And a mistake, handled with enough courage, can become a warning that protects someone else.
I am still a bus driver.
My knees still ache.
My back still complains.
Teenagers still leave wrappers under the seats and act personally offended when I tell them to sit down.
But now, when we pass the sanitation truck, the kids wave.
All of them.
Even the ones who pretend they are too cool.
Silas always gives the same small nod.
Except when Junie is riding with him on school holidays.
Then she makes him honk.
And I honk back.
Just once.
Only when necessary.
The black sedan never came back.
But that is not the part I remember most.
What I remember is the day a whole town had to choose between the story that was easy to believe and the truth that required humility.
Some people chose wrong at first.
Maybe most of us do sometimes.
