Others grit their teeth, lower their heads, and keep going however they can.
That afternoon, when we reached his stop, he did get up.
Slowly.
He put on his backpack.
Walked down the steps.
And before stepping onto the sidewalk, he turned around.
He didn’t quite smile, but almost.
“My uncle is picking me up today,” he said.
“I’m glad.”
He nodded and got off.
At the bus shelter stood a man in his fifties, wearing a work jacket and looking like he hadn’t slept much. He raised his hand.
Dani walked toward him.
I closed the doors.
And drove on.
But that night, I kept thinking about something.
Not what happened on Monday.
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