Double Dutch Bus: A Musical Odyssey about losing your license (Track 2/6)

 Double Dutch Bus: A Musical Odyssey about losing your license (Track 2/6)

Track 2: Triple Dutch

The courtroom hums with stale AC. Ray’s cheap suit wrinkles under sweat. Vanessa’s glare could freeze hell. Jason and Lily play "I Spy" with the bailiff’s mustache.  

JUDGE HERNANDEZ  

"Mr. Delgado, let's review your impressive resume of poor decisions today."  

"First—reckless driving under Vehicle Code section 23103. 'I was saving her' isn't a legal defense for treating city streets like your personal Fast & Furious audition. Thirty-day suspension, followed by ninety days restricted license. Next time? Dial 911, not your hero complex."  

"Second—failure to present license under 12951. You couldn't produce a license because—let me guess—your wallet was 'in your other pants'? Two hundred and fifty dollar fine. Pro tip: If you're going to play knight in shining armor, at least carry your damn ID."  

"And finally—expired registration under 4000. Six months overdue. Were you waiting for a singing telegram from the DMV? Three hundred dollar fine, plus impound fees. Consider this your very expensive reminder."  

"So, for the record: license suspended thirty days, restricted ninety after that, $550 in fines, and your car gets towed. Any questions about why you're walking home today, Mr. Delgado?"  

BANG—final gavel strike. The echo hangs as Vanessa facepalms in the gallery.  

The kids gasp—not at the verdict, but because Lily just won "I Spy."  

LILY:  

"Told you his mustache had ketchup in it!"  

_____

Golden light spills over the steps. Jason and Lily race ahead, reenacting the trial. Frankie Smith’s "Triple Dutch" plays from a passing lowrider—peppy, taunting.  

JASON:  

"Dad’s license just did a belly flop!"  

LILY:  

"And Mommy’s face is the diving board!"  

Vanessa’s grip on her keys turns knuckles white. Ray swallows hard.  

They pass a bus stop. A poster of a happy family grins at them like a cruel joke.  

RAY:  

"Vanessa, please. Lisa was being harassed. I just—"  

VANESSA:  

"Uh-huh. And her legs were in mortal danger when they accidentally climbed into your car?"  

——-

Jason and Lily now play "Divorce Court."  

JASON:  

"I hereby award Mommy all the money and Dad all the laundry!"  

LILY:  

"And this bear gets custody of Dad!"  

Their giggles sync with the song’s climax.  

RAY:  

"At least they’re… adapting?"  

VANESSA:  

"They’re auditioning for my legal team."  

——-

Ray’s driveway. The Plymouth Road Runner sits under a tarp, its chrome bumper peeking out like a scorned lover’s glare. Neighbors materialize like vultures in tank tops.  

NEIGHBOR #1 (CHUCK, GRILL TONGS IN HAND)  

"Damn, Ray. No summer burnouts? What’s next—soy milk in your coffee?"  

NEIGHBOR #2 (LENNY, HOLDING A 12-PACK)  

"Better learn the bus schedule, amigo. Heard they got vegan seats now—no leather, just vibes."  

Ray flips them off as he trudges toward the bus stop. Behind him, Chuck yells:  

CHUCK  

"Watch out for the free-range weirdos, Delgado!"  

——-

The bus stop bench is cracked like Ray’s dignity. A laminated poster advertises a "Yoga & Tarot Rage Cage" event. The bus arrives—painted in rainbows, bouncing on hydraulics to the bassline of a song that smells like patchouli and regret.  

KOMBUCHA MAN  

"This… is fermenting revolution. Want a sip?"  

RAY  

"I’d rather drink my suspension notice."  

CRYSTAL LADY  

"Your third eye is clenched. Like a… tiny fist of toxic masculinity."  

RAY  

"That’s just my headache from listening to you."  

The bus hits a pothole. The crystal thunks against the window.  

POET  

"The bus moves… like society… under capitalism… or maybe my dad… who left… for ‘cigarettes’…"  

RAY  

"I miss my car."  

The bus bounces again—hard. Ray’s phone flies out of his hand, landing in the lap of a goth teen eating vegan jerky.  

GOTH TEEN  

"Your Lock Screen is a parking ticket. Deep."  

Ray grabs it back. The screen cracks into a spiderweb of his life choices.  

RAY  

"Thirty days…"  

The bus speakers crackle. The driver—a woman with dreadlocks and a ‘I Brake for Astrology’ bumper sticker—yells over her shoulder:  

BUS DRIVER  

"Next stop: Existential Dread & Transfer Station!"  

Ray closes his eyes. Somewhere, Vanessa laughs.  

——-

Ray stumbles off at his stop. A passing lowrider—same one from court—blasts Frankie Smith’s "Triple Dutch" again, now twisted with irony.  

His phone buzzes. Text from Vanessa:  

VANESSA  

Kids want to know if you’ll take the bus to Lily’s recital.  

…It’s at a vegan community center.  

Ray stares at the sky. A single bird poops on his shoe.  

RAY  

"I get it. I’m the joke."  

The bus drives away, its hydraulics bouncing in time with his crushing reality.  

AtilA