The Long, Long Journey (closed)

[leagel]

As I usually do, I was early. The bus wasn't due to leave Lake Charles until 4:30, but somehow I was there waiting by about 3:45.
It isn't that I was anxious to get going, it's just that I'm always early, to work, to meeting, to whereever. So I had to wait.
But still, in fact, I was anxious to get going. I had almost 65 hours of traveling, on a bus no less. Well, really, a series of buses, together drawing a line from the southwest corner of Louisiana to some corner of some part of Canada. Weird, I couldn't even say where it was on a map, except I knew it was somewhere near the ocean. Good thing you don't have to pass a geography test to buy a bus ticket.
And then, at the end of the line, I'd meet someone. Someone I'd come to know as well as anyone can come to know another they've never seen, never talked to, never even been in the same state.
So, I guess I was anxious. Anxious to get started, and anxious to get there. I supposed she was anxious too, but then again, she wasn't getting ready to climb on one bus after another to sit for 3 days just to see what might happen...

 

[leagel]

As the afternoon heat caused the air to seem heavy and gray, it started to make my thoughts the same. What if, I got there and we couldn't dispel the awkwardness of a first meeting? Would two months of cyber talk take the place of a more "normal" start to a human relationship? And even though I had long since abandoned any hopes, fears more like, of being "normal," my heart lept to my throat when the silver bus turned, leaning, into the parking lot. And still, my mouth was dry, even though I knew that we had made some sort of connection that had to be explored through more than the wires. Okay, I thought to myself with a feigned cynicism, if it turns out to be crap, I can just take off.
I handed my zippered canvas bag to the driver who threw it on the bus, under the seat where I planned to spend the first leg of a long, long journey.

 

[LibrarianSara]

With only 2 days left until he arrived, I was starting to get a little nervous. Having never done anything like this before, I was very worried about how awkward it was going to be. What if he got off the bus and we had no idea what to say to each other? What if that lasted for the whole week he was supposed to stay? What if we were just not compatible? All these questions, and many more kept flowing through my mind.

I was fairly sure I could rule a lot of those questions out though. We had been meeting online for the last couple of months, and we had never run out of interesting to discuss in all that time. Unfortunately in real life, you are not always able to stop for a minute or so to think of your next response.

My thoughts were cut short as I heard a car horn sound loudly right behind me. I had been jogging down the road, and had not noticed that I drifted a little too far into the middle of the street. I turned and waved my apologies to the driver of the yellow Dodge Stealth that had been nice enough to honk instead of just running me over. The only response I got back from the driver, was the fact that he stared at my chest as he drove away. i was completely soaked in sweat, and my white top was starting to show through a little bit.

I was only a few blocks from the University, and a nice cool shower to wash all the grime off my body, and get a nice shine back into my Auburn hair. Then it was off to the Library, where I was working part time during the summer Intersesison classes.

 

[leagel]

The first leg of the journey was supposed to be four hours, straight into New Orleans. But, as usual, Interstate 10 was carrying more traffic than the drivers could apparently handle. Three wrecks between Lake Charles and Baton Rouge showed the inability of a few. Not that it mattered; the only part of the trip with anything at all to see was the stretch over the Atchafalaya Basin. There, the swamp stretched out as far as one could see. The water, gray in the early evening sun, wrapped around the knees, and I thought of how the sheets might wrap around hers.
Then, almost as an afterthought, the bus entered the New Orleans terminal. A two hour wait awaited, and then, the all night bus headed north, with daylight, I guess, meeting us somewhere near Atlanta.
I stepped off the bus, and got my bag.
No place to check it, so I guessed it was mine for the layover. I walked out into the evening. The air was still hot, and somehow, even thicker here. Everything in New Orleans seemed thicker somehow, thick and overripe.
I knew my way around this town enough to know where to find one, so, I slung my bag over my shoulder and took off in the direction of a cold Dixie and maybe a plate of red beans and rice.
One Dixie turned into three before I decided I needed to head back toward the bus station. Yeah, I'd be a little early, but who knows? Maybe there's a reason for it. I almost passed a liquor store, and when I caught myself, I went inside to find a friend for the long night and days ahead.
"No shit, George, what are you doing here?" I thought to myself. "A little dusty maybe, but ready for a little quality time?"
I took the bottle to the register and wondered, just for a second, why every bottle of George Dickel I ever bought was dusty. It's good stuff. Am I the only one who drinks it?
Bottle in hand, in bag of course, I was still in the south, even if it was New Orleans, and bag on my shoulder, I got back to the bus station to find that the 10:45 to DC was already there and loading. I got out my ticket, got rid of the bag, the canvas one, not the bottle one, and found a seat. Closer to the back this time, and on the other side. Not alot of people were on the bus. Half full, I thought to myself pessimistically. Good, a bit of privacy for me and my friend....
...I awoke with a start and realized the sun was streaming in the other side of the bus, and we were slowing down. 8:00 I guessed, hitting the Atlanta station. Short stop though, not long enough to do anything about the hangover I was becoming aware of; nothing but a quick cup of coffee and a slightly mealy apple from the little cafe.
Then, back on the same bus, to my same seat and my same bottle. Looked like George wasn't going to make the whole trip though. I hoped I'd find another somewhere further along.