clue about mine.
When it was time to board the bus, Mr. Hastings made sure I was the first person on. I saw the porters wheeling my bags around from behind the counter where they were stored. I thanked Mr. Hastings for taking care of me and told him that I wouldn’t forget him.
“Send me a postcard once you get to Altoona. Would you do that?” he asked. I nodded and shook his hand. He was very generous and kind.
“Have a safe ride, Sebastien Ranes. I’ll call ahead and check in on you as you go through the major terminals.” He handed me a few more café vouchers and his business card. “If you need to get in touch with me for any reason, call me collect. If you miss your bus, call me immediately. Okay?”
I nodded again.
“If anybody asks about all those vouchers, just show them my business card. But always make sure to get it back.”
I boarded and looked back as he stood on the platform with the cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. Once the bus was full, the driver climbed on and closed the door. The only open seats on the bus were the two next to me at the very back. I had opted, once more, to sit in the rear seats, and thankfully, I was alone. I either had the plague or everyone really hated sitting next to the toilet. I now knew that it was probably the latter. After Mr. Hastings went back inside, the driver came on over the intercom and did his business.
“Welcome aboard the 1364 to Columbus. My name’s Bill. We’ll be traveling through to Phoenix just before midnight and Gallup, New Mexico, tomorrow morning. All those continuing on toward Pittsburgh and New York, you’ll transfer in Columbus. Please remember that there’s no smoking inside the bus, no alcoholic beverages, and no swearing. Please alert me of any emergency immediately. Thank you for choosing Greyhound, and enjoy the ride.”
It was then I realized that every driver’s overhead announcement was different and probably originated from a well-practiced script that over time had slowly become their own. I decided, though, that there were several things they were obligated to say like “welcome,” “no smoking,” and “enjoy the trip.” Just as Bill was closing the door, I saw a black man in a leather jacket running for the bus, carrying a small backpack slung across his shoulder.
“Wait for me!” the man yelled. Bill stopped the bus and reopened the door to let him in.
“Almost left ya behind, buddy!”
“Thank you,” the man acknowledged, producing his boarding ticket. I saw him coming up the aisle looking for a seat, knowing that the only seats left open were next to me in the back row. He had a wide smile and just seemed relieved to have made it. I was watching him approach, and when he saw the open seats, he saw me. So far, I’d been lucky to have the backseat to myself. Now the thought of company didn’t seem so bad. I was more relieved to be pulling out of Los Angeles than anything else. I was still reeling about my Aunt Sharon not showing up. Those feelings were floating off in the background, surely to confront me soon enough. I was tired, it was the middle of the day, and I figured that at some point I’d fall back asleep.
The man settled himself in his seat quickly, stashing his bag at his feet and breathing another sigh of relief. “How far you going?” the voice beside me asked. I hesitated, unsure how to answer.
“Ohh…me?” I finally responded. He was now looking me over with a very curious expression. He looked on the verge of laughter.
“Yes, you!” he replied. “How far ya headed?”
“Pennsylvania,” I mumbled feebly. I watched his face for the obvious response that I had received from everyone else, but he just watched me. Nothing in his expression gave away that telltale sign of shock. He lifted up in his seat and peered down the rows over the heads of the passengers. Pointing with his fingers, as if he was trying to select somebody from the crowd, he landed on an older
When it was time to board the bus, Mr. Hastings made sure I was the first person on. I saw the porters wheeling my bags around from behind the counter where they were stored. I thanked Mr. Hastings for taking care of me and told him that I wouldn’t forget him.
“Send me a postcard once you get to Altoona. Would you do that?” he asked. I nodded and shook his hand. He was very generous and kind.
“Have a safe ride, Sebastien Ranes. I’ll call ahead and check in on you as you go through the major terminals.” He handed me a few more café vouchers and his business card. “If you need to get in touch with me for any reason, call me collect. If you miss your bus, call me immediately. Okay?”
I nodded again.
“If anybody asks about all those vouchers, just show them my business card. But always make sure to get it back.”
I boarded and looked back as he stood on the platform with the cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. Once the bus was full, the driver climbed on and closed the door. The only open seats on the bus were the two next to me at the very back. I had opted, once more, to sit in the rear seats, and thankfully, I was alone. I either had the plague or everyone really hated sitting next to the toilet. I now knew that it was probably the latter. After Mr. Hastings went back inside, the driver came on over the intercom and did his business.
“Welcome aboard the 1364 to Columbus. My name’s Bill. We’ll be traveling through to Phoenix just before midnight and Gallup, New Mexico, tomorrow morning. All those continuing on toward Pittsburgh and New York, you’ll transfer in Columbus. Please remember that there’s no smoking inside the bus, no alcoholic beverages, and no swearing. Please alert me of any emergency immediately. Thank you for choosing Greyhound, and enjoy the ride.”
It was then I realized that every driver’s overhead announcement was different and probably originated from a well-practiced script that over time had slowly become their own. I decided, though, that there were several things they were obligated to say like “welcome,” “no smoking,” and “enjoy the trip.” Just as Bill was closing the door, I saw a black man in a leather jacket running for the bus, carrying a small backpack slung across his shoulder.
“Wait for me!” the man yelled. Bill stopped the bus and reopened the door to let him in.
“Almost left ya behind, buddy!”
“Thank you,” the man acknowledged, producing his boarding ticket. I saw him coming up the aisle looking for a seat, knowing that the only seats left open were next to me in the back row. He had a wide smile and just seemed relieved to have made it. I was watching him approach, and when he saw the open seats, he saw me. So far, I’d been lucky to have the backseat to myself. Now the thought of company didn’t seem so bad. I was more relieved to be pulling out of Los Angeles than anything else. I was still reeling about my Aunt Sharon not showing up. Those feelings were floating off in the background, surely to confront me soon enough. I was tired, it was the middle of the day, and I figured that at some point I’d fall back asleep.
The man settled himself in his seat quickly, stashing his bag at his feet and breathing another sigh of relief. “How far you going?” the voice beside me asked. I hesitated, unsure how to answer.
“Ohh…me?” I finally responded. He was now looking me over with a very curious expression. He looked on the verge of laughter.
“Yes, you!” he replied. “How far ya headed?”
“Pennsylvania,” I mumbled feebly. I watched his face for the obvious response that I had received from everyone else, but he just watched me. Nothing in his expression gave away that telltale sign of shock. He lifted up in his seat and peered down the rows over the heads of the passengers. Pointing with his fingers, as if he was trying to select somebody from the crowd, he landed on an older
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