When I was about 4, I lived in a very small village in Poland, in a farm house with a bus stop in front of it. Twice a day, the bus would come and take passengers about 2 hours away to Polkowice, a much larger town. There, the people from my neck of the woods could buy fabric, clothing, “big city” groceries and things we might not find in our farming village. On one summer day, my grandmother was taking care of me. I snuck away while she was milking a cow, put on one of her blouses and tied it with a belt to make it look like a dress, put on her finest Sunday hat, grabbed her purse and while the bus driver was smoking his cigarette, climbed into the bus.
I sat there waiting and waiting until a neighbor got on the bus and noticed me.
Justyna! My god! Where’s your grandmother?! What are you doing here?
I was surprised at the question.
Going shopping, why? Do you wanna come?
My lord! I thought she’d faint. Her jaw nearly dropped to the ground as she heaved me over her shoulder and dragged back to my grandmothers farm.
My grandmother took one look at me and shrieked Holy Mary, Martha & Agnes! She looks like a child of the revolution!
Never again was I to be left alone to my own devices.