Camp Bus Ride

My mother gave me a short "push" motioning me to step up the stairs onto the bus, as the driver placed my over-sized suitcase under the bus.  It was a huge, hideous, green-blue with a large silver buckle to fasten the zippers-- that she tied with a "twisty" from the Ziploc bags-- to keep from sliding out of its place.  I was too stiff to turn and wave goodbye to my mother, but I can hear the thundering of her heels losing sound as she walked away.  The stares I encountered while seeking a seat on the bus was as if the shiny silver buttons, on my long trench plaid red and green coat, were traffic lights.  All eyes were on me, but I was not uncomfortable because of my longtime experience of feeling out of place.  The bus engine shocked then gurgled and we were off on the road to camp.  I held onto the top of the bus seat as we swerved gently around the bend.  Downtown waved goodbye and the road grabbed the wheels.  We arrived like ants on a mound, descending from the bus.  Finally, I arrived at my first day of camp.