By GINA RAE | Wilton
We had pretty much the ideal situation. The school bus would sail past our house, up Posey Creek Valley to pick up the Andersons. We had plenty of time to slurp the last of our oatmeal, put on our coats, grab our things (at least MY things, as my brother saw no sense in hauling home a bunch of books just to return them to Royall the next day) and go out the door as the bus pulled up to the driveway.
My brother is 16 months younger than I, and infinitely less socially awkward. While I honked out the “Pink Panther” theme on my bass clarinet during pep band, my face turned crimson asI realized that the rafters were ringing with “The Bart Arndt Chant” as he subbed into the varsity game as a freshman. He wasn’t even that good, but he was that popular.
I couldn’t rival Bart in popularity, but I blew him away when it came to fashion sense. That winter day we missed seeing the bus go up the valley, I had taken my wardrobe cues from Madonna, rocking my leopard-print cropped pants, black pumps, jacked-up hair, mom’s costume jewelry, and more rubber bracelets than Molly Ringwald had movie deals.
Bart was out the door the moment he saw the bus pulling up in front of the driveway. I grabbed my backpack full of textbooks, hoisting it over my shoulder while I banged my bass clarinet case down the basement steps. “Sprinting” isn’t the word that would be used to describe my rush, but I was moving pretty fast for those black heels, jacked-up hair and bracelet overload when I hit a patch of ice on the blacktop. I gathered my things, but left my dignity on the ice, as I heard my brother tell the bus driver and all on board to, “Call the gut truck. There’s a cow down in the driveway!”
The County Line has a standing feature showcasing creative work from our community. Do you have an item (e.g., short story, photo, or poem) to submit? Contact the County Line at 337-4232 or countyline@thecountyline.net.