“They Wouldn’t Let Me Take the Bus, So I Walked to School”

My name is Mateo, and I live in the countryside, so far away from town that sometimes I think the world ends just past the hills. Our house is made of adobe, with a tin roof and chickens wandering everywhere. The school is more than seven kilometers away, but I’ve grown used to it. I walk every day, starting when the sun barely paints the sky.

Mom is always the first to wake up. You can hear her stoking the fire and moving pots. When she calls me, her voice is sweet but tired:

—Mateo, hurry, son, or you’ll be late again.

I get dressed quickly, slip on my worn shoes without laces, and grab my backpack. Mom hands me a tortilla with a little cheese, wrapped in a cloth.

—Eat something on the way.

—Yes, Mom —I say as I step outside.

Dad doesn’t say anything. At this hour, he’s already outside, fixing the plow or feeding the animals. If he greets me, it’s without looking up. Sometimes I think he doesn’t understand why I even go to school.

One morning, I overheard him complaining to Mom about the cost of the bus:

—Why does the boy need so much schooling? Better that he helps me with the farm.

—Let him be, Pedro —she said softly—. He’s smart, the teacher says he learns quickly.

—Bah… letters won’t put food on the table.

I lay in bed, listening, not daring to speak. But those words stung more than the stones on the path. From that day on, I promised myself I’d be the best student, even if I had to walk barefoot.

The walk to school is long. At first, in the morning, it’s beautiful: the fresh air, the birds singing, the sky turning orange. But then the sun heats up, dust rises, and my feet ache. When a truck passes, I cover my face with my arm so the dust won’t hit me.

My classmate Lucía lives a little closer. When she catches up, we walk together.

—Did your dad scold you again? —she asks.

—No. He doesn’t even say anything anymore.

—Mine neither… but we go anyway, right?

—Of course. One day we’ll have a different path.

At school, Miss Ana always greets us with a smile. Sometimes she gives us warm bread or mate cocido. She knows what it takes to get here.

—Mateo, you arrived before anyone again —she says. —You have so much determination.

I smile. I don’t tell her I got up while it was still dark, before the rooster even crowed.

That year, I worked harder than ever. I read by candlelight at night, solved math problems in the margins of my old notebook, and whenever Dad sent me to watch the cows, I hid my book. I didn’t want him to see me studying.

One day, during recess, Miss Ana called me aside:

—Mateo, I’m going to say something in class tomorrow. Don’t miss it, okay?

I didn’t understand what she meant, but I nodded.

The next day, she asked the class to be quiet. My legs trembled as she smiled at me:

—Today I want to recognize the best student of the year. The one who never missed a day, who walked the farthest, who put the most effort. That student is… Mateo!

Everyone clapped. Lucía nudged my shoulder, and I felt heat rising to my cheeks.

—And there’s a surprise —the teacher continued.

Two men from town wheeled in a sky-blue bicycle, with a red ribbon tied to the handlebars. I froze.

—The neighbors and teachers pitched in a little money —Miss Ana said—. So Mateo doesn’t have to walk so far anymore.

I could barely speak. I touched the seat with trembling hands.

—Is it mine? —I whispered.

—Of course, Mateo. You earned it.

That afternoon, I rode slowly, as if afraid to wake from a dream. When I arrived home, Dad was fixing a fence. He frowned at me.

—And what’s that? —he asked.

—I got it at school —I said—. For being the best student.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at me, then lowered his head and returned to work. Later, I overheard him talking to Mom:

—That boy… he really has drive.

That night, I stared at the bicycle leaning against the wall. It gleamed in the dim light. I thought about how the road ahead would still be long, but now it wouldn’t weigh me down so much. I had wings, wheels, and a dream that no one could take away.