'Just Keep Driving'

As I pulled into the driveway, I immediately knew where I was.

I sat for a moment, gathering my things, gathering myself. I turned the engine off and sat patiently as I watched the sun reflect off of my wadded up Pop Tart wrapper. It was noon.

The walk way was edged by two perfectly manicured gardens. I wondered how much time she must have put into taking care of the yard. I wondered if her husband was still alive.

To my left was something that stood out. A sign, hanging sideways on a post, read “If you can read this, you’re in range.” I think I saw a fake bullet hole painted onto it. Or maybe it was real.

I waited on the front porch. Who was I about to meet? The paper said she was a woman that drove a school bus for 48 years. The sign told me that maybe there was an autocorrect and she had been an elite markswoman for half a century. My instinct told me something different.

I looked around the porch. Modest. A lot of wood. Homey. It reminded me of my aunt and uncles house down in Green Castle, before they moved. In a way, it reminded me of home.

She invited me in as a small dog yipped at my ankles. The kitchen was just as you would expect. To be honest, I was surprised there wasn’t a homemade apple pie cooling on the counter.

Forty-eight years. That’s nearly half a century. I couldn’t imagine staying in the same job, the same town, the same house for so long. Neither could she. But she did it, and that’s just what she told me.

Work today for a better tomorrow.

Live today as if you’d die tomorrow.

Two clichés that both have one thing in common, but a world of differences that separate them apart.

Tomorrow.

What does it mean? What lies ahead? Can we actually tell if tomorrow will be the final day we walk this earth? If so, has today been enough? Are you living? Or are you dying?

Our bus driver didn’t offer any insightful knowledge on the topic. When I asked whether or not she enlisted to one of the two ideologies when she sat behind the wheel, she laughed, sharp and brief, and said that she just drove. Each day. She drove.

As I left her house, I made sure to look at the walkway one last time. It looked like crushed concrete, with colored rocks mixed in. It was her form of art. I walked away, never looking back at the threatening sign. It didn’t mean much to me now.

I shifted into first gear, careful not to kill it. The music started, and so did my thoughts.

How should we live our lives? If we think about it, the two ideologies of living contradict each other to the fullest degree. If we work today, then die tomorrow, what did we work for? If we cease to work today, but survive tomorrow, then where are we?

I have no answers for you. I have no insight to the human condition to tell you to make the most of your day. But maybe, maybe the woman that drove a bus for 48 years, through rain, sleet, ice, and snow, can tell you what to do.

Just keep driving.