Off The Record
Bus Driver Threw Me Out In The Cold After I Broke My Back From His Sudden Stop—He Soon Regretted It
At seventy-three, I believed I had witnessed every possible form of human brutality. However, nothing forewarned me of what would follow when I was thrown onto the icy roadway by a bus driver to save his own skin when he abruptly braked, sending me flying into a pole. Three weeks later, something knocked and everything changed.
My name is May. I’ve been around long enough to know that individuals can surprise you in the worst ways, and I’m seventy-three. But last winter’s freezing morning? That was a whole other matter.
It was Thursday again. The sky is gray, the streets are icy, and the cold penetrates into your bones and remains there. I had just concluded my routine check-up with Dr. Harrison, something I had been doing for years.
He had mentioned that I had lower back arthritis. Not out of the ordinary for a woman my age. You’ll be alright if you take these medications and stretch.
“Miss May, you’re doing remarkably well for your age,” he wrote on his prescription notebook and told me. “Please be cautious when walking on these slippery sidewalks. You could be set back months by a single fall.”
I gave him a smile. “I’ve been walking these streets since before you were even born, Doctor. I’ll be all right.”
I wish I had realized my mistake.
My breath formed little clouds in the cold air as I shuffled out of the clinic and waited at the bus stop. Although the driver was new, the bus that arrived was the same route I had traveled for twenty years. I knew immediately.
The regulars knew me, including elderly Eddie and sweet Maria, who were often inquiring about my garden. They would wait for me to ascend the stairs so I could get settled.
This one didn’t.
He had a stocky build and appeared to have been through a meat grinder. He was in his late 30s. The name on his name badge said “Calvin.” His jaw was stubbled, his eyes had dark circles under them, and his hands gripped the wheel as if he were clinging to it.
He whispered, “Move it, lady,” as I got on board.
I remained silent. I simply swiped my card and headed to the middle row, window side, where I usually sit. I was the only person on the bus. I could see my breath even inside, and the heater was barely functioning.
“Excuse me,” I cried. “Would you please raise the temperature? Back here, it’s chilly.”
Not even the rearview mirror caught his attention. “The heater isn’t working. Take care of it.”
I felt he was a nice man. A true charmer.
The bus rattled over potholes and patches of black ice as we stumbled ahead. Even with my gloves on, my arthritic fingers ached from the cold as I gripped the seat in front of me. The roads were hazardous and slippery. Most drivers would have driven more slowly, particularly if there had been an old passenger.
Calvin didn’t. He was speeding and cutting turns too quickly, as if he had an urgent place to be. My heart began to rush as I tightened my hold on the seat.
Then, suddenly, a dog—some unkempt mutt—flew into the roadway.
Calvin applied the brakes firmly.
The dog was all right. It scampered off without getting hurt.
No, I wasn’t.
Before I could even comprehend the situation, my feet gave way. I was sitting one moment and flying the next. I heard something fracture when my back struck the metal pole so forcefully that it sounded like a tree branch breaking in the winter.
The blinding ache came instantly. I felt a white-hot fire go up my spine and travel through all of my nerves. I was having trouble breathing. unable to yell. Like a fish drowning in air, I just gasped.
My voice came out as a whimper when I eventually found it. “My back…” “Oh God, my back!”
Calvin’s eyes became wide as he turned around. I briefly believed that I saw concern there. But it was gone in an instant.
He yelled, “What the hell were you doing?”
I made an effort to sit up and move, but the pain was unbearable. Hot against my icy cheeks, tears were pouring down my face. “I went down. I believe… I believe I broke something. You must call an ambulance, please.”
“You weren’t holding the rail!” His tone was defensive and abrasive. “You ought to have waited! That’s not my fault, lady; it’s yours.”
Shock pierced the anguish as I gazed at him. “What do you say? I am immobile. Just give someone a call, please.”
He didn’t grab his phone, though. He glanced around anxiously instead, first at the dashboard camera and then back at me. He tightened his jaw. I could see that his mind was racing. He was doing some math.
He whispered, “No way,” more to himself than to me. “I am unable to obtain another report. Not after the previous instance.”
“What?” I let out a gasp. “What are you discussing? I’m in so much pain, please.”
He said, “You old people think you can sue anyone for a goddamn dime,” growing in volume. “You won’t cause me to lose my job. I have children to provide for. bills to settle. Do you think I can afford to be sued again?”
I was struck by the words like a second strike. “I have no intention of suing you. All I need is assistance. Please. I am seventy-three years old, and I am unable to feel my legs.”
Breathing heavily, he ran a hand through his oily hair. He halted the vehicle, climbed down, and took hold of my arm before I could respond.
“No… wait…”
He pulled me in the direction of the open doors. My spine ached with every movement. I let out a scream that I didn’t think was mine.
“Cease! You’re causing me pain.”
His yell, “You should’ve held the damn bar!” was filled with terror, and I could hear it. “Get out before someone sees you!”
I cried so hard that my voice broke, “Please don’t do this,” “Please do not abandon me. Drop me off at the next stop, at the very least. My house, the sole bright yellow house on Oakview Lane, is just a short distance away. I’ll make my own ambulance call. My phone was just left at home. Son, please, please.”
“No! Take care of it yourself, elderly woman.”
And he pushed me out into the icy sidewalk with a single, vicious shove.
I made a strong first impression. My head struck the concrete with a bounce. Around the margins, everything became black and hazy. As the bus moved away, I heard the engine roar and the doors hiss shut.
Then there was quiet.
I opened my eyes to find snowflakes melting against my flesh and dropping on my face. Now the cold permeated every part of me, from my blood to my bones to my clothes. I attempted to move but was unable. My voice was stuck in my throat when I attempted to call for assistance.
For what duration did I lie there? Five minutes? Twenty? An hour? Time ceased to have any significance. Because a stranger believed his work was more important than my life, all I knew was cold, suffering, and the awful conviction that I would die alone on this sidewalk.
Automobiles passed. I could see their headlights piercing the snow and hear them. However, nobody halted. I was just another pile of snow-covered clothes laying there in a tree’s shadow, invisible to everyone.
After a while—I’m not sure how long—I heard footsteps. A youthful, terrified voice.
“Oh my God. Ma’am? Can you hear me, Ma’am?”
A sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy with a leashed dog. He was kneeling next to me with his phone out.
“Yes, sweetheart, I do require an ambulance. Spencer and Fifth Corner. An elderly woman is there; she’s I’m not sure. She is seriously injured. Please move quickly.”
Even though he was cold in only a t-shirt, the boy stayed with me, removing his jacket and putting it over me. His words, “You’re going to be okay,” were repeated. “They’re on their way. Hold on, please.”
But now I could hardly hear him. The world was turning pale.
The ambulance arrived. With sad expressions, paramedics placed me onto a stretcher. I knew in my heart what they told me at the hospital.
Two vertebral fractures. Three ribs cracked. hypothermia.
One doctor said, “You’re lucky to be alive,” and shook his head. “Another hour out there and we’d be having a very different conversation.”
I felt not fortunate. I felt abandoned and deceived. and discarded like trash.
I was detained for two weeks. Medication, physical therapy, and countless testing. When my daughter saw me in that hospital bed, shattered and bruised, she came crying from two states away.
“What happened, Mom?” You claimed to have slipped on some ice.
I confessed, “I did slip,” and it wasn’t totally a lie.
Every day, my son called, but he was unable to take time off work. I shared the same narrative with both of them. made no reference to the bus driver. What was the purpose? I had no evidence. A dash cam that most likely showed me not clutching the rail was compared to an elderly woman’s testimony.
I needed a cane to walk when I eventually made it home. Every step was excruciating. It took fifteen minutes to get out of bed. It was like climbing a mountain to make coffee. Nothing had changed, but the house felt empty and colder.
I was upset. I was more furious than I had ever been in my life. However, I was also lonely, aged, and exhausted.
How could I proceed?
My door was knocked on three weeks after the accident.
Just after six o’clock in the evening. I had no expectations. My back ached with every step as I limped over with my cane and opened it.
On my doorstep, Calvin was standing.
He had changed appearance. thinner. frightened. His clothing were rumpled as if he had been sleeping in them, and his eyes were bloodshot. We merely stared at one another for a while.
He began, “Ma’am,” his voice trembling. “Please. Don’t press charges, please. I beseech you.”
My blood became really cold. My entire body stiffened. “How did you find me?”
“I recalled your words. Oakview Lane’s yellow house. For weeks, I’ve been coming here daily in the hopes of seeing you. Wishing to… He took a deep swallow.” “I’m going to lose everything.” Ben and Tyler, my children, have no one else. Last year, my wife departed. “They’ll wind up in foster care if I go to jail.”
I held onto my cane so tightly that my knuckles went white. “You abandoned me to perish in the snow.” You treated me like garbage when you threw me off that bus. “As if my life had no purpose. And you want my pity now?”
He begged, “I know,” his voice breaking. “I am aware of my actions. It has been bothering me every day. Sleeping is impossible for me. I am unable to eat. I picture you lying there every time I close my eyes.”
“Good,” I murmured icily. “You ought to view it. Remember what you did to me, please.”
“I panicked!” When he watched me recoil, his voice escalated and then instantly became softer. “I was afraid. I didn’t believe I simply responded. I had a record, a dumb bar brawl from years ago, and I assumed that my kids would be taken away if the police showed up and conducted an inquiry. I am aware that it was incorrect. I’m aware that I offended you. But, please. His face was already wet with tears.” Please. I’ll cover the cost of your care. I’ll do anything.
“Anything?” As frigid as the ice I’d been left on, the word came out.
“Yes, anything.”
I examined him. Observed the despair. The guilt. The terror. There was a part of me that wanted to slam the door in his face, call the police, and have him handcuffed and taken away. However, a part of me that I still didn’t fully comprehend noticed something else.
Slowly, I answered, “Then you’ll pay for my therapy,” “Every dime. And you’ll come here to assist me every day. You must take care of everything until I can walk on my own again, including cooking, cleaning, and driving me to my appointments.”
He tightened his jaw. He was unwilling to concur. He had no other option, though.
Silently, he inquired, “How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Okay,” he said in a whisper. “Okay.”
So he arrived.
Every day at 6:30 a.m. prior to his work and every night at 7:00 p.m. following it. I found it difficult to look at him at first. I felt the ice sidewalk beneath my back and saw the bus door close each time he entered my door. My hands would tremble. My heart would pound.
But he showed up nevertheless.
He prepared soup. At first, I could hardly eat it since it was so salty. I said to him, “This is awful,” the first time.
“I know,” he muttered. “My wife prepared all of the meals. I never did learn.”
You’re learning now, though. Reduce the amount of salt. Add more pepper. Additionally, avoid boiling the vegetables until they are completely cooked.
It was improved the next week. Better still the following week.
His breath fogged in the frigid air as he shoveled my driveway in the snow. When I was unable to use the restroom on my own, he assisted me, his expression meticulously neutral and businesslike, as if this were just another task. He never voiced any complaints. Never offered an explanation.
His boys occasionally accompanied him. Tyler and Ben, ages eight and ten. Big-eyed, quiet kids wearing too-small secondhand jackets. As their father cleaned my floors, they would do their homework at my kitchen table.
“Is your back getting better, ma’am?” One evening, Tyler looked up from his arithmetic paper and inquired.
I answered, “A little,” as I observed him having trouble with long division. “Your father has been assisting. Let me now demonstrate a simpler solution to this issue.”
The child gave a serious nod. “He cries occasionally. at night. We hear, even though he believes we don’t.”
My throat constricted. “Does he?”
“Yes. He claims that he seriously injured someone and is unsure of how to make amends.”
The younger one, Ben, looked up at that moment. “Are you that someone?”
I looked him in the eyes. “Yes.”
“Are you going to forgive him?”
There was a lingering question. Sincerely, “I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I’m trying.”
When spring arrived, the snow melted and the world became colorful again. My porch steps were restored by Calvin. mowed my yard. fixed my heater after it malfunctioned. Somehow, the sound of the boys calling me Grandma May stopped hurting.
I got off the couch without my cane one April morning. I didn’t fall, but my legs trembled.
“Calvin,” I muttered, my eyes welling with tears. “I’m standing.”
For the first time since that awful day, he looked up from the dishes and grinned. genuinely grinned. “Guess we both learned how to stand again.”
However, Calvin continued to visit even after that. He would come every Sunday with the lads. They would address minor issues around the house and provide groceries. He would say the same thing over and over:
“May, you saved me. I didn’t deserve a second opportunity, yet you gave it to me.”
Isn’t it funny how life goes? I was able to walk again thanks to the man who left me broken on icy pavement. who showed me that mercy may triumph over justice in certain situations. Forgiveness does not equate to forgetfulness. It entails deciding to recognize the humanity in people, even when they have displayed their darkest side to you.
After all, it might not have been the worst day of my life. Perhaps it was the day that revealed our true selves and broke us both open.
Have you ever been asked for forgiveness by someone who has genuinely wounded you? Which option did you select? Because I discovered that sometimes the only person who can help you get back together is the one who broke you.
Perhaps that’s the main idea.
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