Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Small events can make big personal changes, like a domino that starts new paths.
One domino fell when I was ten, delivering newspapers on a typical summer afternoon.
I was very responsible, which showed in my dedication, consistency, and determination to deliver newspapers to perfection. Never late, never miss a house. My motto was like the post office, rain or shine.
But I was also immature, with misplaced priorities, and awkward social interaction. I was very shy, and preferred not to get noticed. I was like my dog when he did something bad and looks away, as if he thought that I couldn't see him if he can't see me.
I started my delivery one hot afternoon; the sound of cicadas rippled the humid air so that I could also feel it.
I turned the corner on my way to the first house, and found a peculiar scene. A bus had pulled over, and a car was parked awkwardly behind it. This was unusual because buses don't stop long on this street, and cars never park on the side.
My first thought was that the bus had broken down, and people were going to be late for work and important appointments. My imagination took over. Someone on this bus could miss a flight to world peace negotiations in New York. Because one person was absent, key talks fail at the U.N. which results in escalating hostilities and nuclear war.
The world is going to end, because this bus broke down, and, I was here to witness it.
Or, the bus and car had a boring fender bender. There might be a bruises, or even an argument; but, no Armageddon.
I came closer, and noticed a small crowd of adults in front of the bus. At school, we get a similar crowd when there is a fight.
It was eerily quiet; even the cicada's stopped buzzing.
I slowed, hoping to hear something exciting.
The silence was a thick pall over the group.
I stopped.
Someone noiselessly whisked past me with something in their hand (was it a blanket?) and melted into the quiet circle. I was on the outside, and unable find space to sneak through. I tried to look into the narrow gaps between arms and legs, under bodies, and over heads, but I could not see the show.
Another new bystander asked my question. A lady turned to face us without leaving the circle. She had tight lips, and frowned as she gave us an explanation.
"A young girl ran across the road when the bus stopped; she was hit by a car going the other way."
I panned the faces to see if there was anyone I knew. I recognized the uniform of the distressed bus driver. I was drawn closer to the crowd.
A large, older man stood up from inside the assembly; he was breathing heavily and had wide eyes. He spoke quietly, but it rang like a shout among the somber group,
