On april 15, 2001, my father walked by and saw the bus that had just arrived. i was 10 years old. i was sitting in the back seat, holding my seatbelt in my hand, and heard loud and clear. i was a little nervous going in the door. when i pulled the door open, i saw the bus was now in the middle of the street, and the bus stopped at a lot of different locations. my father, a taxi driver, sat at some of the different cars to get his driver’s license. he was sitting next to me and had a big expression on his face. he was shaking his head and said, “well, we don’t want to deal with the bus again so we can go on our day and get home.” then, as he got out of the car, he said, “can i get on the bus?” all i could do was say no. when i got on the bus that day, i did everything right, but it was more about getting home with my family. and i still don’t know if everything just went fine. it just didn’t. all we had was two hours of driving to the border. you know, after driving five days, i got really nervous. i did everything i was supposed to do, but it wasn’t all good. it was a lot of work and i had no motivation whatsoever, so i was just thinking out lou…
