Big. Yellow. Loud.
Trying to get a seat next to your friends...
Or your secret crush.
At the very least, away from the kid you didn’t like. The one who maybe (definitely) picked their nose.
Then there was that single seat in the way back.
You either loved it... or didn’t.
I personally did. But I’ll admit, it was an acquired taste.
And all of this.
With no seat belts.
It’s funny, isn’t it?
How a simple field trip could open a window into who we’d eventually become.
You had the ones with their CD players or Walkman (remember Anti-Skip?!), gazing out the window, lost in their chosen escape.
The bookworms, noses buried deep in whatever world they brought with them.
The social butterflies, half-kneeling in their seats, turned around to talk, tease, or stir up trouble.
And of course, the poor teachers up front, deciding which rules were worth enforcing and silently praying for peace.
The windows?
Clunky. Clumsy. Felt rusted even when they weren’t.
Always a little too hard or a little too easy to slide.
But that was part of it, wasn’t it?
The ritual.
The rhythm.
The magic of it all.
Who knew those would be some of the best times of our lives that we forgot?
So, where did you sit?
Do you remember?
-KC
In the morning: Very back. Individual seat. My sisters and I were the first ones to be picked up.
In the afternoon: mid back. There was a sort of unwritten hierarchy of who sat where. Middle schoolers up front, high schoolers in the back
Second row from the back with the rest of the troublemakers.