Repression

The door opens, and I swirl into the kitchen, pushed by the cold air at my heels, yellow skirt flying. Laughing, I fall against the door, pressing it closed behind me. My cheeks are pink, nipped at by the cold. Still giddy, I ask my mom why I ever avoided riding the bus.

Her eyebrows knit together, an immediate reaction, concerned, worried. There's a pause, I pause I should have been able to fill. My face remains blank. She struggles, "Don't you remember?"
Slowly, I shake my head. "They used to..." she drifts off.
I feel nervous. "They used to what?" I press. "They used to hurt you."
I wait for some sort of recognition, some understanding, but none comes. "Who were they?"
"They were on your bus. They used to hurt you."
A flash. I suddenly remember myself, much younger. Bruises. I remember. I remember crying.
"That's why you'd always sit in the front."
More comes. I remember hands, tearing, grabbing at me. I remember ducking my head, biting my lip. I remember fighting, pulling my hair, my jacket, my lunchbox, my backpack. I remember harsh laughter. I remember crying. I remember shouting for the driver's attention. I remember being ignored. The flashes are more vivid now, and my face grows pale.
"How'd it end?" Somehow, I know there must be an ending, a finale, a finish. Now, she cocks her head, a faint smile comes to her lips. "You remember that."
And I do.
A girl. She was older than me, she lived down the street. Only rarely was she on the bus. But the day she was, I needed her. I never asked her to help me. But she sat down next to me, right in the front of the bus. With her arms around me, they couldn't reach me, and the grabbing hands were subdued. With my head tucked in her shoulder, I was safe. And when she shouted for attention, she got it. And I don't remember any more crying.

The memories, the flashes, flit across my face, and are gone as quickly as they came. I am scared now, of what I couldn't remember, what I can't remember. What other secrets I've hidden inside. As though something has been freed, I feel suddenly empty. I let myself sink to the floor, and with my head between my knees, I cry.