The Life of a Bus

Although I don't make use of them as often as I should, I like taking the local busses. The one that runs past our house is an old yellow school bus that was probably retired from its academic duties decades ago only to be sold to the Central American market and continue its service as a commuter bus in Rural Costa Rica.

On the exterior, this bus really looks no different than the one I used to ride to school as a kid. Inside, the old stiff seats have been replaced with old soft seats, some of which have nothing between the passenger and the floor but some dangling sponge and chair fabric. Now it's wired with a pull cord to a big red light and a "buzz" for a stop signal, and there is a little wooden plack fixed to the dashboard with a message to God asking that He look over this rolling vessel with its precious cargo. From the many kids who made their way to school safe inside from the cold of winter to the community of people who now rely on it for their daily transportation, this bus has been the keeper of precious beings for generations.

There is a beauty to the fact that this bus has lasted, that it has escaped the junk yards of the shiny first world. Its age matches the pace of its adopted home. Its grinding gears are in tune with the cratered road that it navigates several times a day. It is not the only one. Countless other busses here have similar tales, and it is a pleasure to hop on board, to be with the community. Going a little slower, but always on time.