Destiny (Waiting for Forever)

by Mayfield, Jamie

  Having resolved things with her parents, Sarah was more upbeat. We played a couple of games on her phone, which took us through lunch in Fort Stockton. After that, the lack of sleep from the night before started to catch up with me, and I found I couldn’t keep my eyes open and would periodically doze for a minute before jerking myself awake again.

  “You look exhausted,” Sarah observed.

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I agreed. She bunched up the sweatshirt she had taken off that morning and offered it to me as a pillow.

  “I’ll wake you up when we get to El Paso. Why don’t you get a couple of hours’ sleep?” She covered my hand with hers, and I nodded, smiling slightly. Turning a little in the seat, I rested my head on her sweatshirt and closed my eyes. It was soft and it smelled sweet, like some kind of fruit, raspberries, maybe. Sighing, I could feel myself already starting to succumb to the tide of exhaustion.

  “Brian?” Sarah asked quietly, and I opened my eyes but didn’t move.

  “Yeah?”

  Resting her head on the seat, she looked at me a little shyly. “Can we keep in touch? I mean, after I get off the bus in El Paso,” she asked.

  “I’d like that,” I told her with a yawn, and within minutes, I was asleep.

  I HEARD my name through the fog of sleep but couldn’t quite place the voice. It sounded a little like Carolyn, but softer, maybe younger. The next thing I noticed was a rumbling and vibrating underneath me. Opening my eyes, it took a few seconds for Sarah’s face to come into focus. I sat up quickly, looking around. I was still on the bus to San Diego. For a minute, it felt like maybe the whole thing had been a dream, until I looked out into the late-afternoon landscape and saw… absolutely nothing. Outside the bus window, there was nothing but dust, dry earth, heat haze, and scattered brush.

  “Where are we?” I managed to croak out. My tongue felt like it was permanently stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I might have actually killed for a soda.

  “We’re about fifteen minutes from El Paso,” she said quietly, and I noticed that her hands were shaking.

  I handed her the sweatshirt and tried to reassure her, but in truth, I knew her parents were not going to be happy with her. They would be happy to see her, to see that she was okay, but then, she was in a lot of trouble. We packed our stuff into our bags, making sure everything was secure. I had to transfer to yet another bus in El Paso after a nearly two-hour layover. At least I would have time to get something to eat. I was starving, and lunch had been hours ago.

  Sarah saw her parents as soon as the bus rolled into the station, pointing them out to me apprehensively. Like her daughter, Sarah’s mother had straight blonde hair and a slight build. She clutched her husband’s hand. The man was tall and thin, his brown hair receding from his pale forehead. Both were casually well dressed. Their expressions were tired but anxious, and as the bus finally came to a stop, Sarah’s mother took a reflexive step forward.

  However, her daughter made no move to get out of her seat, letting others pass as she cradled her bag in her arms.

  “You know they love you, right?” I asked gently, and she nodded. A small sigh escaped her, and she looked back over her shoulder to see the bus mostly empty. “Come on.” I pushed her a bit so she would stand up and move into the aisle. She stood back, obviously wanting me to take the lead. I walked down the aisle, holding my backpack by the straps. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I turned back around and took her bag to let her climb down as well. I took a quick step back as Sarah’s parents nearly ran me over as they threw themselves at her. I held onto Sarah’s bag, smiling at their reunion, as she broke down into tears.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” Sarah said over and over as her mother held her and her father held them both. Seeing their obvious love for each other made me miss Richard and Carolyn terribly.

  “Brian?” Her voice brought me out of my thoughts, and I handed her the bag. “Brian, these are my parents.” I held out my hand to shake each of theirs and told them how nice it was to meet them, but they only had eyes for Sarah, who was pulling something out of her bag. Sarah asked for my phone and entered her phone number and e-mail address into my contacts. Then she practically threw her phone at me, asking me to do the same.

  “Thank you so much for everything, but especially for listening and for turning my phone back on,” she told me and then engulfed me in a hug. “You were right, I should go home.” She lowered her voice so her parents wouldn’t hear and continued. “I really hope that you find Jamie, and that he realizes how lucky he is to have you.” Pulling away, she went back to her mother, who put an arm around her. I watched her father grab her huge suitcase and pull it over to a cab.

  It was time for Sarah to go back home.

  For the next five hours, Texas melded into New Mexico, which morphed into Arizona. The landscape all looked the same, and I was starting to get fidgety. It was late and I was tired, more than ready for that part of my journey to be over. I grabbed another coffee in Phoenix as I transferred to my final bus a little before five on Wednesday morning. It had been only two days since I’d received the letter from Jamie, and it felt like things were changing rapidly for me across the stretch of thousands of miles. Briefly, I wondered if Sarah was already in the air on the way back to Florida. I hadn’t texted her yet, wanting her to spend time talking to her parents.

  I SAW him from a distance; his blond hair was shorter but still beautiful in the midafternoon California sun. The soft blue polo shirt was a departure from his usual T-shirt, but I was so incredibly happy to see him that I didn’t think anything of it. Jamie was standing just a few dozen feet from me on the front porch of a large modern-looking home that I assumed belonged to his parents. Turned slightly so I could only see his profile, he was looking in the house, apparently waiting for something.

  My heart stopped when I saw the pretty girl step out onto the porch and kiss him sweetly. Rather than shying away, Jamie embraced her. When he turned, taking the girl’s hand, and walked down the sidewalk toward me, I froze. Holding my breath, I waited for him to look up. When he was about six feet from me, he did. His expression wasn’t what I would have expected. It was almost pitying.

  “I don’t know why you wasted your time, Brian,” Jamie told me harshly as he lifted the hand that was still holding the girl’s hand. “I don’t have those feelings anymore.” Pulling the girl along, he walked right past me like I wasn’t even there.

  I woke with a start, my breaths coming in pants as I looked wildly around. My heart was racing as I thought about the dream. My worst fear was that something had happened to Jamie, but just after that was the fear that he wouldn’t want me anymore. Anything else, I could deal with.

  The bus stopped, and I looked out the window, feeling my fear rise as I heard the announcement come over the onboard speakers.

  “Thank you for choosing Greyline Bus Services. Welcome to San Diego.”

  Three

  WALKING through the crowded gate, I followed the signs to the front doors of the bus station and passed through them to the sidewalk. My breath left my lungs in an exhalation of sheer wonder as I stood, dumbstruck, looking up at the huge building across the street. A bright light and the images of nearby buildings reflected on the surface that seemed to go on forever toward the sky. The rest of the scene seemed to come into focus as the traffic rushed along the busy street and colorful banners flew high on poles decorating the landscape. It was all so overwhelming when just two days ago I had been in my backwoods little Alabama town.

  The stoplight to my left turned green, and a flood of people began to walk past me. A panicky feeling rose inside me, and I pressed myself back against the wall of the station as the sidewalk filled.

  “Hey, kid, need a ride?” a cab driver called as I held onto my duffel, trying to decide what to do. I looked over at him and thought that maybe his cab was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was old and faded, but it would mean I could ride to the hotel instead of
walking. I’d found a cheap hotel during my research, and I could not wait to get there. Exhausted, filthy, and beyond my limit, I gave in and nodded, pulling my duffel over to the cab.

  The driver stepped out and walked around to the back. As I approached the car, he took the duffel out of my hands and put it into the empty, cavernous trunk. Older and balding, the man looked to be in his fifties with a bit of a beer belly. He smiled and held his hand out, gesturing toward the back door. I climbed in, and after a minute, he got in the front.

  “Where to?” he asked, turning slightly in his seat. He had an accent that I didn’t quite recognize.

  “I’m going to the Roadview Inn. I have the address,” I told him, opening my bag to try and find the paper I’d written the address on. He waved me off.

  “I know where it is.” He turned back around and put the cab in gear, pulling smoothly from the curb. I knew I should be excited that I’d finally made it to San Diego, but I was so tired. My eyes drooped so many times on the short ride to the hotel that I lost count. They burned and itched, and my body felt like there was a layer of grime coating it. All I wanted was a shower and a bed, although I wasn’t sure I wanted them in that order.

  “We’re here,” the driver said, breaking me from my drowsy fog. I paid the fare with a little extra for the tip and took my duffel when he pulled it from the trunk. Turning, I got my first real look at the Roadview Inn. It was an old, rundown building sandwiched between a pizza place and a dry cleaner. At nearly five o’clock, the street was bustling with dozens of people walking up and down the sidewalk. Parents and children walked alongside men in suits talking on their cell phones. A woman pushed a stroller past me. Another woman walking two tiny dogs in sweaters followed her. There were probably more people on that street than I had ever seen at one time in my entire life.

  Energized by the activity, I picked up my duffel and carried my bags into the hotel. The lobby was clean and well furnished, with nondescript patterned carpeting and couches in front of a fake fire. It was the most reasonably priced place I had found near the bus station, but I wouldn’t be able to afford it for long, a few days at most. Originally, I’d planned to start calling the people on my list as soon as I got in. After sitting on the bus for hours, however, I just couldn’t force myself to focus on anything but checking in and going to sleep.

  “Can I help you, sir?” The woman’s voice surprised me, and I looked to find a bored-looking middle-aged woman in a hotel uniform staring at me.

  “Uhmmm…. Yeah, I’d like to rent a room?” My response was supposed to be a statement, but it came out as more of a question.

  “I’m sorry, you need to be over eighteen to stay here without a parent,” she replied and went back to the book she’d apparently been reading before I arrived. Setting my backpack on the floor between my feet, I pulled the battered wallet out of my pocket and handed her my Alabama state ID. She looked at it for a minute, probably trying to find my date of birth.

  “What kind of room and how many nights?” she asked, seeming a bit more animated now. The excitement that had perked me up outside was slowly starting to fade, and I could feel my body sagging. Leaning against the counter, I actually had to work to focus on her questions.

  “Just a basic room, I don’t need much. I’ll probably need it for… two days, maybe a few after that?” Again, my response came out as a question, and I hoped she was seeing more exhaustion than confusion. Of course I had a plan, a vague concept of what I was supposed to be doing; it was somewhere in the slush that my brain had become. After some sleep, I was sure I’d have a better idea of where to go next.

  I handed over my debit card, signed my name half a dozen times, and received a plastic card that she said would serve as the key. She pointed me to the elevator and reminded me when the free breakfast would be in one of the conference rooms. I thanked her and hoisted my bag on my back, almost dragging my duffel to the elevator as I made my way to room 816. While I waited for the elevator, I sent a group text to Carolyn, Adam, and Sarah, letting them know I’d arrived in San Diego. Two minutes later, I had three texts in reply, and I stood in my hotel room. I turned on the light just long enough to find the bed before shucking my jeans and T-shirt. Crawling under the covers as I closed my eyes, my last sleepy wish was of Jamie lying next to me.

  THE harsh rays of light were brutal when I could finally open my eyes hours later. With the amount of light streaming in through the gap between the heavy curtains, I thought it must be just past dawn. My muscles ached, and my legs felt cramped and sore. I didn’t want to wake up or move, but my bladder made that decision for me. As I sat up, my head spun a little, and I scooted to the edge of the bed before throwing my legs over the side. The last few days had been grueling, and I had to put my head in my hands to try and stop it from spinning. Finally, after forcing myself to breathe slowly for a few minutes, I got up and went into the bathroom.

  My eyes were red and bloodshot as I caught a glimpse of them in the mirror. I turned on the water in the shower and then peed for the first time in two days without having to look over my shoulder or hold on to a bar because the floor was moving. The shower felt wonderful, and I just stood there under the spray, letting the last few days wash off me and down the drain in a swirl of suds. Closing my eyes, feeling the water run down my back, I thought about all the things I had to do that day. Slowly, as I organized my thoughts under the constant pounding of the shower, a plan came together in my mind.

  Finding a place to live had to be my first priority, no matter how much I wanted to look for Jamie.

  Wrapped in a scratchy white towel, I walked back into the bedroom and got my first real look at the hotel room. I’d never stayed in a hotel before, so I had nothing to compare it to, but it looked nice enough. The cream-colored carpeting was plush under my bare feet. The bed had been comfortable, even with the sheets tucked under the bottom of the mattress and the thin floral blanket tossed onto the floor. A small desk stood up against the wall with a wooden chair pushed in against it. There was also a small chest of drawers and a stand with a small dorm refrigerator and microwave.

  I wasn’t sure how long I would be staying, so I didn’t unpack. Instead, I pulled a wrinkled pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt out of the duffel. I checked the time on my phone and saw it was nearly seven in the morning, although it felt much later. I’d slept for about twelve hours but still felt tired. After very little sleep on the bus, my body must have really needed it. My stomach snarled, reminding me that sleep wasn’t the only thing my body needed. Remembering the free breakfast, I decided to save my money and take advantage of it, so I threw on the clothes and headed downstairs.

  A guy stood at the desk as I passed, and he looked up just long enough to nod at me as I followed the signs to breakfast. A counter against the back wall was set up with all kinds of breakfast food. My outlook on the day couldn’t have been any brighter: I had finally made it to San Diego, I had a place to stay, I had food, and I had a plan. Pulling the straps of my backpack over my shoulders, I grabbed two plates and loaded them up with food. My stomach screamed in protest when I left the plates on a nearby table to get a cup of coffee. As the coffee streamed from the machine into the cup, I looked around at the various different kinds of creamers and sugars and, to my delight, found caramel. I had no idea how that would taste with toaster waffles and syrup, but I had a feeling I would need the sugar-fueled energy. Smirking to myself, I remembered there was no one around to tell me what I should and shouldn’t have.

  It was frightening and liberating.

  Sitting down at the table, I pulled out a list of options I’d printed for rooms to rent and decided to start with the five that were closest to public transportation. I shoveled another forkful of the rubbery scrambled eggs into my mouth and grabbed the local bus schedule I’d found at the station. I used the map, schedule, and list of addresses to figure out how to get to each of the places on my list. If I didn’t find anything with that list, I would have to ask th
e guy at the hotel desk if there was an Internet café or public library nearby so I could find something else.

  The sausage was cold and the waffles were like cardboard, but the coffee was fantastic. I was really starting to like the taste and the kick from the caffeine. I finally saw what all of the fuss was about and why Carolyn swore she wasn’t human without at least one cup in the morning.

  I missed Carolyn.

  Even though I’d texted my parents the night before to let them know I’d arrived, I felt compelled to text Carolyn again. It felt good knowing that I could text whenever I needed reassurance. My text explained that I finally understood her coffee addiction and that maybe I was starting to form one as well. While waiting for her response, I grabbed my bag and refilled my coffee to take back upstairs. Carolyn’s reply came as I was walking down the hall from the elevator to my room. She swore it was a love affair and not an addiction. I laughed and swiped the card through the reader.

  For the next week, I grabbed my notes each morning and the newspaper left by the hotel staff, taking them down to the breakfast buffet. I started with the apartment ads, going through each one carefully, trying to find something, anything, that would work for me. Each place was more expensive than the one before it. There were few listings for roommates or rooms for rent; mostly the paper contained apartments, condo sublets, and houses. Not only were they out of my price range, they would also need furniture that I didn’t have. I wrote down the cheapest ones because even if they were too expensive for me in the long term, staying in this hotel would quickly drain all my savings.

  After the apartments, I checked the help-wanted ads, and they were even less promising. Each listing I read required special training, or a driver’s license, or experience I just didn’t have. The only reference I could give a potential boss was the dojo, and looking at the requirements for some of those jobs, it wouldn’t be much help. Once breakfast was over, I returned to the room to make the calls I’d listed and then explored the area around the hotel looking for retail or fast-food jobs.