We just arrived in Knoxville. It's nearly 3 in the afternoon, and the wind's blowing hard outside. They say it might start raining soon. It's cool, but not quite cold enough for snow. It'll be the sort of rain that stings and chills you to the bone. I'm not looking forward to it, and I hope I won't have to be out in it.
When we pulled into the station, the driver said nothing. He opened the door, and we left. I pulled the hood over my head, both to keep the wind away and to keep people from looking at me too much. My book bag was slung over my shoulder, and I fetched my suitcase from under the bus. My legs were stiff, even more than they were when we stopped at the rest area, so it took me a few minutes of walking around in circles before all the feeling came back. It's always a strange sensation when one part of your body falls asleep. It's like you're waking up again in the morning without any dreams to wish away.
I've found a place to sit and wait. I wish I'd remembered to bring a watch with me. I would've brought my cell phone, but it wasn't in my name. I had the sneaking suspicion that if I ever used it, they'd be able to track me down. I don't know if that's true, though. I guess I should have looked into it. I know there are some cell phones you can buy straight off the rack in a lot of stores that come with prepaid minutes. I think I might buy one of those when I get to LA, just in case I need one for any emergencies that pop up. I doubt I'll even use it. It isn't like I have many people to call, anyway.
I say that like I'm some outcast of society. I guess that's arguable, but I'm not completely antisocial. I've always been more of a quiet guy, I suppose. I have friends--lots of friends, maybe more than I need, and I've dated a few girls. There were never any serious connections, though, in any of my relationships. It makes me wonder if I really need anyone or if anyone will ever need me.
Anyway, I don't have time to have a look around the town. I would kind of like the chance to take a walk and city what all the city has to offer. I only caught bits and pieces from the bus window, and Knoxville seems like a nice enough place. But this is one of the shortest scheduled stopovers I have at half an hour. I've found a spot in the cafe sitting along the street beside the bus station to sit and write while I watch the clock on the wall. The waitress doesn't seem to mind as long as I have a cup of coffee in front of me. I think she's been the first person to really look at me all day.
"Where are you headed?" she asks me.
I freeze, like a deer caught in headlights, like a runaway kid asked where he's going. Okay, I know that last one's not a real expression, but I'm beginning to think it should be. I'm caught off-guard, if only for a second. I really should have known better.
She apologizes. Her name tag says her name is Alice. She has long, curly blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She reminds me of a girl I used to go out with, though she looks like she's in her mid 20s.
"I saw you come from next door," she says. "Thought you might be waiting for your bus."
I try to exhale inconspicuously as I nod.
She squints at me, looking me over. "How old are you?" she asks.
"16," I lie.
She folds her arms and nods at me with a clenched grin like she knows I'm lying but doesn't want to call me on it. I clear my throat and try to keep from laughing.
I somehow manage to regain my composure and go straight into my story. "I'm heading out west to stay with my mom for awhile," I tell her.
"Where out west? I hear California is nice this time of year," she says.
I begin to wonder if she can read my mind. God, I hope not. I start to feel guilty about checking out her body. She's definitely pretty. The plain yellow dress isn't that flattering, though.
"LA," I tell her. I really shouldn't have done that.
She doesn't seem to notice very much. Instead she points beside me. I look and see that I left my book bag laying open on the chair next to me. I really shouldn't have done that, either. She can see the stack of books inside. My copy of Kafka on the Shore is exposed on top.
"You're reading Murakami?" she asks.
"Yeah. Have you read him before?" I'm suddenly impressed. I've never met anyone else who's read Haruki Murakami. Most of the people I know don't even like to read, though.
"Yeah. I've only read Hardboiled Wonderland, but it was fantastic. I can definitely get into his style. Isn't that a little advanced for you?" She eyes me again.
"Not really. I'm taking AP literature classes in high school. It's required reading."
"Oh." She sounds almost disappointed. I like to think she had been wishing I was ten years older. It's wishful thinking, I know. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bug you."
"It's fine," I say, and we both shrug it off.
"Just wave me down if you need anything," she says. "Is your coffee all right?"
"It's fine," I say with a smile, and she goes about her business, waiting on the few other patrons scattered around the room.
I don't even like coffee. It's too hot and bitter for my taste, but with enough sugar and time it becomes bearable. I do like having something warm in front of me, something I can hold on to. I sip it slowly. What was once a deep black has been softened and lightened to the point that it looks more like hot chocolate. I have a sudden craving for hot chocolate. Maybe I should have asked for that instead.
Oh well, I look at the clock on the wall and notice that I don't have much longer. I drink as much coffee as I want, still leaving half the cup behind. I pull a ten dollar bill from my pocket and lay it on the table. It should cover the coffee, the company, and then some. I kind of wish I could stay--just for a little while longer, but I know that's just my crush on the waitress talking.
It's time to go.
When we pulled into the station, the driver said nothing. He opened the door, and we left. I pulled the hood over my head, both to keep the wind away and to keep people from looking at me too much. My book bag was slung over my shoulder, and I fetched my suitcase from under the bus. My legs were stiff, even more than they were when we stopped at the rest area, so it took me a few minutes of walking around in circles before all the feeling came back. It's always a strange sensation when one part of your body falls asleep. It's like you're waking up again in the morning without any dreams to wish away.
I've found a place to sit and wait. I wish I'd remembered to bring a watch with me. I would've brought my cell phone, but it wasn't in my name. I had the sneaking suspicion that if I ever used it, they'd be able to track me down. I don't know if that's true, though. I guess I should have looked into it. I know there are some cell phones you can buy straight off the rack in a lot of stores that come with prepaid minutes. I think I might buy one of those when I get to LA, just in case I need one for any emergencies that pop up. I doubt I'll even use it. It isn't like I have many people to call, anyway.
I say that like I'm some outcast of society. I guess that's arguable, but I'm not completely antisocial. I've always been more of a quiet guy, I suppose. I have friends--lots of friends, maybe more than I need, and I've dated a few girls. There were never any serious connections, though, in any of my relationships. It makes me wonder if I really need anyone or if anyone will ever need me.
Anyway, I don't have time to have a look around the town. I would kind of like the chance to take a walk and city what all the city has to offer. I only caught bits and pieces from the bus window, and Knoxville seems like a nice enough place. But this is one of the shortest scheduled stopovers I have at half an hour. I've found a spot in the cafe sitting along the street beside the bus station to sit and write while I watch the clock on the wall. The waitress doesn't seem to mind as long as I have a cup of coffee in front of me. I think she's been the first person to really look at me all day.
"Where are you headed?" she asks me.
I freeze, like a deer caught in headlights, like a runaway kid asked where he's going. Okay, I know that last one's not a real expression, but I'm beginning to think it should be. I'm caught off-guard, if only for a second. I really should have known better.
She apologizes. Her name tag says her name is Alice. She has long, curly blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She reminds me of a girl I used to go out with, though she looks like she's in her mid 20s.
"I saw you come from next door," she says. "Thought you might be waiting for your bus."
I try to exhale inconspicuously as I nod.
She squints at me, looking me over. "How old are you?" she asks.
"16," I lie.
She folds her arms and nods at me with a clenched grin like she knows I'm lying but doesn't want to call me on it. I clear my throat and try to keep from laughing.
I somehow manage to regain my composure and go straight into my story. "I'm heading out west to stay with my mom for awhile," I tell her.
"Where out west? I hear California is nice this time of year," she says.
I begin to wonder if she can read my mind. God, I hope not. I start to feel guilty about checking out her body. She's definitely pretty. The plain yellow dress isn't that flattering, though.
"LA," I tell her. I really shouldn't have done that.
She doesn't seem to notice very much. Instead she points beside me. I look and see that I left my book bag laying open on the chair next to me. I really shouldn't have done that, either. She can see the stack of books inside. My copy of Kafka on the Shore is exposed on top.
"You're reading Murakami?" she asks.
"Yeah. Have you read him before?" I'm suddenly impressed. I've never met anyone else who's read Haruki Murakami. Most of the people I know don't even like to read, though.
"Yeah. I've only read Hardboiled Wonderland, but it was fantastic. I can definitely get into his style. Isn't that a little advanced for you?" She eyes me again.
"Not really. I'm taking AP literature classes in high school. It's required reading."
"Oh." She sounds almost disappointed. I like to think she had been wishing I was ten years older. It's wishful thinking, I know. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bug you."
"It's fine," I say, and we both shrug it off.
"Just wave me down if you need anything," she says. "Is your coffee all right?"
"It's fine," I say with a smile, and she goes about her business, waiting on the few other patrons scattered around the room.
I don't even like coffee. It's too hot and bitter for my taste, but with enough sugar and time it becomes bearable. I do like having something warm in front of me, something I can hold on to. I sip it slowly. What was once a deep black has been softened and lightened to the point that it looks more like hot chocolate. I have a sudden craving for hot chocolate. Maybe I should have asked for that instead.
Oh well, I look at the clock on the wall and notice that I don't have much longer. I drink as much coffee as I want, still leaving half the cup behind. I pull a ten dollar bill from my pocket and lay it on the table. It should cover the coffee, the company, and then some. I kind of wish I could stay--just for a little while longer, but I know that's just my crush on the waitress talking.
It's time to go.
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