Diary,
Last night, I harkened back to a day that scared the daylight out of me. I was in a bus going home from college. Remember those pre-Michuki days, when people used to be crammed in buses like sardines in a can? Yep. I was lucky to have a seat at the front, right next to the driver. By the passenger window, was a woman who chatted our ears off with tales of her ex-husband and their explosive divorce.
We got to a stage and although the vehicle was full, more people began cramming in. One of them was a woman with a tiny months-old baby. Unable to board with the baby in her arms, she came to the window and asked the divorce lady to hold the infant.
“When I was done with my marriage,” divorce woman said, “I was done with babies. Sorry.”
I felt sad for the mother, so I offered to hold the baby for her.
“That’s so nice of you,” said the driver, getting the bus in motion. “I just hope she doesn’t forget the baby with you.”
“What do you mean forget the baby?”
“Once a woman ‘forgot’ a package in my bus. As I was cleaning at the end of shift, I happened upon the expensive bag. When I opened it to see if I could deduce who the owner was, I found, sorry to say this, a dead baby inside.”
“Jesus Christ!” exploded divorce woman. “You think she was alive when she was put in the bag?”
“It was a ‘he’ and I wouldn’t know that. I left it to the police.”
Stop after stop, the mother did not come for her baby. To say I was scared is an understatement. “You think she forgot the baby?”
“You’ll need diapers, baby formula, clothes, a crib,” says divorce woman. “And alcohol.”
“Alcohol?”
“The way the brats cry at night, you’ll need something to numb your pain.”
Almost at the last stop, a voice says, “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I could’ve done without you.”
I turned to see the baby’s mother with her arms stretched. I nearly crapped my pants with relief.
