“Ew that is soooo gross.”
The objection came from a girl in the gray vinyl upholstered seat behind mine. It was followed by a half-hearted plea from the girl to move into a seat with another girl and not be made to sit next to a boy. Her request was declined by a mother-parent whose concern was her safety while the bus was in motion.
I turned to see what was gross enough to be emphasized by three extra long o’s, only to be confided in by the girl, who informed me she was sitting next to a "burping maniac". I sensed the disapproval of the act in her wrinkled nose. I felt the eyes and telepathic harangue of disdain from my all female peers on the bus. I was wearing the elementary school volunteer chauffer name badge, with my name on it, perhaps I should do something? It seemed as if she was drawing attention to herself because she herself was receiving attention from a boy and didn’t know what to do. Then the boy belched again. It was a foul burp and blow that comes from the funk only a kid’s body can create.
“Ew, that is gross,” I acknowledged. However, realizing that the intentions of the boy was more to be in awe at the discovery of what swallowing air can do, I added “but can you do this?” I pulled at the collar of my shirt to bare the hollow between my clavicle and trapezius muscle and produced the equally annoying but not as offensive to the olefactory- imitation fart noise with my neck.
“I can do this!” Cried the boy as his eyes lit and his hand went up his shirt to cup his pit. He happily joined in, more at ease that someone understood him.
The girl, seeing that she had lost not only the attention of the boy but perhaps the reasoning of good judgment that her parents had instilled in her regarding manners, did her part. Cupping her hands together she exclaimed with the brutal honesty of self discovery, “So, I can do this!” And together for a moment we had formed a band performing in rounds the song of the musical fruit.
I had spent the morning touring the public art of Boise with Mrs. Allen’s 3rd grade class. I was brought in to fill the position of a student’s mother, who I am friends with that could not attend herself. While keeping an eye on the kids I took notes and photos of the pieces as Josh, our Docent guided us around downtown. The tour had come to an end and we were traveling back to the school. I was thumbing through the notepad in my phone for useable material for a decent article when I heard the disgusted cry from the girl.
“What are your names”, I asked after our jam session was finished.
“My name is Geran,” the boy said “and this is Abby.”
“It’s nice to know you Geran and Abby.” I introduced myself and then turned back around to sit properly in my seat. Every now and then I would lean back a little to listen in on my new friends who were now conversing with open honesty the lines they had memorized from their parents conversations, probably the responses to the really important things they have asked.
“I think it is really annoying but I think it is kinda funny at the same time.” I heard Abby saying as their voices lowered and their very important conversation about Subway slogans became more intimate.
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