by Ian Lewis
I can’t argue it out with the snow. Pitted brick is the only thing within earshot, but it won’t listen. It’ll just echo back my questions and a lonely excuse for why it hasn’t crumbled in on itself.
Plus, my shoulders ache from shivering. The frozen air isn’t going to loosen its grip for nothing. Hands stuffed into my vest, I trot back to the truck, step up into the cab, and swing the door shut.
I dial the heat as far as it will go. The vents in the dash don’t work, only the ones underneath. The slush from my boots slides off into a pile of muck while I work the pedals.
Easing into the gas, I loop around the square, feeling worn through as the cruddy floor mats. The twinkle of the bars isn’t enough for a wandering eye. Passing a few darkened vehicles and bleak storefronts with rag-tag signage, I head west. The bus station is out that way.
It’s Lilly’s birthday for a few more hours. She still might show, but the skeptic in me says to keep my expectations in check: Lilly isn’t coming home no matter how bad I want her to. It’s a waste of time to make the drive, but I’ve made up my mind about it.
Sometimes that’s all you’ve got, though. Just your expectations. You can expect the best from people or you can expect the worst. Either way, you can’t make up people’s minds about anything. They do as they do.
And sometimes that means they walk out of your life. You don’t plan for it like you don’t plan for a fire, but you learn to deal with it. You learn to hope, too. Even if it’s far-fetched.
Tonight’s a long shot, but sleep’s a few hours off anyway. I’ve got excuses at the ready—enough to last the ten-minute haul out there. If one’s not good enough then there’s the other. So I wrap stiff, calloused fingers around the cold wheel and just drive.
Bitter nights bite even harder on these lonesome roads. Frozen, chalky stretches just go on forever. There’s no one to share it with. Just you and the frigid black. Alone.
Later that emptiness will follow you home like a stray. Nothing can be done about it. You can turn on all the lights, just to make it seem homier, but after a while you’ll let it in. You’ll succumb to it as you lock up for the night and crawl into your cold bed.
I don’t want that nothingness anymore. My best years are behind me. No doubting it. But a man’s got to have some kind of fulfillment. Having Lilly around isn’t too much to ask for, is it? Even if she just checked in to let me know she’s safe, it would be something.
The station sits a few miles further. My heart picks up the pace; I can’t help it. Stupid stomach flutters like I’m a kid. It’s that damn hope again, getting me all worked up. Don’t lie to yourself. She’s not gonna show.
The parking lot should creep up over the horizon any second, its lone lamplight a beacon for the wayward traveler. Hopefully it draws in more than just me tonight. A solitary drive home would just about kill me, the way I’ve built it up in my mind.
It’s too late to think about turning around. With a firm grip on the wheel, I hold my breath as the lot comes into view. Is there a bus? Anyone waiting? Any sign that someone’s been there?
No, nothing. Empty. Dead as the vacant fields around it. I exhale and loosen my grip. Shoulders fall as I lean over the wheel. I know better. Isn’t any point in being surprised.
I coast the rest of the way to the turn-in. Down the short drive and into the lot, I wheel the truck around and face the road. Suppose I’ll sit awhile seeing as I made the trip. I’ve got nothing else worthwhile to occupy my time.
The motor huffs its uneven pant. Old and broken in, like me. I rest one arm across the back of the seat and gaze out past the glow of the lamplight. The horizon gets lost somewhere in the black.
This town’s got heart. Most don’t see it, but it’s there. Something keeps it alive even when it should die. Survival’s in the blood. I suppose something like that keeps me ticking. Maybe we’ve wore off on each other.
I don’t know any other way to go about it. Get up in the morning and don’t make the same mistakes as before. Hope tomorrow’s a lighter shade of gray. There’s reason enough, and she’s out there somewhere—living her life that’s a part of me.
The charcoal clouds part and the glint of the moon shines through for the first time all night. Washes out the world like someone turned on a spotlight. The snowy fields reflect soft and velvety.
Up the road, headlights peek over the rise. They move steady down the line while I hold my breath again. The orange marker lights of a bus come into view. It’s got to stop here. No other reason for it to come out this way.
I don’t want to move, like I’ll disturb its progress or something. I just wait. Hushed and still like I’m as frozen as the light post. The bus slows, turn signal flashing, and lumbers into the lot.
It pulls around and halts a few feet away. Air brake safety valves let loose their hiss. I lean back in the seat and swallow hard as the folding doors swing open.
End
