by Carrie Pack
I don’t know whether to be offended or impressed. It’s not as if my zine is a secret. “I don’t mind that you’re reading it.”
He licks his lips. “Good to know. I uh, really liked the part about not wanting other people to label you, and I realized I’d kind of been doing that. I expected you to stay the same person you were when we started hanging out and I didn’t see how much you’d changed.”
“That’s okay,” I say.
“It’s not. I think I may have been blinded by my crush.” He scratches his cheek, and bites his lip.
It’s the first time he’s admitted to it, and I’m taken aback. “I had a crush on you, too, you know?”
His eyes widen. “No, I didn’t know. That’s…. Wow.”
“It was short-lived, but believe me, I know all about being blinded by crushes.”
Mike nods and lowers his gaze. He’s kicking at the crack again. “Well, I guess I should go.” He turns to leave, but I realize I don’t want him to.
“Wait!” I call out. “Why don’t you come in for a bit. I have some new music you might like.”
He furrows his brow as if he’s contemplating it. “Won’t your girlfriend mind?”
“No, and anyway, she’s out of town with the band.”
“Oh yeah, I heard about the tour. Sounds pretty cool.”
“Well, except for the ‘all my friends are out of town’ part, it is.”
“Not all your friends,” Mike says with a grin.
“You’re right.” I smile. It’s nice to be friends with Mike again. He follows me into the house and upstairs to my room.
“I like your room,” he says.
“Thanks. I forgot you’ve never been inside.” We’ve only hung out at concerts, record stores and behind the 7-Eleven. The few times he picked me up from the house, he honked, and I ran out. “There’s not much to it, but it’s home.” I put a CD in my stereo and motion for Mike to sit.
“Smells better than the parking lot of the 7-Eleven, that’s for sure,” he says with a laugh.
“Very true.” I sit beside him on the bed, and he moves away from me. I opt to ignore it. If he’s still a little on edge, I won’t push it.
We don’t talk for a bit in favor of listening to the music, but when the CD ends, he lies back on the bed and asks, “So how come you’re not following Shut Up on tour with your girlfriend?”
I open my mouth to tell him about Mom’s breakdown and my job at the mall and all the other reasons I had for staying in Decker, when it occurs to me none of those reasons exist anymore.
“To be honest,” I say, “I have no idea.”
Mike toes off his shoes and pulls a pack of gum from his pocket. He pulls out a piece and offers it to me, but I shake my head. So he unwraps it and adds it to the piece he’s already chewing. Maybe he’s quit smoking. Before I can ask, he tosses out a question of his own. “Where are they now?”
I grab Shut Up’s zine with the tour dates in it and look at today’s date. “Peoria.”
“That’s not far,” he says. “Why don’t you go?”
I roll my eyes at him. “How am I going to get there? Mom won’t let me borrow her car. She needs it for work.”
“There is a thing called the bus, you know.”
“But we made a deal. I’d do some chores around the house, and she’d let me go to the last show in Chicago. I can’t renege on that.”
“Why not? You said yourself you don’t have any reason to stay here. If you take the bus you don’t need the car, and she can still go to work.”
“What if she says no?”
“Who said you have to ask?”
That same afternoon, Mike drives me to the bus station and buys me a one-way ticket to Peoria. It’s only a few hours away, so I should get there just as the band is finishing their set. I’ve shoved all the money I made from my job at The Place, minus my final paycheck, into my backpack. I plan to be back in a little over a week, so I don’t bring much else. I left a note for my mom on the counter, telling her I’ll be home late. I’ll call her from the road and tell her the truth. A note telling her I’ve run off to be with Jackie would probably ensure a complete and total meltdown.
“You sure you won’t come with me?” I ask him for the third time since we left my house. He thinks I’m afraid of traveling alone, but it’s more like wanting someone to witness it. As if it’s not real unless someone else can attest to the order of events. I want to feel real and whole, tethered to the earth again. Of course, that’s why I’m going to Jackie, so maybe I’ll be fine without Mike.
“Nah, this is a trip I think you need to make on your own,” Mike says. When he grins, his dimples peek out from his cheeks.
I surge forward and wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry I was a shit friend.”
He pats me on the back with one hand, leaving his other dangling at his side. I think I might have caught him off guard. “We both made mistakes.” The sound is muffled by my shoulder. He pulls back and brings his hand to my cheek. “You’re really something, Tabitha. Jackie’s lucky to have you.”
His eyes say all the words he’s left unsaid. A small part of me wishes I could return his feelings, that I could offer more than a vague, fleeting crush, but I know it wouldn’t work. I’m in love with Jackie. I give him a gentle peck on the cheek. “I’ll call you when I get back,” I say. “Maybe we can hang out or something.”
He nods. “Maybe I can finally meet Jackie.”
“I’d like that.”
The bus is quiet and empty, and it smells like old cheese, but I choose to treat it like an adventure because it’s taking me to Jackie. I owe her an apology for not going with her in the first place. I figure showing up to surprise her is the second-best option to time travel.
I pull my Discman out of my backpack and push play. As the suburbs fade into farmland, I drift into a dreamless sleep.
I must sense the bus has stopped, because I wake up and we’re parked on the side of the road. I crane my neck to look out the windshield and see bumper-to-bumper cars, all stopped and waiting for the same thing we are. I pull my headphones off and lean into the aisle. The closest person to me is sound asleep, so I trek to the front of the bus.
“Excuse me, why are we stopped?” I ask the driver. He’s reading a newspaper and eating a ham sandwich. We must have been here for a while.
“Accident,” he says.
“Will it take long? I’m kind of in a hurry.” I check my watch. If we don’t get moving soon I could miss the show. I’m not sure where the venue is, and cabs could be scarce if it gets too late.
“Don’t know,” the driver says, taking another bite of his sandwich. “If someone died it could be hours.”
“Hours?” Great.
“I know. It sucks,” he says. “It’s my kid’s birthday. We got him a bike.”
I don’t care what he got his kid for his birthday. I want to get moving, but I nod and smile anyway. As much as I want to rail at this guy, I know it’s not his fault.
On my way back to my seat, I notice that the other passengers have settled in for the long haul. A woman in the back is stretched out across an entire row, and the family who is sitting a few rows behind me is playing a card game. The man across from me is still asleep and snoring softly.
With nothing to do but wait, I take out my notebook and start writing.
By the time we roll in to Peoria it’s nearly two in the morning. I’ve missed the show and I’m a stinky, grimy mess. At the bus station, I apply a new layer of deodorant and brush my teeth, but I desperately want a shower. Jackie told me the bands always pack up and leave immediately after the show, so I know they’re either at a motel or on the road to the next gig. There’s a bus headed to Champaign in the morning, so I have nothing to do now but wait.
It’s only me and one other person in the waiting
room, plus a security guard. There’s a bank of pay phones in the back of the waiting room. I check my watch. It’s officially past an acceptable time for me to be home “late.” I have to call Mom.
I dial our number and wait as I hear the mechanical voice ask my mom if she’ll accept the charges. I chew on my fingernails and hope she’s not too pissed. The call is barely connected when she barrages me with questions.
“Tabitha! Is everything okay? Are you all right? Where are you?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Calm down.”
“Do you know what time it is? I almost called the cops! Wait… you called me collect. Where the hell are you?”
I take a deep breath and lean against the wall. “Peoria.”
The other stranded passenger—an older man with sallow skin and sunken eyes—watches me. Something about him makes my pulse race, so I turn my back to him. I hope he loses interest fast.
There’s silence from the other end. All I hear is Mom’s breathing, heavy and forced. She’s furious.
“Mom?”
“Why the hell—?”
“I know what you’re going to say, but I couldn’t wait until next week. I have to see Jackie now.”
“Tabitha, you’re sixteen. You can’t just take off whenever you feel like it.”
“I was going to Chicago at the end of the tour anyway. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is you didn’t ask me.” Her voice is measured and smooth. The calm before the raging storm. I immediately feel myself growing defensive.
“Would you have said yes if I had?” I realize how immature I sound, but the words are out before I can stop them.
I wonder if she heard me. Finally she says, “Tabitha, I want you to be happy. We could have talked about it and figured something out. You didn’t have to take off.”
I let out a relieved breath. “So am I in big trouble?” I bite my lip and hold my breath.
Mom sighs. “No. But you’re going to call me every damn day while you’re gone. And you come home right after that tour is over. No exceptions.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tabitha, you really scared me tonight.”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”
“Are the girls there? How is the tour going?”
Shit. Her acquiescence is all based on her assumption that I’m with the band. I wrack my brain for a suitable and believable lie. “Um, they’re wiped out. I think everyone went to bed already.”
“Oh, of course,” she says. “Well, tell them all I said to break a leg.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s theatre, Mom.”
“Right. Well, still. Tell them I said good luck, okay? And get some sleep. You sound exhausted.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too. And call me tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone and notice the other traveler is staring at me. The security guard is nowhere in sight. I hug my backpack to my chest and make a mad dash for the bathroom. At least in there I have a door that locks.
I stay in the bathroom most of the night. The bus for Champaign leaves at six, and when I go out to the waiting room at five-thirty, it’s already filling up. By the time the bus pulls in, at least forty people are waiting. I don’t see the man who scared me last night. I breathe a sigh of relief and take a seat. Exhaustion sets in fast, and I begin to doze. I’m so out of it that I almost miss the bus.
When I board, the only empty seat is next to a woman who seems be in her forties, maybe fifties. I’m bad with ages. She has a short haircut that’s graying at the temples and gives me a friendly smile when I approach.
“Anyone sitting here?”
“Just you, honey.” She pats the seat. I’m glad my travel companion isn’t someone creepy. She looks like someone’s friendly aunt.
“Thanks.” I ease my way into the tiny seat, trying not to bump her with my broad hips.
“Where you headed?”
“Champaign.”
“Business or pleasure?” Her voice is loud and boisterous, as though she doesn’t seem to care if everyone on the bus can hear her.
“Um, both I guess. My friends are in a band that’s playing a gig there tomorrow.”
“Well, that sounds like fun.” She smacks herself on the forehead. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t even introduce myself.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Diane Butterfield. Pleased to meet you.”
“Tabitha,” I reply, accepting her outstretched hand and giving it a halfhearted shake. Diane lifts a finger to her nose and gives it a twitch. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Yep, named for the TV witch.”
“I love it!” Diane beams at me. “I’m named for an aunt I never met. Your namesake is definitely better.”
I scoff. I’ve come to terms with my name, but it’s far from being a name I would have picked. “Thanks, I guess.”
I lean forward to shove my backpack under the seat, and Diane grabs my arm. “Let me see that pin,” she demands.
I tilt the backpack in her direction and she squints, probably trying to read the small print on my “Smash the patriarchy” pin.
“I had a pin exactly like this,” she says, pointing to the one that has a Venus symbol with a raised fist inside.
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. This woman who looks almost old enough to be my grandmother was a feminist? And an angry one at that.
“I wasn’t always this incredibly boring old lady,” she says with a laugh. “Back in my day I was active with NOW and burned my bra with the best of them.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s so cool! Do you still protest and stuff?”
“Nah, I hung up my picket sign a long time ago.” She sighs as if she’s reminiscing. “Those were the days, though.”
“So why’d you quit?”
She turns and studies me, as if she’s sizing me up and deciding if I’m worthy of this particular part of her tale. She nods once, which I suppose is her deciding I might measure up.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yeah. Did something happen?”
“Look, you seem like a sweet kid, and maybe you’re not judgmental like girls were when I was your age.”
I like to think I’m not judgmental, but, dear God, the suspense is killing me. What on earth could she possible have to tell me that might incite judgement or scorn on my part?
“The long and short of it is that I’m a lesbian.”
I try to keep my expression neutral, but I am a bit shocked, and well, there is that complete lack of a poker face. “And that was a problem?”
“It shouldn’t have been, but yeah, it was a big problem. Plus, I was dating this Indian girl, Tani.”
“Why would that matter?”
“I loved my feminist sisters, but they weren’t always accepting of people with differences.”
Confused, I scrunch up my face. That doesn’t make sense. Why would a group of women discriminate against other women when they were fighting for equality?
“Believe me, the irony wasn’t lost on me,” Diane says with a sardonic laugh. “We got called dykes a lot. And I don’t think we won any fans being in an interracial relationship.” She looks out the window at the farmland rolling by. “We got asked to leave the organization. I think the prevailing sentiment was that Middle America wasn’t ready for all that and women’s lib too.” She shrugs. “Maybe they weren’t.”
“What happened with you and Tani?”
Without looking at me, Diane shakes her head. “We broke up not long after that. I think the pressure was too much for her. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for her.”
We fall silent. I’m not sure what Diane is thinking, but I’m thinking about Jackie. I don’t think I’ve ever truly considered that she might have issues with our relationship that I hadn’t been aware of. I assumed
people would judge us because we’re two girls but I guess I hadn’t considered that there might be other problems.
I am so stupid. And more anxious than ever to get to Champaign and talk to Jackie. I bite my fingernails down to the quick.
“You look upset, honey.” I hadn’t even realized Diane was no longer staring out the window. She pats my hand. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“No.” I swallow around a lump in my throat. “It’s just that what you said really hit home for me.”
Diane raises a graying eyebrow.
“I’m bi and my girlfriend Jackie, well… she’s African American. I only just now realized that she must have been fighting society on two fronts. One because she’s gay and the other because she’s with me.”
Diane nods. “Well, that means there’s still work to do. It’s funny how we can get in our own little bubbles and not really see the depth and breadth of the world. But don’t beat yourself up too much. You realize it now, and the good news is you can talk to her about it. I didn’t have that luxury with Tani. I realized it too late, and by then she was gone.”
Regret washes over Diane’s face, and I want to hug her but we’re practically strangers. Instead, I do the second-best thing. I change the subject.
“So where are you headed?” I ask.
I take a packet of Pop-Tarts out of my bag and offer her one. She takes the frosted pastry and smiles.
“St. Louis. My son lives there.”
“Your son?”
“Being gay doesn’t condemn you to a life of loneliness, honey. And don’t look so shocked. I used a sperm donor.” Her laugh is melodious and contagious.
We spend the rest of the two-hour trip sharing stories of our lives, and by the time we arrive in Champaign I don’t want to leave her side.
When I hesitate, she gently nudges me out of the seat, “Honey, you have to go talk to that girlfriend of yours. Don’t keep her waiting.” She smiles at me, and the wrinkles around her blue eyes deepen.
“I hope you have a safe trip,” I tell her. “I wish there was a way for us to— Oh wait!” I dig in my bag for a copy of my zine. “Here. I write this and it’s got my address on the back.” I duck my head, expecting rejection. “If you want to write.”