Two summers ago I traveled on a Greyhound bus. It was an interesting experience that taught me quite a bit about my world, other people, and trusting myself. It began at three in the morning, on a different bus than I had bought tickets for, and with my mother anxiously asking if I was sure I knew what I was doing.
I waved away my mother’s doubts with a smile of absolute confidence, and some of the concerned lines faded from her face. She gave me one last hug, I laughed and told her not to worry, and she climbed off the bus.
My smile disappeared instantly. I stared around at the various passengers
as they sat in the flickering fluorescent light as the same thought whirled around in my head over and over again: Oh my god, what am I DOING?!
People were filing on, cursing and snickering as they swaggered past with McDonalds bags in their hands. The bus became packed full of people and reeked of cigarette smoke and unwashed bodies.
I waited curiously to meet the person who would be squashed next to me for the next six hours. She was one of the last to return from the break-a squat, older woman with greasy blonde-gray hair. She had a considerable rear end, and it took some maneuvering for her to fit into the seat. After acknowledging me with a curt nod she opened up her McDonalds bag and began unwrapping a sandwich.
Watching someone eat has never been so entertaining. She tore into the ham-bistro like a wild animal, clutching it with two hands and never removing it too far from her face. It was gone in mere seconds.
We talked sporadically as we awaited the bus driver, but I don’t remember her name or what we discussed. To keep from over-using that delightful little pronoun ‘she’, however, I shall henceforth refer to her as ‘Sharon’.
At last the bus driver climbed on. He was fat, and his ill-fitting brown uniform reminded me of an old-fashioned sack of potatoes.
“Everyone on?” He cast a cursory glance over his passengers, though it was obvious he didn’t care whether they were or not. He plopped down into the driver’s seat. The engines rumbled, the bus lurched, and my trip began.
Excitement began coursing through me, despite the fact that it was three in the morning and next to me Sharon was tiredly curling up to sleep.
My journey had finally begun.
Every yellow dash of the Interstate was one step closer to my destination, and for the longest time I sat smiling because of that. Even Sharon’s phlegm-filled snores couldn’t take away from my glory. Unfortunately, though, those same yellow dashes and my “friend’s” repetitive snoring had a rather hypnotic affect on me. I gradually fell asleep.
I was sitting at the very front of the bus where the enormous glass window revealed a spectacular view; and I just happened to wake as the sun was rising. Brilliant rays filled the sky, lighting up the golden fields and illuminating my road. We were racing straight towards the sun.
That was when I realized Sharon’s lumpy buttocks were partially upon my lap. Well, that’s life.
For the sake of brevity, I will merely say that five hours of the bus ride passed relatively uneventfully. Then, of course, chaos broke out again.
Two weeks previously, I had purchased tickets that would travel from Goodland to Lawrence. The person picking me up was waiting for me in Lawrence. I had been assured, as I had climbed on the bus five hours before, that this bus had the same destination as the one I was originally supposed to ride (there had been no vacancies on the first bus).
I watched the first exit to Lawrence pass by nonchalantly, certain that we would turn at the second one.
We didn’t.
I tried to keep calm as I asked the driver: “Where are we going?”
Confused, he said: “Kansas City…”
My heart began to beat faster. I had no way to contact anyone as we hurtled past the person patiently waiting for me.
I am thankful for the kindness of a stranger who lent me their cell phone. I was eventually able to get everything sorted out. I learned to trust my capabilities as an individual from the trip, and I will never forget this bus ride. I hope everyone has the opportunity to experience something like this trip-though, perhaps, without the lumpy buttocks.
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