It's been hours. I don't know how many.
I feel like I'm in a dream.
I think it's noon now. Last night was horrible. I couldn't sleep at all. We stopped several times. We came to rest areas, and everyone had the chance to stretch their legs and smoke and use the restrooms. We stopped at gas stations and waited aimlessly as the driver, who looked a little too much like the driver on my previous bus, filled the tank. The ride was like a series of long, boring paragraphs about asphalt and the secrets of gravel, with only the occasional punctuation mark to break the mood.
We also stopped at bus stations at other towns along the way. Every once in awhile, a passenger would depart and a couple more would get on. You could tell right away which ones were transferring and which ones were boarding for the first time. I almost wanted to warn them to go back before it was too late, to jump back out the door they just entered and run until they could run no more, just so they could remember what legs are for and how they feel. But it was too late. They took their seats and gave in to the enormous soul-sucking beast that was our bus.
It was a dark night. It came on early after Knoxville, where the wind and the rain battered the streets and buildings and the sky was cloudy and gray. It never got better. We passed out of the bad weather, and then there was only darkness. I could see the headlights on the interstate, but if it wasn't for them, I might as well have been blind. I think I would be okay with that. When I'm in the dark--the deep sort of dark that seems to muffle sound as well as sight--I also can't see things from the corner of my eye. It should have been a triumphant sort of rest, but it wasn't. Sure, I was much calmer than I had been, but I guess I realized what was waiting for me in the morning light.
Like I said, I couldn't sleep, though I did have a drowsy spell every so often that never paid off. Every time I closed my eyes, I thought back to my dream from the day before (was that the day before?) and that enormous spire that began to open. I would see the light spill out one more time. Then my eyes would snap back open, and I would still find myself in a dark, but waking, world.
The rest of the night was mainly a blur. I'm fairly certain I spent a large portion of the time moping about my lost book, even though it would have done me no good in the dark. At one of the rest areas, I ambled up to a coffee machine and spent the following five minutes drinking it, black and bitter. I pissed it all back out at the next stop. Still, it seemed that none of the other passengers ever spoke to one another, or if they did, it was filtered out in the darkness around me. Whenever someone passed by, I shut my eyes until I knew they were gone. I didn't want to catch a secret glimpse of any of them. They probably all thought I was crazy, but I'm sure by that point (as long as we had all been riding) no one cared. They never do.
That brings me to the morning. The sun rose, and no one gave a rat's ass.
We stopped in Texarkana for half an hour. Dallas was the next transfer, and it wasn't that far away. I took the time to grab some breakfast, though, even if it did come from a vending machine. I ate a stale, overpriced cinnamon roll and drank a cup of coffee that was way too stout. I have a feeling I may develop a taste for coffee before this trip is over. But I can't wait to eat real food again. In Dallas, I told myself, I'd have a second breakfast. I wanted eggs, by God, and a fresh biscuit if I could find one. I didn't even care if it would be closer to lunch time than breakfast when we got there.
Needless to say, I was fairly anxious to get to Dallas, but what was the first thing I saw when we pulled into the bus station? A police car waiting there, and I knew it was for me. My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel every ounce of blood rushing through my body. I was convinced that this was it. My brief freedom--my one and only victory--had ended abruptly, and whatever search for truth I believed I was on had yielded nothing but more questions. There was no point in struggling.
Then something kicked in--some consciously-forgotten instinct. I closed my eyes and felt something cold, something metallic surging through my brain telling me that I am my own being and I answer to no one. This would not be the end.
The bus came to a halt, and I was the first person to the door. As soon as it opened, I leaped to the ground and dug into the panels covering the storage space beneath the bus. Even as I dashed off into the streets, I looked back only to see weak, hunched figures marching off the bus. I'd expected a chase, to see someone running behind me, desperate to keep up, and for a moment I did, but it was nothing from this world. It was only there for a second, just until I had completely turned around. I kept running anyway.
I'd only gone a couple of blocks before ducking behind a building. My back was pressed against the brick facade as I sunk to the floor of an alleyway, my eyes closed tightly. I opened them again, and nothing was there. No police officer, no dark figure. Just me in an alley with my bags at my feet.
There was no one else around--no one walking down the streets at the moment, so I took the opportunity to change clothes just in case anyone at the bus station had seen me take off like that. I left my bags on a filthy cement step as I quickly took off my hoodie and toboggan and stowed them in my back pack. From my suitcase I grabbed a plain, white button-up shirt. I threw it on, and my fingers flew, pushing buttons through eyes. I straightened the shirt and rolled up both of the sleeves two times, and then with a quick flick of my hand through my hair, I looked like a completely different person. When I put some actual effort into my appearance, I have been told that I look much older than I actually am. That's what I was counting on, at least.
I picked up my things and began walking calmly back to the bus station to see what was going on. A few straggling passengers from my bus were combing through the storage area for their belongings. The rest I could see lingering inside the station. The police car was still there, but there was no officer in sight.
I took a deep breath and walked closer. My eyes were focused only on what was in front of me, letting nothing else seep in around the edges. Though my heart was still pounding, I could feel something else as I walked along those streets. I could feel another pulse, another heart beat. But it wasn't mine. It resonated from the soles of my sneakers all the way to the top of my head. There was something with me. Something alive. I think it was the city itself--the beating heart of the ground beneath my feet. I could feel it. It could feel me. I tread across its surface, and it reached out to me. It somehow let me know that everything was all right, that nothing would happen to me.
I walked past the police car. There was a man sitting in the driver's seat, busying himself with paperwork. He never even looked up. I entered the bus station, checked the clock on the wall, and calmly sat down in a red plastic chair. There was no reason to be afraid here--only the same apathetic mass of people I could find anywhere else. I studied their faces, which they all seemed to point at the ground, making an effort to actually avoid looking at anyone else. Why? I wondered. Why are they so afraid of human contact? Have they seen the same things I have? Do they know what people are just below the surface? At least I have my reasons.
The stopover was for an hour, so I've started writing again. Everything still seems to be going according to plan. I don't think I'll have to switch tickets--not yet, anyway. There have been no more police. No one asks me questions. No one even looks at me. It's like being invisible. It's like I'm a part of that world only I can see, and here I'm just a tourist. So I sit here, in my nice button-up shirt, and I wait for the next bus.
I feel like I'm in a dream.
I think it's noon now. Last night was horrible. I couldn't sleep at all. We stopped several times. We came to rest areas, and everyone had the chance to stretch their legs and smoke and use the restrooms. We stopped at gas stations and waited aimlessly as the driver, who looked a little too much like the driver on my previous bus, filled the tank. The ride was like a series of long, boring paragraphs about asphalt and the secrets of gravel, with only the occasional punctuation mark to break the mood.
We also stopped at bus stations at other towns along the way. Every once in awhile, a passenger would depart and a couple more would get on. You could tell right away which ones were transferring and which ones were boarding for the first time. I almost wanted to warn them to go back before it was too late, to jump back out the door they just entered and run until they could run no more, just so they could remember what legs are for and how they feel. But it was too late. They took their seats and gave in to the enormous soul-sucking beast that was our bus.
It was a dark night. It came on early after Knoxville, where the wind and the rain battered the streets and buildings and the sky was cloudy and gray. It never got better. We passed out of the bad weather, and then there was only darkness. I could see the headlights on the interstate, but if it wasn't for them, I might as well have been blind. I think I would be okay with that. When I'm in the dark--the deep sort of dark that seems to muffle sound as well as sight--I also can't see things from the corner of my eye. It should have been a triumphant sort of rest, but it wasn't. Sure, I was much calmer than I had been, but I guess I realized what was waiting for me in the morning light.
Like I said, I couldn't sleep, though I did have a drowsy spell every so often that never paid off. Every time I closed my eyes, I thought back to my dream from the day before (was that the day before?) and that enormous spire that began to open. I would see the light spill out one more time. Then my eyes would snap back open, and I would still find myself in a dark, but waking, world.
The rest of the night was mainly a blur. I'm fairly certain I spent a large portion of the time moping about my lost book, even though it would have done me no good in the dark. At one of the rest areas, I ambled up to a coffee machine and spent the following five minutes drinking it, black and bitter. I pissed it all back out at the next stop. Still, it seemed that none of the other passengers ever spoke to one another, or if they did, it was filtered out in the darkness around me. Whenever someone passed by, I shut my eyes until I knew they were gone. I didn't want to catch a secret glimpse of any of them. They probably all thought I was crazy, but I'm sure by that point (as long as we had all been riding) no one cared. They never do.
That brings me to the morning. The sun rose, and no one gave a rat's ass.
We stopped in Texarkana for half an hour. Dallas was the next transfer, and it wasn't that far away. I took the time to grab some breakfast, though, even if it did come from a vending machine. I ate a stale, overpriced cinnamon roll and drank a cup of coffee that was way too stout. I have a feeling I may develop a taste for coffee before this trip is over. But I can't wait to eat real food again. In Dallas, I told myself, I'd have a second breakfast. I wanted eggs, by God, and a fresh biscuit if I could find one. I didn't even care if it would be closer to lunch time than breakfast when we got there.
Needless to say, I was fairly anxious to get to Dallas, but what was the first thing I saw when we pulled into the bus station? A police car waiting there, and I knew it was for me. My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel every ounce of blood rushing through my body. I was convinced that this was it. My brief freedom--my one and only victory--had ended abruptly, and whatever search for truth I believed I was on had yielded nothing but more questions. There was no point in struggling.
Then something kicked in--some consciously-forgotten instinct. I closed my eyes and felt something cold, something metallic surging through my brain telling me that I am my own being and I answer to no one. This would not be the end.
The bus came to a halt, and I was the first person to the door. As soon as it opened, I leaped to the ground and dug into the panels covering the storage space beneath the bus. Even as I dashed off into the streets, I looked back only to see weak, hunched figures marching off the bus. I'd expected a chase, to see someone running behind me, desperate to keep up, and for a moment I did, but it was nothing from this world. It was only there for a second, just until I had completely turned around. I kept running anyway.
I'd only gone a couple of blocks before ducking behind a building. My back was pressed against the brick facade as I sunk to the floor of an alleyway, my eyes closed tightly. I opened them again, and nothing was there. No police officer, no dark figure. Just me in an alley with my bags at my feet.
There was no one else around--no one walking down the streets at the moment, so I took the opportunity to change clothes just in case anyone at the bus station had seen me take off like that. I left my bags on a filthy cement step as I quickly took off my hoodie and toboggan and stowed them in my back pack. From my suitcase I grabbed a plain, white button-up shirt. I threw it on, and my fingers flew, pushing buttons through eyes. I straightened the shirt and rolled up both of the sleeves two times, and then with a quick flick of my hand through my hair, I looked like a completely different person. When I put some actual effort into my appearance, I have been told that I look much older than I actually am. That's what I was counting on, at least.
I picked up my things and began walking calmly back to the bus station to see what was going on. A few straggling passengers from my bus were combing through the storage area for their belongings. The rest I could see lingering inside the station. The police car was still there, but there was no officer in sight.
I took a deep breath and walked closer. My eyes were focused only on what was in front of me, letting nothing else seep in around the edges. Though my heart was still pounding, I could feel something else as I walked along those streets. I could feel another pulse, another heart beat. But it wasn't mine. It resonated from the soles of my sneakers all the way to the top of my head. There was something with me. Something alive. I think it was the city itself--the beating heart of the ground beneath my feet. I could feel it. It could feel me. I tread across its surface, and it reached out to me. It somehow let me know that everything was all right, that nothing would happen to me.
I walked past the police car. There was a man sitting in the driver's seat, busying himself with paperwork. He never even looked up. I entered the bus station, checked the clock on the wall, and calmly sat down in a red plastic chair. There was no reason to be afraid here--only the same apathetic mass of people I could find anywhere else. I studied their faces, which they all seemed to point at the ground, making an effort to actually avoid looking at anyone else. Why? I wondered. Why are they so afraid of human contact? Have they seen the same things I have? Do they know what people are just below the surface? At least I have my reasons.
The stopover was for an hour, so I've started writing again. Everything still seems to be going according to plan. I don't think I'll have to switch tickets--not yet, anyway. There have been no more police. No one asks me questions. No one even looks at me. It's like being invisible. It's like I'm a part of that world only I can see, and here I'm just a tourist. So I sit here, in my nice button-up shirt, and I wait for the next bus.
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