The Bus Station
I decided to double post the entries for this story here and on the
Fragments of Fiction blog. It will be interspersed with normal posts here, but on the other blog it should be the only thing I post there, or so I anticipate. Who knows, the journey is what it is all about.
I still don’t know the characters or where this is going, just kind of rambling along.
Years ago her mother had warned her that if she spent too much time with the guys she would never find the guy. At the time she had blown it off, attributed it to a woman who had never known a man besides her husband. Married at 19, pregnant by 20 and the mother of three children by 24 she couldnâ€™t possibly understand why it was important to experience life and to live a little. So she wrote it off to motherly advice and went about her business.
She had always liked men and they had always liked her. She appreciated all the things that made them different from women, strong masculine hands, rough hewn features, broad backs, thick hair and more. There were so many little things about men that attracted her and so many different men to choose from.
So she set off to prove herself right and her mother wrong. She dated a lot, but was very selective in who she gave herself too. Not everyone made the cut. She wouldnâ€™t talk herself into liking a man strictly to have a boyfriend, sheâ€™d rather be alone than settle. Besides, those relationships never worked, they were train wrecks waiting to happen.
Her thoughts were momentarily interrupted by the bright lights inside the bus station. With the exception of a man sleeping on a bench and the woman at the ticket counter it was empty. The fluorescent lights made the faded yellow paint look even more washed out than it was.
The checkerboard laminate floor was raised in places, sticky substances pulled at her shoes. In a different time and place she might have taken that as a sign that she was supposed to stay, but for now it was just gross. She choked back her thoughts of what made the floor so sticky and headed for the ticket counter.
It was , the next bus didnâ€™t leave until almost . Five hours after departure it would reach
. Then it would be a matter of finding transportation out to the lodge. Durham
That gave her seven hours of downtime. Seven hours of being with herself. Some people had trouble being alone, they couldnâ€™t take the silence, couldnâ€™t handle the lack of contact with others. That had never been a problem for her. Her brother had locked her in a closet and left her there in the dark for hours. He thought that he was punishing her. She merely closed her eyes and went to sleep.
The harder part of the trip would be contending with the other passengers. She wasnâ€™t unsocial, but she was not inclined to spend the rest of the night sharing recipes, stories of home or being mauled by some guy who thought that he had found an easy way to pass the time.
For a moment she considered turning around. She could walk back and step right into the life that she had left. It was almost comical to her. He had no idea that she was about to run off into the night, no clue that she had decided that their relationship was dead.
And for a moment she felt badly about it. Men were not real observant. He would not have noticed that they hadnâ€™t had a real conversation for weeks, would not have noticed that she hadnâ€™t initiated any sexual encounters and even if he had, he would certainly not have realized that she was no longer present.
He wasnâ€™t a mind reader, she couldnâ€™t expect him to fix something that he didnâ€™t know was broken. It would be easy to come back like nothing was wrong and to just pick up where she left off, but it wasnâ€™t honest and she couldnâ€™t have that, couldnâ€™t live with herself.