Josh Capps
Bus
The airport and bus station were part of the same complex. The bus
station was a recent addition, and the airport had been recently
remodeled. A giant walkway, ticket counters, and the airport’s revolving
baggage claim separated the bus ports and airline terminals, but
loudspeakers and the arrivals and departures monitors re-connected
everybody. The walkway had indoor landscaping and a number of beautiful
fountains. The security was tight inside both the ports and terminals.
The armed presence was more discreet in the walkway. Just outside the
walkway, there was a restaurant where travelers could relax. The young
woman and the young man picked out a table near the bar. The young woman
carried a duffle bag, and she sat it under the table, near her feet.
"It’s not even three months," she said. "It’s half of October,
November, then half of December."
"Sure," the young man said, "when you look at the numbers."
"What else is there to look at?"
"Nothing," he said. "You’re right. There’s nothing more to consider."
"I’ll be back before you know it. Just think of December."
"And I’ll still miss you until December. And I’m still going to wish
that you didn’t need to go anywhere."
"We can miss each other, sure."
The young woman looked at a television monitor across from the bar.
The bright screen displayed the flight times, the arrivals and
departures, and then the screen displayed the bus schedules. It updated
every two minutes. Above the bar, a muted television displayed world
news, several fires and clouds of exploding dust, and shots of Marines
dropping into a foreign country, captions stuttering across the bottom
of the screen. A radio played pop hits.
"The bus isn’t running late, can you believe it?" the young woman
said.
"Super."
"I just expected it to be late."
"I’m happy for you."
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
The young man shrugged.
"Really," she said.
"Just what I said," he told her. "Why can’t it mean that?"
"Because you don’t want me to go. You’ve made that clear."
"I don’t want you to leave because I’m worried about you."
"Don’t worry about me then," she said. "It’s as simple as that."
"What then?"
"Stop."
The young man did not say anything.
"I don’t want to go around in circles with this," the young woman
said. "I thought we understood each other."
"And I just want to miss you."
"No."
"I do."
"No," she said. "You just want us to keep worrying about things."
"What’s the difference?"
The young woman coughed.
"Excuse me?" the young man said.
"Nothing."
"Control?"
The young woman opened her purse. She removed her wallet and left the
purse unzipped, and the young man peeked inside.
"You’re going to miss all this?" she said.
"You. I’ll miss you."
"Well, I’m going to buy us drinks."
The young man backed his chair away from the table.
"Let me."
"What do you want?"
"Let me pay for something," he said.
"Beer? A drink?"
The young man shook his head.
"I’ll bring you what I’m having."
The young woman brought back two beers.
"Thank you," the young man said.
"They didn’t have the lemon slices."
"This is fine, really."
"Still," she said, "what bar doesn’t keep lemon slices? The guy just
looked at me like I was asking for the world."
"I’m sure they’ll cut some soon."
"Still."
"We caught them right at the wrong time," the young man said and put
the glass down.
"That’s our luck."
"What luck?" the young man said.
"Oh, cut it out."
"You can joke but I can’t?" he said.
"We can joke. I’d like to laugh."
"We’ll be able to laugh."
"Sure."
"We’ll be able to laugh, right?"
"I’ll be back in December."
"And your bus is on time. That’s good luck, right?"
"Fifteen hours," she said. "Have you ever traveled on the bus?"
"I’ve sure never traveled on a plane."
"Well, that wasn’t an option."
"I wouldn’t test my good luck on planes these days, anyhow."
"Well, fifteen hours on the bus is no good luck."
"I’d buy a ticket in a heartbeat," he said.
"I know," she said. "But let’s not discuss it anymore. I know you’d
come, but I need to do this on my own."
"With your family."
"On my own."
"Yes, but you’ll be with family. That’s all I’m saying," he said.
"I’m saying that’s a positive thing. I was being positive."
"Yes," she said, "I’ll be with my mother. I need to be alone with my
mother for this. And I really don’t think now is the time for you to
meet her."
The young woman sucked at her cheeks. She took another drink. She sat
her beer down and picked it up and sat it down twice before they spoke
again. She finished off her beer.
"Thirsty?" the young man said.
The young woman gave him a look.
"No turning back now," the young man said.
"Great," she said, "that’s a hell of a thing to say."
"What?"
"I’ll have a drink and enjoy it," she said. "I might even smoke a god
damn pack of cigarettes. I can’t believe you."
The young man swallowed the last of his beer.
"There’s no turning back," he said, "as far as your trip goes. That’s
what I was saying."
"That doesn’t even make sense," she said. "You’re trying to be tricky
with the things you say, and that one didn’t even make sense."
"Of course," he said, "because everything about this makes sense."
"You’re going to miss me, huh?"
"Yes," he said. "I am."
The young woman glanced at the television with bus schedules again,
and then she looked at her watch. A deep voice made an announcement over
the complex’s intercom, repeated the announcement, and then was silent.
"I need to give her a call."
"Let me keep your bag for you."
The young woman looked down at her bag, and she shrugged. She
strapped her purse over her shoulder, and she left the restaurant and
walked across the corridor to the pay telephones. The young man went to
the bar and brought back another beer. He stared at the young woman at
the telephone through the restaurant’s front glass. He finished his
beer, and then he picked up her light bag and placed it in his lap.
The young man watched two uniformed men stop at the phone next to the
young woman’s. The men wore stiff expressions. One of the men dialed,
while the other faced the passing crowds. There were women with children
and men, men in suits, and elderly couples. There was a man in a
wheelchair, and more military men. There was a large woman with red skin
in a tropical shirt. After a moment, the uniformed man on the phone
tapped his partner on the shoulder and handed over the phone. Both men
were smiling now, and one of them had a large gun strapped over his
shoulder.
The young woman returned and said, "No one, but I left a message. I
said I’d call from the next stop. From Nebraska, I suppose."
"I doubt they’ll have a set-up like this in Omaha."
The man made a movement with his beer like a toast to the restaurant.
"No," the young woman said. "I should have another drink. I should
have enough to just sleep through the whole damn trip."
"You’ll need to be alert, though," he said. "You can’t be too safe
obviously."
"Enough of that, Billy."
"I’ll say what I feel."
"Enough."
"I’m going to worry about you, and I’m going to tell you to take care
of yourself."
"And I won’t listen."
"Where in the hell did that come from?"
"From all your little insights," she said. "How do you know so much
about this, can I ask?"
"About traveling, about using a little common sense on a Greyhound,"
he said. "Jesus. I just don’t think you should let your guard down on
the bus."
"Stop. Nobody’s gonna blow up a damn bus."
"I didn’t say that."
"Just stop, stop, stop. You weren’t even talking about a bus."
"I’m through with stopping," he said. "I’m going to tell you I care,
and I’m going to behave that way."
"Do you want to smother me?"
"What?"
"Are you trying to smother me?"
"I’m just telling you to stay alert on your trip."
"You and everyone else in the world."
"I just want you to be safe."
"That’s all?"
"What more can I say?"
"You can figure out these little things to slip into your words of
wisdom," she told him. "That’s what you can do."
"Safety tips?"
"Stop it."
Two pilots entered the restaurant, and their loud chuckles quieted
the young man and the young woman. The tanned pilot pulled behind him a
suitcase with a bumper sticker that declared "Aloha!" The young woman
shook her head, and then she dug out more cash from her purse. The young
man waited for the pilots to take a seat before he said anything.
"Honey," he said. "This is a helluva thing. I understand."
"If you really understood," she said, "you would just quit talking
about it."
The young woman looked the man in the eyes, and then she looked down
at herself. The deep voice made another announcement over the complex’s
intercom.
"Officer Briggs," the voice said, "you’re needed on Level Three."
"Just quit talking," the young woman said. "Quit talking about it."
"I’m not," the young man said. "Jesus, I’m not talking about that.
Is that what you think?"
The young woman hurried to the bar without saying anything. She
brought back another beer.
"I’m not talking about that," the young man said again.
"You just want me to be safe."
"Right."
"You just want me to watch what I put in my body, especially when
it’s alcohol? Just in case?"
The young man shook his head.
"Just in case I decide I should keep it?"
"I’m talking about your trip," he said. "I’m telling you to be safe
on your trip. Good Lord."
"Yes. You want to worry about that, too."
"There are men out there with machine guns," he said. "And with the
way things are going, those machine guns aren’t extraordinary. This is
travel. These are the trips we take. Machine guns, and the fucking
military."
"And?"
"And that means a little worrying isn’t out of place."
"There’s nothing we can do about the worry."
"Right," he said. "I want you to be safe. And I want you to come back
to me, safe and sound. That’s what I’m saying."
"Wonderful."
"What?"
"It all sounds wonderful."
"What does that mean?" the young man asked.
"Why can’t it mean what I say it means?"
"Okay," he said. "Fine."
The young woman did not say anything.
"I’m talking about the future now," he said. "I was only talking
about your well-being."
"You were worrying."
"I was worrying about the future," he said, "and your safety."
The young woman swallowed some beer and did not speak. The young man
finished his own beer and sighed.
"I wasn’t talking about the decision," he said.
"The decision?"
"Whatever you want to call it."
"Call it a decision then."
"I wasn’t talking about it."
"Well," she said. "It wasn’t a decision."
"Fine."
"Some easy decision?"
"It wasn’t easy. I didn’t say it was an easy decision. It’s just
something we’re worried about."
"It wasn’t a worry, and it wasn’t a decision, period. It wasn’t
something we could do a damn thing about, and you don’t realize that."
"I don’t?"
"I’m moving back home with a duffle bag and a bus ticket. I’m not
flying out of here with bells on. I’m not flying to Hawaii. I’m not
flying to San Francisco."
"What?"
"I’m not in a position to make a decision, Bill. Neither were you,"
she said. "Don’t you understand?"
"I never tried to make any decision for you."
"We didn’t have that chance, don’t you see? We don’t even have the
resources to make choices."
"I told you we could find the resources. I told you we could do
whatever it took."
"Exactly."
"What?"
"Does that sound like a choice to you?"
"Not one we made."
"It sounds like," she said, "the end of a rope."
"Well," he said, "you can’t expect me to like the sound of that."
"Billy," she said. "We’re nearly the only ones in this place, and I
feel smothered."
"What do you want? Do you want to wait for your bus at the port?"
"I don’t want to be smothered."
"I’m sure the waiting area is packed."
"I don’t want to be smothered."
"Okay, we’ll go."
"I’ll go."
The young man picked up her beer but only held it. He did not raise
it to drink. The intercom crackled, and the deep voice returned.
"Officer Briggs, we have a Code Seven."
The young man looked to the bar. The bartender finished a joke for
the pilots and the three men laughed.
"December, huh?" the young man said.
"December," she said. "When there’s a December to think of, it’ll let
you miss me."
"And if there isn’t?"
"If there wasn’t a December to wait for, you’d just worry."
"And there isn’t a December, right?"
"Don’t worry," she said. "Don’t worry about me, about the decision,
about us, and about December. Don’t worry about my god damn bus ride.
There’s absolutely nothing we can do about it."
"But--"
"There is no good luck anymore."
The young man looked around the restaurant.
"How did we get here?" he said. "Jesus, how did we get here?"
The two uniformed men from the phone area had entered the restaurant.
They were no longer laughing. One asked for water, and one asked for a
Pepsi. The one with a Pepsi asked the bartender if he could change the
world news to ESPN.
Josh Capps
is an MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas, and his fiction has
appeared in The Barcelona Review, Carve Magazine, Conversely, and
Storyglossia. His story "It Counts" appeared in the Summer 2000
issue of the Blip Magazine Archive. | 