by Alison Bond
Lynsey patted herself down as she walked along the central aisle of the bus, checking that she had everything she should have. It was unlikely that her passport had grown tiny leatherette legs and made a break for freedom out of her bag but she needed to make sure before she left town. Her bag was as deep as her arm and important things seemed to have a habit of drifting into the crevices and pretending to be lost. When every essential was accounted for she looked at the bus that was to be her home for the next few days.
She missed the most beautiful girl in the world who was sitting in the fourth row back because she didn’t look up until the fifth. Serena didn’t notice Lynsey either. Beneath the pulled-down peak of her baseball cap, despite the noise and chaos all around her, Serena slept like a baby.
There were no double seats left. The minute the driver had propped a piece of cardboard on the dashboard, with Los Angeles scrawled on it in red magic marker, seasoned travellers had leapt on the bus. Meanwhile Lynsey had been asking directions on 42nd Street.
Lynsey knew she had to make a decision before she reached the back. At the back was the bathroom and that way lay disruption and certain despair. Who did she want to sit next to and sleep next to and eat next to for this next stage of her life? The potential almost overwhelmed her. Any one of these strangers could profoundly alter her journey for better or worse. The guy on her left in a suit and tie looked horribly out of place. It was as if he had taken a wrong turn at the airport and would be surprised when this metal tube didn’t take to the skies. A woman eating a hamburger avoided her eyes and made no attempt to move the grocery bag that took up the vacant seat next to her. There was an old man further down with a chestnut tan and blue eyes that sparkled beneath a faded red baseball cap. Maybe. Too much choice and not enough time. Lynsey felt an unfamiliar pang of anxiety. This was the most stressful decision she had made in months. She cleared her mind and tried to be practical. She ended up choosing spatially and sat down next to an old lady with sugar-pink lipstick who was the size of a nine-year-old child. More legroom.
*
A college student climbed aboard straight after Lynsey and spotted Serena immediately. He simultaneously thanked God for inventing women and for his own good fortune in being able to sit next to this blonde vision. He also asked Him for the courage to talk to her. By the time he left the bus in Philadelphia he had only managed to say goodbye. Serena stretched out her long brown legs and made herself more comfortable. And even though back home in Philly that college student would think of Serena occasionally for the rest of his life, how he once saw the most beautiful girl in the world on a Greyhound bus, Serena would never think of him again.
The sun set somewhere between the Virginias. It dipped behind mountains in the west and the temperature dropped sharply while the light show played out. Lynsey was on the wrong side of the bus and missed it. She wished she had thought about sunsets when choosing her seat but she often had trouble telling left from right, never mind east from west.
They had been climbing steadily and Lynsey held her nose and blew. Her ears popped.
Soon it was dark and it was hard to tell which of the blue ridges were mountains and which were clouds.
‘Goodnight, honey.’
Lynsey looked down into a pair of crinkled black eyes that belonged to the bird woman next to her. She had produced a small white pillow and was busy folding her tiny frame into the curve of her seat. She draped a purple blanket covered in airline insignia over her knees and, as a final touch that Lynsey particularly liked, pulled on a pink eye mask with a white trim.
‘Goodnight,’ said Lynsey.
They were the first words they had exchanged since Lynsey sat down.
Just before midnight the bus rumbled into a rest area and ground to a halt. A few bleary-eyed passengers took the chance to stretch their legs and use the meagre facilities. Serena walked across to the other side of the empty road, away from the lights. In just a few steps the world was a darker place. She looked up at the stars. She was getting closer.
Serena wasn’t stupid. She knew a thousand pretty girls arrived in Hollywood every day, but the others didn’t have a four-hundred-dollar dress and a ticket to the biggest movie premiere of the year.
Lynsey saw Serena walk back across the road and wondered why a grown woman couldn’t just piss in the bathrooms like everyone else.
She wasn’t tired. She was road-watching. A thin mist of condensation had fogged the windows and made the unending blackness outside look grey. She found that if she leant out into the aisle she could see straight out of the windshield at the winding road ahead as it was bleached fleetingly white in the beams of the headlights. The steady drone of the engine smothered the night-time murmurs and shuffles of her sleeping travel companions. She watched the road roll out in front of them for miles. It was hypnotic.
The driver saw her in his rear-view mirror and tipped his hat.
Someone was gently shaking her shoulder. The air was brisk.
‘Honey?’
Lynsey could smell coffee. She opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was a pair of crinkled black eyes. Behind them, out of the window, was the biggest sky she had ever seen. It was streaked with lilac and silver. Lynsey felt for a second like she had woken up on Jupiter.
‘Good morning, hon. Did you wanna see the sunrise? It looks like being a real peach.’
She felt like she’d only been asleep for a few minutes but she also felt like a cup of coffee and accepted the warm plastic mug that her neighbour was pressing on her.
‘Thanks.’ It was too early to tell whether she meant for the coffee or the sunrise.
‘I wasn’t sure about waking you up but I thought you might like it.’
‘I love it,’ said Lynsey.
‘Always sit the left side when you’re going south.’
In London she only noticed the sunrise when it meant that the tubes would soon be running and she could get home.
The lilacs turned to reds and the silver turned to gold until finally the sun stabbed into the cold, bare sky and brought the landscape to life.
Lynsey and Serena met in Nashville, Tennessee. The bus pulled into the station at around seven and the engine cut out.
‘One hour, people, one hour. Bus for Los Angeles leaves in one hour.’
‘You go ahead, honey,’ said Lynsey’s new friend. ‘I’ll watch the seats.’ She tapped her empty Thermos flask. ‘Get me a refill if you find one.’
The bus station cafeteria was depressing. It smelt of stale grease and bitter coffee. Fluorescent light before breakfast was never a good idea.
The streets outside were busy and bright with early morning activity. After sitting still for so long it seemed to Lynsey that the traffic and the people moved unnaturally fast and she briefly struggled to find her land legs as she watched. She pulled on her shades and acclimatized. She liked to take a moment and breathe in anywhere new before exploring it, to fill her lungs with the local life-force and belong. Any space you occupied became your home, however temporary.
Two women were arguing on a street corner; they looked as if they might be related. A truck was reversing opposite with deafening shrieks and when it stopped the driver ran out and unloaded boxes of fresh fruit like he was in a race. He jumped back into the cab and pulled recklessly out into the traffic, oblivious to the horns that chorused in protest. A few business suits dotted the populace, sharp dressers with lots on their minds and cardboard cups from popular coffee chains clenched in their hands. Two men were filling newspaper vending machines chained to the railings, moving quickly and efficiently along the row like robots on a production line. Lynsey found a couple of quarters for the Nashville Chronicle because she liked the name and she set off to find breakfast.
After a few turns Lynsey’s nose led her to the sort of diner she thought existed only in fifties musicals or themed restaurants. Chrome stools lined up against a white Formica counter, and she could see a chef in a white cap slaving over a sizzling grill. There was a wa
itress wearing Nike trainers and a pastel-blue uniform with a name badge that said ‘Janey’. The booths at the windows were all empty so Lynsey went with the majority and sat at the counter. It wasn’t busy.
Janey had one eye on the television and one eye on the job as she served a wrinkled old man a plate of creamy scrambled eggs. ‘Hi, there,’ she said. She put a clean white cup in front of Lynsey and poured her some coffee. ‘What can I get you?’
Lynsey looked along the line and saw someone with pancakes. The smell of bacon was intoxicating. She ordered both. ‘Will it take long?’
‘You on the bus?’ said Janey.
‘Uh, yeah.’
‘Which one? Los Angeles?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thought so. It’s cool. You’ve got plenty of time.’
‘Thanks. Where’s your loo?’
Janey pointed. ‘Down the hall to the left. You English?’
Lynsey nodded. She felt a flush of pride for being so far from home.
‘Thought so,’ said Janey and turned back to the morning news.
This place was perfect. It was the kind of picturesque vision of America that made her think of the Wakefield twins and homemade lemonade. The whole experience was slightly surreal as if she was in a real-life theme park populated with wizened old-timers and perky waitresses called Janey. She half expected to see John Travolta swagger in and order a double polar burger with everything and a cherry soda. She was laughing by the time she reached the bathroom and was completely unprepared for what she saw.
Serena without her shirt on, the best part of two thousand dollars sticking out of her bra.
Serena screamed and struggled with her shirt, displacing a cascade of bills that fluttered to the spotless floor.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’
‘Get out!’
Lynsey instinctively fell to her knees to help collect the cash but Serena edged her out of the way and grasped fistfuls of the notes, stuffing them back into her bra. At the same time Lynsey realized that she was the pretty blonde from the bus. The one that peed in the bushes. She looked different with her clothes off. Her boobs were fantastic but she looked fragile. Her eyes widened when she heard a knock at the door and she finished stashing her money with urgency.
‘Is everything all right in there?’ Janey knocked. ‘I heard a scream.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Lynsey.
‘Everything’s fine,’ said Serena, fastening her shirt just as Janey poked an anxious head through the door.
‘I didn’t see you come in,’ said Janey, eyeing Serena up and down and taking the instant dislike to her that women often did. ‘You know, the bathroom is for paying customers…’
‘She’s with me,’ said Lynsey. She looked at the stranger for confirmation and only then did she realize how perfectly beautiful she was.
Serena ordered eggs and juice and they ate breakfast together. Beyond exchanging names conversation was not forthcoming. Serena seemed reluctant and uncomfortable and Lynsey felt sorry for her though she didn’t know why. She was obviously both rich and beautiful so why was Lynsey feeling so protective? She didn’t mention the money and Serena didn’t offer to pick up the tab.
‘What time is it?’ asked Lynsey.
‘We’ve got another twenty minutes. Don’t you wear a watch?’
Lynsey held out her bare wrists. ‘Nope.’
‘But how would you know when to leave for the bus?’
‘I’d ask someone.’ Asking the time was always a good way to start a conversation. With Serena it didn’t work. But in the dreamlike, sleep-deprived existence that was Nashville, Tennessee, sitting across from a strange girl saying nothing was oddly comfortable.
Serena was far too pretty. There was no magic makeup or airbrush wizardry but she was a walking magazine cover.
Serena supposed that Lynsey was intimidated, women usually were. They would turn away quickly so that she didn’t catch the jealousy in their eyes. Beauty didn’t make you popular. Serena had been picking spit out of her pale blonde hair ever since she was six years old.
She was angry with herself for being caught in such a compromising position, her life savings tucked in her underwear. She had been saving that money for years to get away. Wheeler, Maine, had never produced such a beauty and just didn’t know how to cope. Now she was going to a place where she might be appreciated. The only time she was needed in Wheeler was when the beer ran out or her baby brother was fussing and needed a cuddle.
‘I didn’t think places like this existed,’ said Lynsey.
‘What?’
‘You know, typical American diners. I thought they were just for television.’
‘If it wasn’t real why would they put it on television? Why do you think it’s called a “typical” American diner?’
Lynsey decided to stick with the silence. She liked her pancakes with a little less mocking on the side.
Janey deposited two large coffees in take-out cardboard cups on the counter in front of them. Lynsey drained her cup and left a generous tip. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Outside she looked left and then right. ‘Do you know the way?’
‘Left,’ said Serena. ‘Didn’t keep track of where you were going? How were you going to get back?’
‘I’d ask directions.’
It was a short walk back to the bus station and Lynsey told Serena about her job at a Hollywood agency and how this trip was kind of a dream of hers.
‘Which agency?’ said Serena.
‘CMG, they’re good.’
Serena offered nothing about herself. She didn’t tell Lynsey that this journey was her dream too, that she had spent years waiting for it. She didn’t tell her about the ticket that she had to the premiere, about how every moment of the next few weeks was meticulously planned, how she had spent every night dreaming of this day.
Lynsey ran out of time to ask Serena what she was doing on the bus, where she was going, how it felt to be so beautiful and why she had a cleavage full of money. There was something impenetrable about Serena that didn’t invite personal questions.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Lynsey and they didn’t talk again until Texas.
The next time Lynsey woke up it was mid-afternoon and they were crossing the Tennessee River. She was amazed to see that her nice old lady had been replaced with a man who looked like Father Christmas sipping a bottle of Evian. Lynsey was still sitting in the aisle seat and as far as she was aware no one had climbed over her. How had that happened?
‘Where are we?’
‘Next stop, Memphis,’ said Father Christmas.
‘Oh. Cool.’ She slept again and missed it.
Every time the bus stopped it was like falling asleep watching television and only waking up when your flatmate turns it off.
Silence. Boom. Wide awake.
Lynsey followed Serena when she disappeared into the darkness on the next midnight rest stop. She was bored.
As soon as she realized that Serena wasn’t squatting she moved closer.
‘What are you looking at?’
Serena jumped. Lynsey had picked up a bad habit of surprising her. She had been lost in space, the bus and the journey briefly forgotten.
She whispered. It felt appropriate. ‘Orion, Pegasus, Cassiopeia, Cepheus.’ The names sounded like an incantation. ‘You can’t see so much close to the bus. Light pollution.’
Lynsey looked up and was duly amazed. ‘Wow. And you know all their names and everything?’
‘I know the names, that’s all,’ said Serena. ‘I don’t know which is which. I know the stories behind them.’
‘So what’s the story with – who was it? – Cepheus?’
‘He had his daughter chained to a rock.’
‘Really? What happened?’
‘I’ll tell you later, let’s just look.’
A few seconds passed.
Lynsey had a crick in her neck. ‘Actually, it’s getting cold. I’m heading back.’
T
he thing about stars was that they never did anything. They twinkled occasionally. Sure, if you looked for long enough you might see a shooting star, a piece of space debris burning up on the earth’s defence shield, but by the time you got your wish you might have missed something twinkling here on earth. Nothing ever moved.
Serena knew that Lynsey just didn’t get it.
Day three began with bad news. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the air-con’s down and the bus company says they can’t get another bus out here before morning. We’re gonna have to push on to El Paso and then you all can switch. It might get a little uncomfortable, but I’ll try and make a few more rest stops.’
Father Christmas sucked the warm damp air of an east Texas morning in through his teeth and then smiled unexpectedly. ‘What can you do?’ he said, and then went back to his newspaper briefly before continuing. ‘If we had the money we’d all fly, right? We wouldn’t be here taking twenty-four hours to get through Texas on a shitty bus without air-conditioning. I mean, nobody wants to get the bus, right? But what can you do?’
‘Right,’ said Lynsey. ‘What can you do?’
Life became the bus. Eyes got used to seeing landscape whipping past the window, ears became accustomed to the constant roar of the engine. Legs sought out familiar nooks for stretching and hands became unnecessary unless you needed somewhere to rest your head. Faces were familiar. Stomachs and bladders adjusted to the new routine.
It was getting hot. Lynsey fanned herself with the Statue of Liberty, a postcard she had bought in New York and never got round to sending. The bus slowed down gradually and then stopped. They were in the middle of the highway. Lynsey looked out of the front window and saw traffic ahead. The driver killed the engine and climbed down.
Passengers immediately followed to check things out for themselves.
The line of cars in front of them shimmered in the heat until they dissolved into the sky.
It was no good. She was going to have to take her shoes off. She knew that if she did she would never get them on again but bare feet it would be. When she stood up the lukewarm floor of the bus felt like ice water on her tortured soles.