You, in effect, would have missed the 4:10 bus, had it not been for Digby Williams. Though you were late, Digby Williams was later; as you jogged to the bus, he struggled close behind you. The bus driver always had the courtesy to wait for Digby Williams, even on days when his temper was foul. That day, unfortunately, was one of them.
‘Quickly!’ the dour bus driver barked, as you and Digby Williams boarded. It seemed not a second later that the bus shot away from Woy Woy Station, as fast as a bullet. There remained few benches that were empty. As both you and Digby Williams staggered to find an available seat, a vile school student from the back of the bus snorted and exclaimed loudly, ‘Hey look guys, it’s that retarded man again.’
His name was Michael Galloway, and his crude remark resulted in echoes of ‘Ew, gross!’ and ‘Not again!’ from the other school students. From what seemed like excruciating endless bus journeys, you had come to know Galloway as a child with a fair enough face, but a malicious black heart. Piteous Digby Williams pretended he had not heard, but a sad sideways glance towards the back of the bus assured you he had.
Digby Williams has a small and bony face. His teeth looked yellow and crooked, his flaky fingernails had been deeply bitten into. The other passengers avoided his gaze or pulled out a book or pushed a bag onto the vacant seat beside them. Digby Williams finally gave up and limped to the nearest unoccupied bench. He sat there and looked out the window, trying to conceal a dejected expression.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but you thought to yourself that this might have to be one of the worst for poor Digby Williams. The bus rounded a sharp turn and you grabbed a narrow metal pole for support.
The bus was fairly near to your stop. Galloway snickered as he threw a ball of crumpled paper at Digby Williams. It was an exceptional shot hitting its target directly; the back of Digby William’s head. You stood there and glared disapprovingly at Galloway, but said nothing, for you could not find the words within you. He caught your glare, and demanded savagely, ‘What are you looking at?’
You did nothing but lower your gaze, for you wished not to get involved with Galloway and his loathsome bullying. Galloway crackled with triumph then spat on the floor.
Only a few streets to go. You were hanging out for your stop so you could get away from all this. Digby Williams say alone and looked timidly out the window. Your eyes drifted up from him, and your gaze stretched over to Galloway and his friends, then to the other passengers, and if you could have, you would have stopped and looked at yourself. For there seemed a heavy weight upon your heart causing it to slowly sink lower and lower.
It was then that, for some bizarre reason, something seemed to open up inside you. Like a flower taking bloom or like the morning sun breaking the pitch-black darkness. You let go of the pole you had been so dependently hanging onto, and tried to steady your stride as you walked over to Digby Williams. He looked at you, his face showing surprise and worry. You slid in beside him and smiled pleasantly. It looked as if Digby Williams was about to ask you something, but you said one thing first, ‘Sorry it took me so long to find my seat.’
This article, by Erin Mangan from Henry Kendall High School, was the Year 7/8 winning entry and overall winning entry in What Matters? 2007—a writing competition, run by The Whitlam Institute, that gives year 5-12 students in NSW and ACT a chance to say what matters in society today. For more information go to: http://www.whitlam.org/whitlam/index.php
