I sit on the idling school bus, knitting a scarf and waiting for the other students to board so we can all go home, but the head that appears at the front of the bus belongs to my father, not a fellow student. He calls my name and I exit the bus, embarrassed by his unexpected presence. He tells me my mother has cancer and is here in the car; they’ve stopped at my school on the way to the hospital so I can say goodbye. I follow my father to the car, hoping he didn’t mean “goodbye” that way.
Linnea Peterson is a nonbinary, autistic writer and communications professional from Minnesota. Find Linnea at linneapeterson.com and on Twitter @LPetersonWrites.