My High School Vice Principal

I sit with my knees pressed to the back of the bus seat in front of me. I hate it when the people do that. When I can feel the bump of the knees of the person behind me. Butt today I am not feeling particularly compassionate. The golden rule as taken the day off. I focus on the way the extra flesh around my hips pooches out due to my position instead of the cameras by the gate. I concentrate on the place on my inner thigh where my knock-off jean material is ripping instead of the news vans. I wonder how I managed to tear my pants there. I decide probably trampoline basketball. But the way the soles of my shoes are wearing thin by my heel and instep doesn’t tune out the voices of the other students on the bus.

“I hope they give him the death penalty.” I shift making the greasy rubber seat squeak.

“I heard his wife was in on it. That they took turns.” I wish I wanted to comment. 

“Remember how he would dress as Santa every year. What a sicko.” I feel like I am going to throw up. I drop my head between my knees. I try to calm myself breathing deeply but just gag on the bus taste of sweaty gym clothes and old bologna. 

I have a voice and I have words but not the will to blow them into the ears of these rubber necking middle school students. I feel young and mature. I wish I felt anger or tears or strength instead of this useless emptiness.