Dear Bus Number 12

Dear Bus Number 12,

You are not glamorous. Your seats are cracked and your heater makes a rattling noise like a box of loose change. You are always three minutes late.

But you carry me to work every morning, past the river and the bakery and the school where the kids wave from the playground. You've carried me home from my first day at a new job and from my first date with the person I'm going to marry. You've carried me through rain, snow and one memorable thunderstorm when the whole bus sang along to the driver's radio.

Your driver, Rosalind, knows my name. She saves the front seat for an old man with a cane every morning. She once stopped the bus to let a family of geese cross.

You are three minutes late. I love you anyway. Thank you for carrying me.