One Bus Away.

Each morning, my alarm rang at 6:00 am. I woke from what appeared to be a short slumber to catch the bus on time for work and avoid losing my job. I stepped out of the small room I shared with my toddler in my mother’s two-bedroom apartment to start my morning commute. My older sister stayed behind, ready to greet my toddler when they woke. Meanwhile, my little sister was getting ready for school watching me take off for the workday. 

In our community, most are up before 6:00 am, draped in safety vests with construction hard hats sitting on their heads. Some were in their janitorial uniforms, and many were making their way to the bus stops, including my mother. I was the only one wearing casual office wear.

I hopped on the first bus by 6:30 am with a bookbag carrying a composition book, a pen to take notes with, and a textbook for my evening class. I hopped off at the second bus stop to transfer onto the second-morning bus, the only bus passing by my job. While I waited for the second bus, I walked to the Dunkin Donuts right next to the bus stop. I grabbed a coffee and egg wrap to shake the sleep off my eyes. I returned to the bus stop with my coffee and egg wrap to hop on the second bus. The bus usually arrived at my job around 7:45 am. I barely made it to work on time.

For my evening commute, the only bus passing by my job ran hourly during off-peak hours. During peak hours, the bus started running frequently after 5:40 pm. Meanwhile, class started at 6:30 and a distance away, two bus rides away, to be exact. Considering the schedule for the buses I had to take, assuming I waited for those forty minutes, I would be late for a class lecture or, even worse, an exam. Instead, I threw my backpack over my shoulder and resorted to the only other transportation available to me, my feet. I walked to the nearest bus stop with other connecting buses passing through. I walked the fastest mile I could walk, about twenty minutes. In the twenty minutes I saved, I made the second bus to my college on time for class. In the long run, I walked to the same bus stop every weekday after work. It was also the only other time I had to remain active and decompress during the week. 

After class, I hopped on the last bus of my day to head home. I only enrolled up to two classes due to time constraints in a given semester. For some semesters, when I took two classes, I arrived home after 9:00 pm with my toddler already in bed. I took advantage of my kid’s bedtime to start on assignments. I fell asleep close to midnight, only to start again the following day. Exhaustion weighed down my eyelids every morning, but the thought of providing a better life for me and my kid kept me pushing.

Everyone told me to keep pushing. It will be worth it. Ultimately, I took thirteen years of my kid’s life to reach a point where we could live a comfortable life. We are now at a point where we don’t have to share a small bedroom in a two-bedroom apartment with four other people. I don’t have to worry about spending hours on end in a long commute. I don’t have to worry about spending time away from my kid.  

Since I became a mother at fifteen years old, I yearned for this moment. The long nights and early mornings would be worth it, they said. Come to find out, I am part of the 2% of teenage parents who complete a higher education before the age of thirty. I’m sure the percentage of teenage parents pursuing a degree in engineering or some STEM-related field is even smaller. 

But now, as I reflect, I ask myself, at what cost? I spent most of my time at work, commuting, in classes, or doing homework while my sisters and mother watched over my kid during the critical developmental years of their life. I left home in the morning with my kid asleep and arrived late in the evening to my kid asleep. The time I used in the attempt to provide a better life for us was at the expense of spending time away from my child, time I can never make up for. I was not readily available for my kid. There is no price for the time I lost. 

I picked and chose my battles, the lesser of two evils. What other choices did I have? Spend the rest of my life working at a wage where a comfortable life for both of us was unattainable? Continue sharing a small bedroom in an apartment with other people? Spend hours on end during my commute due to the state of public transportation in the United States? A country where a twenty-minute difference can lead to an hour delay. Where I’m one bus away from being fired or missing an exam. Should I rely on welfare for the rest of my child’s life? Should I have found a partner who could help sustain us and risk depending on someone else, potentially placing us in an even more volatile predicament? Should I perpetuate the only life I have seen around me, nothing more outside construction safety vests or janitorial roles? How can mothers escape their perpetual precarious lives with few options? Every question I reflected on and choice I considered came with some consequence. My only apparent feasible choice was to spend time away and build us a better life. 

I couldn’t imagine what would have become of us if childcare wasn’t readily available to me at home through my sisters and mother. There are no wonders why student-parents, let alone students from disadvantaged backgrounds, take longer to complete their education for reasons like childcare and transportation.

Given the recent turn of events, we are in a time when motherhood and children are the centerpiece of political discourse. Motherhood has been brought into question and onto the hands of the state, so I then ask what are States doing to help? How much can the State do to ensure mothers get what they need? Is it entirely up to the State? Whatever the case or the question, mothers need better choices to allow their families to live healthier and happier lives. These are questions leading to more questions that I cannot provide a definite answer. I can only bring them to light by sharing what I have experienced, hoping someone is listening.