Greyhound Read Free Page B

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    “Los Angeles,” I managed faintly, as I pulled out the ticket, handing it over.
    “Have a seat, Bucko,” he answered, returning my stub.
    “I’m traveling alone,” I announced.
    “So is Jesus. Now stop advertising and find a seat, chief,” he grunted, pulling the doors closed with a big handle that was right at eye level and closer to me than I first thought. I flinched, thinking it was going to whack me.
    “Take it easy, kid. Find a seat,” he said, shooting me a concerned look. Now I was locked in with no escape and no way to change my mind. I realized that I never had a choice in the matter anyway. Several seats were vacant, but only toward the back. The very back seat was a row of three seats next to a toilet door with a small light near the handle. The whole rear end of the bus smelled like Pine-Sol or some type of cleaning product. Now, close up, I recognized it as the smell I had detected earlier out on the platform but couldn’t identify. I thought to make a note of this as soon as I got settled.
    I plopped myself down next to the window in the back row after walking past almost four rows of vacant seats. I relaxed and leaned into the wall of the back corner, which was made of an odd fake wood laminate. I felt as if I were at the end of the world now. It gave me a bad feeling to imagine why there would have to be wood on a bus. My imagination ran wild. The last thing I wanted was to get lost somewhere on this bus and have to end up pulling off the wood paneling for firewood or some type of improvised shelter. The wood only went up to my chest and shoulders and ended with a small metal grate just below the window.
    What was supposed to be air-conditioning was being pumped upward through the vents at full blast. I began to wonder why every smell on the bus seemed to make my hair stand on end and make me feel like something horrible was about to happen. It smelled like a tube was connected into the air-con system directly from the engine compartment and was blowing noxious exhaust through the cabin. I began to feel a little sick but immediately became distracted as the bus started rolling backward with a soft beeping noise. Outside, the speaker in the terminal was still announcing departures. I could faintly hear the message over the engine.
    “ 1443 leaving for Los Angeles on platform 2. ”
    The thought crossed my mind that anybody in the terminal needing to hear that was already too late. The lights inside the bus dimmed, and we sat idling in the driveway for several moments, waiting for the driver to receive some unknown cue. I wondered if I would’ve been able to see Dick’s station wagon hightailing it away, but the bus went nowhere near the front parking lot as we pulled out.
    “Good evening, folks ,” came the driver’s voice over the loudspeaker. “I’m your driver. My name’s Jim, and this is the 1443 to Los Angeles. We’re looking at a total drive time of eight hours and twenty minutes, so we’ll probably pull into the station in downtown Los Angeles around ten-thirty in the morning, just in time for lunch, or breakfast, if everything goes according to plan. So just sit back, relax, and leave the driving to us. I’ll leave the overhead lights off, so those who want to sleep, can.”
    The speaker made an odd clicking sound and then went quiet. Jim’s message set me at ease by giving me a small preview of what was to come. The bus drove down several side streets, past all the shops I was familiar with. But at night, everything looked like a ghost town from another era. The small one-screen theater was still showing Popeye. I had seen it alone, a few days before. Every street was now deserted. Every window in every shop was dark and vacant. I stared out at the diminishing city as we idled at the different red lights before pulling out onto the highway. I was feeling lonely, but I was actually glad to be rid of my mom, away from Dick, and on the road heading toward my grandma’s in