I started off for school that morning, without a worry in my head. As I waited patiently for the bus, I breathed in the fresh, cool air, noted the early morning jovial chatter of people going about their business and enjoyed the beautiful, leisure rise of the sun in the horizon. The great ball of flames in the heaven was slowly creeping up to where the stars had been; gently spreading out golden tints to light an azure sky. Ah, life was good.
Soon, the bus arrived and came to a slow halt at the bus-stop. I was among the first passengers aboard, and had the privilege to choose a window-seat. As I gazed out of the window, I saw a little boy, no more than age six, running full-pelt towards the bus. It was obvious he had overslept, and trying to reach the bus in time with his short, spindly legs seemed to be a daunting task. Suddenly, he stopped, threw a quizzical look towards something behind him and back-tracked a few steps. I saw him extend a hand towards some shrubs, then a slight jerk as to indicate he plucked something. After that, he continued sprinting towards the bus. As he drew closer, I saw that the object he held firmly in his hand as in fact, a lovely vermilion flower.
He managed to reach the bus in time, and was just climbing up the steps when a great gust of wind blew. The little boy's hair was soon whipped into a mess, but he still had the flower clutched in his hand. However, the wind is not used to being deprived, and was adamant on getting what it wanted that day. As another blast of strong wind threw itself at the boy, it did not succeed in obtaining the flower, but it did blow the pretty petals clean off the stalk. The little boy looked in dismay as the red petals danced away from him, tossed about by the breeze, and his face contorted into a look of great sorrow and chagrin.
He then turned towards the bus driver whose head was too turned in the direction of the leaping red dots in the distance. The little boy murmured in between constricted sobs, "That was for my teacher. She's been sick for many days. Today is her first day back to school/: His words were barely audible although I was seated just behind the bus driver. I felt a poignant pang in my heart watching the little figure shuffle slowly down the aisle to a seat somewhere behind mine. Meanwhile, the engine roared to life as the bus began its daily route.
It took me a few minutes to realize as I was gazing aimlessly out of the window that there was a change of the usual scenery I was used to. The bus was not on its charted course! Did the bus driver take a wrong turning? I was just about to ask aloud when we came to a sudden, screeching stop. Imagine our bafflement when we saw the bus driver himself jumped out of his seat and hopped down the bus! Roughly twenty surprised looks, including mine, followed his movements as he ran towards a nearby house and rang the doorbell.
After a short while, a young woman in overalls emerged from a myriad of greenery. Both of them were engaged in a brief chatter. She then walked away, returning shortly with a red flower in her hands which he handed to the bus driver. As I tore my gaze away from the pair, I saw a wonderful variety of flowers blooming in splendid colours at the side of her lawn, with neatly trimmed bushes and gnetly swaying fronds of palm trees, all growing in an artistic, precise yet natural pattern. It was indeed a marvelous garden.
My attention was directed back to the bus driver as his huge frame cast a shadow over me while he lumbered passed, seat after seat, his huge shoes going "thump, thump" on the creaking floorboards. The little boy had a questioning look on his face, which quickly spread into awe as the bus driver stopped and knelt down by his side. He raised his hand a little and many passengers had a clear view of what he held. It was a beautiful crimson rose in full bloom, its hues so rich, so delicately nuanced, so flawless that every petal seemed to be able to capture light, refine it and give it back faintly in golden incandescence.
The little boy's hands trembled a little as he reached out for the exquisite rose. There was a sort of wonder in his eyes in the way he perceived the bus driver, as though he was seeing an angel. "Thank you." he whispered softly. The bus driver simply smiled, his eyes crinkled but twinkling. He then stood up and walked briskly back to his seat.
Watching the little boy clutching his precious flower close to his heart, I felt that I have witnessed something great that day, something that couldn't be expressed in mere words lest that it would lessen the full impact of a beautiful, touching story. Oh, the miraculous energy that flow between people when they care enough to go beyond surfaces and semblances to actually do something! These are people who are willing to take the risk of being totally open, of listening, of responding with a whole heart. How much we can do for each other, if we embrace our ability to love and care for others!
"It is only with the hear that one can see rightly," according to Antoine de Saint-Exupery. I could not agree more. That fateful day, I was reminded of what matters most in life. The true joy of life is the ability to love, and be loved. Seeing the cherubic face of the little boy, so utterly, palpably contended and hearing the melodious low tone of the bus driver's whistle, I learned of the miralces people can build and along with it, the happiness we can provide.
Lee Pei Ying....
Great story!
