A peculiar thing, people
are.
This thought repeated through her
mind as she sat on the bus, headed West.
She liked to say “headed West.”
It sounded mysterious and full of dark adventures. In reality, she was headed to Ohio or Indiana
or Illinois. Which was West, so it wasn’t a lie.
It just didn’t have the same allure as saying, “headed West.”
The bus hummed along the interstate,
its passengers nodding off to the steady rhythm of the wheels surfing the
highway. Or they were just pretending to
nod off so they didn’t feel obligated to talk to each other. The thought repeated itself and she agreed.
A peculiar thing, people are.
What was bringing her out West,
you ask? An excellent question. She had business there, let’s leave it at
that. Let’s leave it sounding mysterious
and full of dark adventures.
She pretended to yawn and
stretch, in order to get a better view of her travel companions. What she saw
was neither shocking nor ordinary.
A peculiar thing, people are.
***
The seat next to her was
empty. Although the bus was almost
filled to capacity, no one had decided to sit next to her. She wondered if she should feel lucky or
insulted. A quick sniff test proved that
her armpits were not offensive. She had
showered that day and her hair was clean.
She decided she would feel lucky.
Simple as that.
The closest person to her sat
across the aisle. This was the closest
person in proximity, not in affection.
Just so we get that straight. Squashed
next to a rather large man who had started snoring before they left Port
Authority in New Jersey, sat an older gentleman. He was the only person on the bus she was
sure wasn’t pretending to nod off – the large man, not the older gentleman that
is. No person could keep that level of snoring up for so long. Then again, you never know.
A peculiar thing, people are.
The older gentleman sat stiffly
in his seat and looked straight ahead.
As if a rod was keeping him upright.
As if he was given a command to look nowhere else! Only straight ahead! Regardless of what you see or what you hear,
never deviate from that directive, soldier!
That’s what he looked like to her, anyway. She wondered if had seen battle. Other than everyday life, that is.
Next to him, the rather large man
snored on.
In front of the large man, along
the window, sat a tall woman with an incredible amount of hair. On her head, that is. From this vantage point, she couldn’t tell if
the woman was all-over hairy, or saved all of her hair for her rather large
cranium. This tall, hairy woman, had the
over-head light on and was reading a magazine.
From the rather glossy pictures of blindingly white smiles, it was a
pretty good guess that this was not a literary magazine.
Every third page or so, the woman
would dog-ear a corner of the magazine. Her
guess was that this woman was picking out styles for her over-abundance of
hair. But who knows.
A peculiar thing, people are.
Next to hair-lady, sat a man in a
black fedora. With a black band and red
feather. The hat, not the man. It was impossible to tell his age since it
was very clear he had more plastic in his face than Barbie and Ken. Combined.
He was an interesting sort.
Neatly dressed, pressed, and
ready to light your filtered cigarette, this man seemed at odds with the rest
of his surroundings. She wondered why he
was taking a bus. He looked to be the
sort who drove in a white stretch limo and would rap on the divider between
chauffeur and passenger with the end of a heavily embossed brass cane. Not the sort who ride on a bus in to the night,
headed West.
A peculiar thing, people are.
Directly in front of her sat a
mother and child. The child was on the
aisle, and the mother took the window seat.
She was curious as to how that arrangement came about. Kids usually wanted the window seat, even if
it was pitch-black out. Mother’s usually
wanted their kids to have a window seat too, that way no glassy-eyed, staggering
maniac would snatch her baby.
Glassy-eyed, staggering maniacs
are quite common on bus trips from New Jersey to out West. She had read about this in the “General
Safety Tips” brochure that was at the bus depot before they departed. The section wasn’t titled “Glassy-eyed,
staggering maniacs”, but that was for legal reasons.
She was still flummoxed as to how
the seating arrangement came to be. The
mother obviously wanted her child to snatched by a glassy-eyed, staggering
maniac, she decided.
A peculiar thing, people are.
She had only caught a glimpse of
the people sitting in the rows behind her.
Even an artful yawn and stretch couldn’t yield a decent view.
This much she had seen:
A woman two rows back sat with a
soft carrier on her lap. It was probably
a very small puppy or a cat. She
couldn’t rule out the possibility of a research monkey, however. She was doing her best to keep her eye on
that crate.
A peculiar thing, people are.
A man three rows back and one
over brought a guitar case on to the bus.
The driver had argued with him when boarding that the “bus was full-up,
and there’s no room for musical instruments to be transported within the
cabin.” The passenger flatly refused to
surrender his guitar case and the driver gave up. She was convinced he was transporting
contraband across the border. His life
depended on the safe delivery of said guitar case. Only after this delivery was made, could he
rescue his beloved from the hands of her kidnappers.
A peculiar thing, people are.
Next to our guitar case carrying
hero, sat a plain looking woman in her 30’s.
Not unattractive, or attractive.
Almost see-through, really. She
would make longing sideways glances at the guitar case carrying hero, not
minding that at every turn of the bus, the neck of the case would stab her in
the shoulder. She just knew he was the One.
A peculiar thing, people are.
The rest of the bus faded out in
to blackness. A few reading lamps
remained on, a few coughs and grumbles were heard, but those were just sounds
from the darkness.
In front of her, she could see
the glow of the dashboard, and the headlights of the oncoming traffic.
She let out a sigh and placed her
head against the cool window. She was
headed west. For business.
A peculiar thing, people are.
