Bus Trip with Greyhound
written by: Sugar de Santo
He zipped up his bag.
Over. Done. Finished.
Once again.
There was no one there to say goodbye.
The big house was dark and quiet.
All that effort. For nothing.
Back to square one. Move on…
He couldn’t go back to his apartment. It had been rented out.
Alternatively? Maybe in Los Angeles.
He opened his wallet and counted his last money.
That’s going to be tight, he thought.
There weren’t many alternatives.
Train or bus.
He took his bag and set off.
The door closed quietly behind him.
He had to walk a little way to the train station.
At the information desk, he was told that a one-way train ticket to L.A. costs over $200. If he bought the ticket, he would be broke.
So he continued on to the Greyhound bus station.
Again on foot.
It was a cool, foggy, gray day.
It matched his mood.
The streets seemed even more desolate than usual.
When he arrived at the bus station, he bought a bus ticket to Los Angeles.
He had no other choice. At least he still had some money.
Maybe it would be exciting, he thought.
Wasn’t it said that once in a lifetime, you had to live the American dream by taking a Greyhound bus and exploring the country?
A 40-hour trip across the States. With a stopover in Texas and elsewhere.
The bus was old and dented.
The bus driver boredly punched holes in his ticket.
Many travelers weren’t there yet.
There was still plenty of time.
Slowly, more and more fellow travelers arrived.
He got on the bus.
The bus had seen better days.
It smelled of dust mixed with old perfume and cold, stale coffee.
A passenger was already sitting in the back, sleeping with a cowboy hat pulled down over his face, his chest rising and falling slowly in time with his breathing.
He found a seat by the window, near the driver.
He didn’t know whether he should be excited about the trip or not.
Time slowly trickled by, and he felt his eyelids growing heavy.
Shortly thereafter, he fell asleep with his head leaning against the window.
After quite some time, he noticed that the bus was jolting.
He rubbed his eyes sleepily.
The bus jolted along the highway at a slow pace.
Everything around him was black.
Only a few sparse dots, like fireflies, glowed on the ceiling of the bus.
When he looked out the bus window, he saw nothing but darkness.
At that moment, the bus veered off the road and swerved back and forth.
Frightened, he looked at the driver, who was searching for something under his seat with one hand.
When he looked closer, he realized that the bus driver was wearing headphones.
The other passengers were still sleeping peacefully.
In the distance, he saw colorful points of light.
The rescue.
Shortly afterward, they stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.
As he got out, he smelled warm, dry air.
He looked at his old wristwatch. It was a quarter past three in the morning.
They had been on the road for eight hours.
Still a much too long journey of over 30 hours. His stomach cramped up.
He bought a cheap, lukewarm coffee for a dollar.
The bus honked its horn and continued on its way.
Once again, the bus jolted wearily through the endless hours of a never-ending night.
As they drove by, he saw a sign that said “Utah 40 miles.”
Endless hours of fatigue.
Endless thoughts of fatigue.
He looked out the bus window, bored.
It was a clear desert night.
So many stars, he thought, an absurd number of stars.
Still 29 hours to go.
2,277 miles, he thought.
Why was he doing this?
Final stop: Union East, L.A.
A nice place to disappear, he thought, without a trace. Silently.
Hide out.
Would you like a cookie? He heard a woman’s voice ask.
Excuse me? He asked, his thoughts interrupted.
Cookie? She repeated gently and smiled.
Thanks, He said and took the cookie.
He still had a small sip of old, stale coffee left.
Union East terminal.
End of the line.
Then the bus slowed down.
Ten minutes, said the driver in a toneless voice.
He got off.
There wasn’t much to see at the stop: a small white wooden church, next to it several small houses, and the immaculate sign with the inscription “Sheriff.”
He laughed; even in the middle of nowhere, there was a sheriff.
Another coffee? He asked himself.
“I’ll buy you a coffee,” he heard the woman’s voice from the bus again.
Who was this woman? How long had she been riding with them?
He didn’t know.
Shortly afterward, she handed him the warm, fragrant coffee. With extra fluffy milk foam.
“And another cookie,” she said with a wink, handing him another cookie in a white paper napkin.
The bus beeped again.
An unreal sound.
Somehow, everything here is surreal, he thought as he took his seat on the bus again.
The bus slowly jerked forward again.
He held the warm coffee cup carefully in his hand, not to spill anything.
He awkwardly placed the napkin with the free cookie on the empty seat next to him.
Thanks again for the coffee, he said in the direction of the unknown woman.
The seat was empty.
But, … he thought.
Then he took the cookie from the napkin.
Puzzled, he read the fine writing:
KEEP GOING.
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