregnant, things aren’t going so well. I guess riding a bus isn’t that much of a priority in the larger scheme of things. Fast forward a year to when the kids come home from their dad’s. “We rode the milk bus!” they say excitedly. “Daddy took us! We rode all around town, then we got off!” My shoulders slump, I look down. “That’s great, kids - did you have a good time?” I ask.
Act Two: the healing. Summer of 2010. Susie is 50. Kari is almost 25, Erik is 23. I have told the children many times throughout the years that I want to ride the bus. It is now on my Bucket List. But somehow it never gets ridden. It seems silly, after all these years. Why can’t I let it go? I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that I had wanted to do it with my children, as a special surprise and adventure during a very trying time in our lives. It was a light, a beacon, it stood for everything I had tried to be for my kids - an anchor, fun, optimism. I know he didn’t MEAN to take that away from me, but when my X did it with my children instead, maybe somehow making it something HE had always wanted and planned for them, then DID with them, it was symbolic for a lot of things in my life that had happened that way. Maybe it triggered all of those times others have taken something precious from me, or I’d been left out of, or not gotten credit for, or not gotten to DO, especially after it had been my idea. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, or rather, it maybe really SHOULDN’T matter.
We’ve just come from Bill’s play premiere, and I think, “My 50th birthday cannot get any better than this!” then Steve says, “I’ll take my truck home, and you guys go do your stuff.” They take the belt off my jacket and blindfold me, take my phone and purse and lead me to the car. Erik drives right, then left, then circles around, slams on the brakes. I am confused, and a little nervous. We finally park, they lead me out to a bench. I hear voices echoing, and I’m more nervous. When they take my blindfold off, I’m looking at the bus station. I’m certain I start screaming a little bit, especially when the blue milk bus pulls up.
“It’s on your Bucket List!” my daughter says, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” We don’t know where we’re going, but she snaps pictures of me pointing to the bus, a big smile on my face, and we all pile in - my three kids and my newest son, son-in-law. I try not to, but I start crying. “I’m kind of embarrassed that it means this much to me,” I tell my sweet daughter. “I listened,” she says. I nod. I start crying harder. “Why are you crying?” she asks. “Because...” I pause, wondering if I should say what I’m about to say, “Sometimes I talk so much I don’t know if anyone listens.” We turn and look out the window at 13th Avenue, on our way to the mall on the blue Cass-Clay Milk Bus.