Greyhound

by Piper, Steffan

  “No. He drove off with the shotgun before the police got there, but he didn’t get the money. Beanie and my mother were downstairs in the parking lot when they heard the shots go off. They were terrified, but they both ran upstairs to help me. I think it was the one time my mother may have cared. After that, she was mad about Roger not working out, and was upset and seemed to blame Beanie and me for the whole thing. Beanie and my mother argued about it, and within a few months we were finally sent to go live back in Altoona, which was last year.”

  “Your mother is a cold-ass piece of work, man. Animals in the wild take better care of their kids.”

  “If you ever listen to her talk, all she ever talks about is ‘all the sacrifices she made for us’ and all the things she had to do without because of us. She likes to lay on the guilt and doesn’t listen to anybody else.”

  “That’s some tragic-ass shit. I don’t know what the hell to say. I’ve been through some hard times my damn self, but my moms and pops were always close—they were always together, no matter what. I saw some messed-up stuff in prison too, but you’re just a kid. No offense. You shouldn’t have stories like that for another fifteen years.” Marcus’s tone seemed to rise as he began to get angry thinking about it. Even though he had never met her, I could tell that Marcus had had just about enough of my mother.

  “And let me say this,” he spat, now furious. “Some people will tell you that they make, or have made, sacrifices for you, but don’t buy it. The truth is simple: everything they ever did was for themselves, and what they did had little bearing on what was best for you. You were just a…hostage, along for the ride. You were just furniture, luggage, window dressing, dead weight to them. At least it’s a good thing that you’re hip to it now.”

  As I watched Marcus going off on a rant, I listened, because he was more serious than he had been. “People like that are toxic and will do everything they can to ruin your life. And if they can’t do it alone, they’ll find others to help them, no matter how long it takes.” What he said got to me and crept under my skin, giving me a chill. It was a disturbing thought. She was doing it all again with Dick and didn’t care on any level about Beanie or me. Everything she was doing was for herself, and she’d never change.

  Marcus and I both sat quietly for quite some time after I told him my story. Feeling the urge, I stood up, excused myself and went inside the bathroom. After I closed the door behind me, I slid the small metal knob to the right, locking the door, which activated the occupied light on the outside.

  I sat down on the closed stainless-steel lid of the toilet. The whole bathroom, four feet by four feet, was stainless steel, including the floor. Part of me wanted to cry, and another part wanted to scream and break something. Both options at that moment seemed out of the question. A slight breeze was filtering in through the small window that had been left open by someone else. I could see the sun setting one more time in the sky outside. It was my last Greyhound sunset, and I watched it locked in the bathroom. After the final sliver of light had fallen below the horizon, I got up and washed my face and hands in the sink. Seeing myself in the mirror, I realized that even though I felt older, I was still twelve years old. I couldn’t quite recall how I’d felt getting on the bus, but I knew getting off that things would have to be at least a little different.

  Just as I reached up for the knob, somebody rapped loudly at the door. I emerged with a surprised look as a young man with a beard was waiting to use the toilet. Slipping out and back to my seat, I looked over at Marcus, who had hit the hot-line button on his Walkman.

  “You alright? I thought you might have fallen in or something. I was about to call the cavalry,” he joked.

  “Just as long as it wasn’t Stonewall Jackson,” I responded.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “I guess I do. I think I understand the snake in the box thing a bit better.”

  “I knew you would, kiddo.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “It’s cool. It’s your life, my man. Just don’t feel too wounded about it, and you’ll be cool.”

  I nodded in acknowledgment. After I checked the time and my schedule, I estimated we were only a few hours out from Columbus and we’d probably get in early. I slipped my headphones on and faded away to Hall and Oates again. My favorite song on the tape, after listening to it so many times, was “I Can’t Go for That.” It had a beat and catchy lyrics, which I had almost completely memorized.

  I thought about what I had told Marcus, and while it did feel a little strange telling him, I knew on some level I would feel better. He said it would change me by telling “my story,” as he referred to it, the way I saw it. I knew better than to expect any type of dramatic shift in my personality or to stop stuttering tomorrow. I had been told many times already that I would eventually grow out of it. Maybe this would help me to grow out of it just that much faster. Marcus had a way of making me feel more included in everything around me than I had ever felt before, but by myself I still felt as if I was separated from everyone else. It wasn’t hard to understand, or reason why, when being noticed was equivalent to a “ghost sighting.” Usually when people took notice of me, they’d follow it with the sentence “What are you doing here?” or “How did you get in here?” I was always in the way. Maybe the biggest thing I had in common with Marcus was staring me in the face the whole time. While he knew what it was like to be imprisoned and freed, I knew what it was like to be taken hostage mentally and imprisoned inside myself.

  The problem with being trapped inside your head all day is that it’s difficult for others to notice it. Most people will just say, “Ohh…he’s so quiet and well behaved.”

  Sitting in the darkness, I could feel another level of anticipation and frustration peel away like an invisible layer. The interior lights were on, illuminating the ceiling and the floor. Almost all of the small overhead lights above each passenger were shining down, even my own.

  Early evening on the bus was just another set of routines. People began pulling out food, snacks, drinks, leftovers they’d brought from home, and sat enjoying whatever company was around them. One man who had gotten on the bus back in Blythe had been sleeping almost the entire time. I only saw him awake twice, and that was only for a short bathroom visit. It was as if life on the Greyhound was too much to absorb, and thus shutting down was the only option. A long rotation of bathroom visits and smoke breaks ensued, and the driver would usually turn on the radio to the evening news so folks could get a sense that the world hadn’t actually ceased to exist, even though everything on the bus typically pointed in that direction.

  You could also hear the shuffling of cards, and a few people would get up and move seats to have conversations with other riders. For the most part, everyone tried to be as pleasant as they could. One bad seed was all that was ever needed to spoil the bunch, but people like Leigh Allen and Frank Burns were incredibly rare.

  It was just after ten-thirty when we got into Columbus. The rain had stopped just as the driver said it would, and the streets were all wet and puddle-strewn from the same heavy storm that had been following us across the country. Neon signs hung in shop windows everywhere as we drove toward the depot. Downtown Columbus had so many neon lights burning, they could’ve doubled as streetlights. We drove past a church with a neon sign that said Jesus Saves, but it definitely wasn’t the first sign like that I had seen. I’d probably seen that same sign more than any other. 7-Eleven was a close second. Even though it was already quiet and hardly anyone was out, the several 7-Elevens that we did pass along the way all had people standing around just outside the door and under the building’s green awning. The pay phones were never lonely either. It was something you could count on.

  “You need to stop at the gift shop?” Marcus asked, as he shoved his paperback book back into his jacket pocket. He was almost done with it now. It looked as if he was on the last few pages.

  “Yeah, I wanted to buy some gum,” I answered.
/>   “Cool, I’m going in too. I need to get some batteries and a bag of chips.”

  I started to think that all the terminals would begin to look the same, but it just wasn’t the case. Every so often the Greyhound stations would be these odd streamlined-looking blue-and-chrome museum-style buildings from another era, and other times they were just a window in a shop or a part of some other structure like an afterthought. The Columbus station was a giant gray cube with a rotating sign outside the building, possibly to let airplanes know to avoid it or to try to land out front on the main street because they had a twenty-four-hour café. I meandered around the gift shop, bored stiff and stuck in my head. I was numb from traveling. Marcus had to tap me on the shoulder, as he had called out my name several times and I didn’t respond.

  “Sebastien, you alright?” he asked. He was looking at cassette tapes next to me at the counter.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  “I called your name three times and you didn’t hear me. You look stuck in your head.”

  “I didn’t?” was about the most I could manage. I looked up at the cassette tapes and examined the titles. More names of people I had never heard of and probably wouldn’t want to. The name Engelbert Humperdinck made me smile. Turning the racks, I saw Petula Clark, Charlie Rich, Roger Whitaker, and Merle Haggard. I saw nothing I would’ve wanted to buy right off the bat. As I turned the rack a little more, two names caught my eye: Three Dog Night and Cat Stevens.

  “You ever listen to Three Dog Night?” I asked, looking over at Marcus, holding up the tape.

  “Nope,” he stated succinctly, bringing over an Al Jarreau tape and paying for it.

  “How about Cat Stevens?” I followed up. He looked as if he was concentrating.

  “You going through a list of animals first to help you narrow down your choice? What’s the title of the cassette?” he asked. “Is it Tea for the Tillerman?”

  “It says Greatest Hits,” I replied.

  “You seem to have a small collection of Greatest Hits building up, don’t ya?” I hadn’t thought about it before, but I did. My other two cassettes were both greatest hits compilations. I liked both of them and made my decision to buy the Cat Stevens. A sign above the rack read fifty percent off. All the tapes were a dollar seventy-five. My money situation was getting tighter, but it would be gone soon no matter what I spent it on. At least I could listen to music all summer long.

  After I paid for the tape and gum, we made our way over to the diner. It was the first diner I had seen that was called something other than Grey’s Café or The Grey Café. This one was just called The Road Grill. The smell wafting through the air didn’t make me feel in a hurry to eat there, but I knew it was the last chance I would have to eat with Marcus, and I wouldn’t want to eat once we got to Pittsburgh, as it would be close to three in the morning.

  A young waitress in the signature gray-and-blue uniform walked us over to two seats that looked through the window to the outside world. Looking around, I could see a constant throng of bodies that were heeding the warning of “final boarding call to Amarillo on aisle 3.” I couldn’t imagine making the trip backward now after everything that had happened. I didn’t envy any of the people running to catch their bus. If they knew what was good for them, they would miss it entirely. The image of the wildlife mural on the wall back in Blythe went through my head again. If they only had a clue that a bear in a stream full of salmon was patiently awaiting them, they might’ve had second thoughts.

  I sat and read the menu, occasionally glancing around the restaurant or outside at the neon sign across the street that read Same Day Dry Cleaning. It was blinking off and on methodically, which kept me looking at it. Marcus ordered a bowl of French onion soup and a corned beef sandwich. He never ordered the same thing twice and was still happy about how good it all tasted. Every time he took a bite, I’d stare at his face and watch him eat. He was ecstatic. I’d never seen anyone enjoy eating as much as Marcus did.

  I ordered a glass of iced tea and a patty melt with a salad instead of fries. I hadn’t eaten any vegetables in days. The last time I saw lettuce was on the tacos in Albuquerque, and we had eaten them so fast, I barely noticed it. For all I knew, it could have been pocket lint or shredded paper rather than lettuce.

  “What time does your schedule say we get into Pittsburgh?” Marcus asked. I took a sip of iced tea and dug it out from my back pocket, carefully unfolding it.

  “Three-ten in the morning.”

  “Any stops in between here and there?”

  “No, it’s an express. The small e after Columbus means no stops until the next terminal,” I answered.

  “You got that thing pretty much figured out, huh?”

  “I’ve been trying not to look at it too much, but I think I’ve got it completely memorized at this point.”

  “How long is your layover in Pittsburgh?” Marcus asked.

  “I switch over to the 4692, which leaves at three-thirty.”

  Marcus nodded. “Doesn’t leave too much time does it?” he asked thoughtfully.

  “For what?” I wondered.

  “To get rid of those bags, what else?” he replied. “We’ll have to do something drastic. You’ll have to get your bags from the porters before they wheel them over to your new bus, and whatever we do with them is gonna have to be quick, or we just might end up missing our connection.”

  “The next bus from Pittsburgh into Altoona doesn’t leave until seven a.m. I have no way to call my grandparents and tell them I missed the bus. I can’t miss it.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll make that bus, buddy,” he promised. “Was this trip everything you thought it was going to be?” he asked me.

  “It’s been a lot different than what I expected, that’s for sure.” We both laughed out loud as we dug into our food. I was beginning to feel a little sad again about the prospect of having to say goodbye to Marcus.

  “Y’know…” I started. “You saved my life. I just wanted to say thanks.” I felt the need to tell him that one more time. I was actually unsure if I had previously thanked him at all. He kept staring into his food and balled up his face into an expression as if it was nothing at all.

  “Ahh…you don’t need to thank me, man. We’re cool, y’know?” he sputtered.

  “No, Marcus. I’m serious. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be here right now,” I stated firmly. He looked up at me, carefully weighing my words.

  “You’re welcome, Sebastien. Sometimes you just got to look out for people. That’s all it is,” he rejoined. “Y’know…if I can impress upon you one last thing to remember, it’s this,” he pointed at my jacket pocket. “And you can take notes too, if you want,” he suggested with a grin.

  “Always try to be good to people, don’t always put yourself first, and don’t always expect things to be fair, because they won’t be. You do that…and I doubt you’ll end up anything like your folks. Got me?”

  It took me a few seconds to write down everything he had said. I had to use a napkin because my notebook was full and somewhere in the bottom of my bag.

  “I hope I don’t end up like them,” I asserted honestly. Marcus raised his eyebrows and got a crazy look across his face as he bit into his sandwich. I couldn’t tell if it was what I had said or the food.

  “I wouldn’t wish that on anybody!” he answered back.

  “What’s going to happen to me, Marcus?” I asked bluntly. I thought it was a question I needed to ask, and it was mostly out of desperation.

  “I have no idea what’s going to happen to you, partner. Nobody does. I don’t have a crystal ball, and folks that talk like they do, don’t listen to them.”

  I watched him carefully, and he seemed uncomfortable with what he had said. He put his glass down, wiped his face, and exhaled nervously. I looked away and drank my iced tea as I felt the tension rising. He wasn’t mad, but he wanted to say something else.

  “Look…” he started again. “If I had to ta
ke a guess, all I could say is that you’re going to spend your life looking for friends and continually coming up short. That’s what happens when you don’t have a real father. You’re going to have to be careful about people and know that they often have very selfish motives and will rarely be honest with you about them…but it doesn’t mean not to trust anyone either.”

  “I’m not going to have any friends?” I repeated, somewhat stuck on that part.

  “No. That’s not what I said, now,” he spoke back quick and sharp. “I said you’re going to be looking for friends and won’t find many. It’s a big difference, understand?”

  “I don’t know. I guess,” I answered, a bit flummoxed.

  “Hmm…” he laughed quietly to himself. “I guess,” he repeated, all while watching me.

  We sat talking for another five minutes before the waitress came with the bill. I gave her two café vouchers, but she looked puzzled when she picked them up.

  “What’s this?” she responded angrily. Marcus and I both failed to answer her tone right away. We just sat quietly watching her. A moment later, she became uncomfortable and looked down at the café vouchers. She didn’t seem pleased at all.

  “Where did you get these?” she snapped. I pulled out Mr. Hastings’s business card and handed it to her. She gave it another quick glance.

  “I’ll have to talk to the manager and make sure we can even take these, but don’t count on it.”

  “Just m– m–…” I couldn’t get it out in one piece.

  “What?” she growled hurriedly.

  “The card. Just make sure I get that back. Mr. Hastings is my friend.”

  She looked at me as if I was pathetic, turned around, and left to go check with her boss.

  I looked over at Marcus who wasn’t bothered by the girl’s rudeness at all. He was watching her figure as she walked away. I was surprised. He smiled broadly, his eyes fixed to her rear end.

  “Hey, even angry girls need love too, buddy. Don’t forget that either,” he laughed, pointing at her as she slipped away.