Soldier-Girl, In Thee We Trust? -by Abby

Now that Rebecca is about to go into the Israeli Army, I deem myself permitted to relay this story to you:



Once upon a dark night, Rebecca and I were riding the bus home from down-town Jerusalem. The time was near 11 o'clock pm. We were the last two passengers aboard the bus, besides the driver himself. The rain pattered on the roof and trickled lazily across the windows, adding to the ominous atmosphere conjured up in our imaginations (which I assure you were working over-time that night). As the bus wound its way through the dark neighborhood of Castel, precariously weaving between parked cars, dumpsters, and empty bus stops, Rebecca and I grew increasingly aware of the late hour and our perceived predicament. Suddenly, like the beating of our hearts, the huge bus came to a stop. The driver, a man in his mid-fourties, eased himself from his seat behind the wheel, and made his way toward the back of the bus. Slowly and deliberately he checked each row of seats he came to, as if expecting to find something left behind by a passenger, for he was nearing the end of his route. Feigning interest in the dark surroundings outside the bus, Rebecca and I kept a warry eye on the man. At last, he made his way back to his seat, and with relief we assumed that we would now proceed on home. But it was not to be. Sitting glassy-eyed beneath the flickering florescent light, we watched him get comfortable, then reach up and switch off the small light above him. "Death and Doom" ringing in our ears, we held a quiet councel of war. Reaching nervously into her purse, Rebecca retrieved a black switch-blade given to her by Aaron. A weapon I highly doubted her skill with. But doubt would get us nowhere, so I glanced about the bus, and my eyes alighted on the row of glass-breakers hung above the window to my right and two rows ahead. Speaking a combination of Chihuahua (our made-up language), a few words of english, and reading each other's lips, it was agreed that if the man attempted to approach us Rebecca would lash out at him with her switch-blade (which she had tucked under the sleeve of her shirt) and I would clambor over the seats in front of me, snatch up a glass-breaker, and bash out one of the windows. Assuming the guy was at that point helpless and bleeding (and not the other way around) we would then leap from the window to the street five feet below, and set out for home.

Well, all our planning was for naught. After a brief rest, the driver flicked on his light, and proceeded on towards our bus stop unaware of the planned assasination from the back seat. So never make an assumption about your driver when you don't know his evening schedule. Or if you really want to avoide lowering yourself to the level of legitimate stupidity, only carry a switch-blade if you know how to use it, or just don't ride the bus after 11 pm.