The Missed Bus by Joanne Jagoda

Every morning is a variation of the same theme. First I can’t find my glasses, my backpack, wallet, cell phone or keys. I admit I am scatterbrained, despite having plenty of brain power when it comes to physics and advanced math. The organization gene is clearly missing from my DNA. Unfortunately I haven’t changed my bad habits while studying in Israel doing my junior year abroad. Though I attempt daily lists and try to set my things out the night before, I still waste so much time running about gathering my belongings every morning. This morning is especially chaotic. My glasses fell under my bed and I spent an extra fifteen minutes cursing and hunting for them. My trying-to-sleep, exasperated roommate is fuming under her pillow. Then half way up the block I remember I forgot my cell phone. I trudge back to my apartment shivering in the chill of this January morning under a stunning blue sky. I figure as long as I am going to miss my regular bus and be late for class again, I will rummage for my knit scarf and gloves. Warmly bundled and finally confident I have my stuff, I head to the bus stop, a ten minute walk to the #18 which will take me up to the university. A deafening explosion shakes the ground and I hear a crazy cacophony of horns and blaring sirens. I start to shudder. That was my regular bus.

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