by Robin Reul
“Suicide is someone who wants to die. Assisted suicide is about compassion—not subjecting a terminally ill person and their loved ones to unnecessary pain and suffering in a battle they can’t win.”
“But it’s still taking your own life, right? That’s super intense. I guess if the person is suffering and they know there’s no cure. But even then—that’s a tricky one. What if they make a mistake and say you have six weeks to live and you could have lived another twenty years? How can they know exactly how long?”
“But that’s just it; it’s up to the individual, not doctors or anything else,” she explains. “He’s decided to take back the only total control over his life he’s got—his death. He gets to pick everything out—the music, his clothes, the day and time, who he wants there when it happens. It’s all on his terms. Seems to me like the way to go.”
“I guess.” I think about how my dad went. On an operating table, splayed open—all the technology and modern medicine couldn’t save him. Definitely not on his terms.
“Owen said he’d keep going until it got too intense. He doesn’t want to put himself or his family and friends through that, which I respect. His family is super supportive.” Her brow furrows, and she sighs deeply. “You probably think it’s weird if I tell you that the one person who completely gets me is someone I’ve never actually met.”
“Not at all.”
“And it’s looking like it’s going to stay that way.” She looks so disappointed. “I really wanted to meet him.”
“Sure.” I know what that is to be denied closure with someone—not only with my dad but Alex too—and how it messes you up a little bit every single day of your life, like some app perpetually running in the background. I sincerely hope she gets to Medford in time to see him.
“Well, anyway, fingers crossed there’s no issues with your bus too.” She adds and smiles, but her sadness seeps through like water in a paper bag. It’s a look I recognize because I see it on my face in the mirror every day.
For a second, I allow myself to imagine that I am on my way to go see Alex. It unearths a roller coaster of emotions. I’ve loved him and hated him at the same time for so long now. What would that be like? When we were younger, we used to be close, but then things started to change when he went to high school. He started acting out, getting into trouble, partying hard. I was scared he would die, furious that he wouldn’t stop. It was hard for me to understand addiction when I was younger, how it lives under the skin, waiting for the opportunity to once again hijack your brain. Things seemed to spiral out of control whenever he was around, but now that I’m older, I realize it wasn’t entirely his fault.
I didn’t get to have closure with my dad, but it’s still achievable to have it with Alex. Maybe the timing of my discovering that letter is because Dad is trying to give that to us both. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow, but Alex deserves to know how Dad felt. And it could be my chance to talk with him about everything that’s happened, to finally uncover the truth and move forward feeling a sense of resolution one way or another.
My car key digs into my thigh. I reach into my front pocket to adjust it, and as I extract my hand, my fortune from earlier spirals to the floor, settling faceup next to my shoe.
A ship in harbor is safe, but that’s not why ships are built.
I lean down and pick it up, turning the paper over and over between my fingers.
Honestly—I would give anything to get lost for a while, to burn the map. Sad but true: in eighteen years, my ship has yet to leave the freaking harbor unless you count the literal cruise I went on to Mexico with my family when I was nine. In fact, the most spontaneous and outrageous thing I’ve done in years was this one time I tried sushi from a gas station.
That exact moment, an older woman walks by wearing a sweatshirt with a glittery, red dragonfly on the front. It feels like an unmistakable sign from Dad, as if he’s somehow weighing in and validating what I’m thinking.
I glance at the clock on the wall. I have less than twenty-four hours until my flight. Technically, I don’t need to be in New York until Monday morning when I start my internship and meet my mother for dinner. Nothing is stopping me from actually going.
Alex, who always forged his own path, might be the one person able to help me make sense of the chatter and static in my brain. The more I think on it, the more I realize how much I need to see him before I leave for good.
I might also be able to help Hallie get a little farther down the road safely, upping the chance she gets to see her friend. It’s an opportunity to clear my past karma and help change her story.
Mine too, maybe.
I covertly pull up the Greyhound website on my phone and with a few keystrokes discover there’s a bus leaving from San Francisco to Medford, Oregon tomorrow morning at eleven thirty.
Perfect.
One minor glitch: my car is currently completely blocked in at a party that won’t end for at least another four hours, and there’s a ticking clock here. There’s no time to waste waiting for my car to be freed, and Hallie is apparently scared of every other form of transportation except buses. So how do we get there?
Then a light bulb goes on over my head. Karma.
“Wait here,” I say to her even as I’m on my feet moving toward the exit. Halfway out the door, I realize I’ve left my backpack inside with Hallie. Having entrusted me with her bag, I have equal faith that she won’t bolt with mine. Right now, every second counts.
Normally, I’m not a big risk taker. If playing it safe were an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medalist. My therapist, Carole, says I need to do what scares me so I can prove to myself that things rarely go as badly as I spin them in my brain. I’m about to test-drive that theory.
Outside the terminal, I walk briskly down the line of cars parked in the taxi zone on the off chance Oscar’s miraculously still here.
He’s not.
But he gave me his business card. I dig in my back pocket for it, then whip out my phone and punch in his number. My heart is racing. It’s a long shot he’d even go for the idea, but I’m thinking on my feet here.
He answers on the third ring. I can hear the strains of the late George Michael’s song “Freedom” at full volume, and then quickly he turns it down and says, “Hello, this is Oscar. What’s the word, bird?”
His voice catches me off guard because suddenly there’s not a trace of the outback in it. He sounds more like he’s a mobster from New Jersey.
“Oscar the GoodCarma driver, right?”
“The very same.”
“I didn’t recognize your voice. You had a thick Australian accent. This is Jack Freeman. You drove me to the bus station about a half hour ago?”
He laughs. This time when he speaks his voice is void of any regional dialects whatsoever, just straight-up California. “Yeah…I’m not really from Australia. I’m originally from the Valley. North Hollywood born and raised. I was working on my accent earlier. I’m an actor. I’m up for a small part in this commercial and thought it might kick it up a notch if I played it Australian, you know? They’ll see my range. You completely bought it, right?”
“A hundred percent.” A little flattery can’t hurt, and he had me fooled.
“Excellent. I watched every Hugh Jackman movie in existence twice until I nailed it. You forget something, my friend?”
“Wow, that is commitment to craft. Actually—I’m calling because I have a business proposition for you.”
“You have my full attention,” he says. I silently cross my fingers and hold them up.
“You mentioned that you’re headed to San Francisco to stop your ex’s wedding and you have to give up a weekend of pay, which sucks. Here’s the thing, Oscar: all the buses are delayed coming into and out of LA from the south right now, and I need to get to San Francisco too. I know a win-win solution to our misfortune.”
&
nbsp; He shuts off his stereo entirely. “Go on.”
I quickly pull out my wallet and inventory the contents. “I am offering a high-denomination Target gift card, eighty-six dollars cash, a coupon for a delicious high-quality burger from In-N-Out, plus all your gas and caffeine in exchange for your services if you’ll consider leaving slightly ahead of schedule and driving me to San Francisco tonight instead. It’s like getting money to do something you were going to do anyhow. And also, I’m going to ask the girl from earlier if she’ll come with me.”
After a long pause, he says, “Give me ten minutes to stop by my apartment on the way to get my stuff and we’re good to go.”
“Seriously?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, sure, why not?”
I exhale, relieved. “You, Oscar, are a fantastic human. We’ll meet you in front of the bus station as soon as you can get here.” I turn on my heel, fist pumping the air as I hurry back to the terminal.
I’m hopeful I can convince Hallie to come with me, but even if I can’t, I am now fully committed to making this journey. If she doesn’t want to join me, I won’t need Oscar’s help to get to San Francisco. He can just take me back to Carly’s house instead. I can wait until my car is freed, and then I’ll drive myself.
I’ve been moving through my life on autopilot, trying to please everyone else. But everything is different now. Dad isn’t here anymore, Natasha and I are done, and Mom is three thousand miles away, literally and figuratively. I can’t lose Alex too, not when there’s still any chance to make things right.
I make a beeline for the bench by the vending machine where we’d been sitting. Hallie’s not there. And neither is my backpack. Instead, there’s an older Latina woman in her spot. A little girl with pigtails is resting her head on her lap. The woman looks up at me.
“Excuse me, did you happen to see a girl who was here just a minute ago? Purple hair, lots of ear piercings, shoes with cats on them?” I ask her, trying not to sound too panicked since I’ve literally been gone less than five minutes. If even. What the actual hell?
The woman nods and speaks low so as not to wake the little girl. “Yes, she was here. She gave me her seat so my granddaughter could sleep. I think she left.”
“She left?” My stomach lurches with panic. Where could she possibly have gone in that short an amount of time? I frantically scan the room for purple hair and a Hello Kitty suitcase.
Nothing.
It’s possible she was put on another bus after all.
Or she could be in the bathroom.
On the chance it’s the latter, I sit down on a bench facing the bathrooms and decide to wait it out for a few minutes just in case. After four people come and go, it sinks in that she’s not in there either, and people are starting to look at me funny like I’m some perv.
I must have read her completely wrong. Perhaps she saw my leaving as an opportunity to shake me off and she snuck out, taking my backpack with her. The backpack and clothes I can replace, but my heart lurches thinking about losing Dad’s letter to Alex.
Sadly, this was the most excited I’ve felt about anything in a long time, which I suppose only underscores my need to take more risks.
I stand up, defeated, ready to leave and put all thoughts of Hallie Baskin back on the shelf when I spy a pair of shoes with embroidered cat faces poking out from a bench toward the back corner of the waiting area, partially obscured by a large, fake potted palm.
My adrenaline surges as I cross the room toward her, and she comes into full view. She’s leaning against her suitcase reading. My backpack is propped carefully on the other side of her. She looks up at my hasty approach and quickly snaps the book shut.
“Where the heck did you go?” she asks, her tone part annoyance, part worry.
“Where the heck did you go?” I shoot back.
She bobs her head in the direction of this scary-looking guy who looks like he jumped out of an America’s Most Wanted poster. “That dude was freaking me out. I didn’t want him staring at me all night. And then this other lady needed a place where her kid could lie down, so—”
I cut her off and smile. “What if I told you I might have a solution to the current lack of transportation situation?”
“Have you commandeered a bus?”
“Better. I’m driving with Oscar to San Francisco, and I think you should come with us.”
Chapter 7
Hallie
Friday, June 4, 10:16 p.m.
I emit a single laugh and look at him like he’s just suggested we fly on a spaceship to the moon. “Drive to San Francisco? With you and Oscar the GoodCarma driver we met less than an hour ago? And you were worried about me going to visit some boy I’d met online because I might end up on Dateline?”
“Yes.” He moves his backpack aside and sits down on the bench, angling toward me. “Hear me out. San Francisco is more or less halfway to Medford. Since we’re both heading north, we might as well keep each other company. You could get your ticket changed to leave from there on a morning bus to Portland which would still probably get you there before this one would, and you’ll have a story to tell.”
He’s actually serious. I don’t even know how to respond. Aside from the fact that he and Oscar are basically strangers, most of my money is wrapped up in my bus ticket, which I’ll still need, and my funds are limited. I can’t risk taking on more.
I tell him, “I could barely afford my ticket as it was. I didn’t budget for any extra expenses.”
“There wouldn’t be any,” he assures me. “Like I said, I’m already going there. You’re basically just freeloading. Besides, your fortune did say something about accepting the next proposition you hear, right?”
I laugh. It’s a generous offer, and it definitely increases the odds I will get to see Owen before it’s too late, which is not a guarantee otherwise at this point. “So, if I go and you turn out to be a serial killer and they find my bits in a shallow ditch on the side of I-5, I can sue Panda Express.”
“Exactly. Well, maybe not you, because you’d be dead.”
“Right.” I study him for a minute, then say, “Can I ask you a question? And you can be totally honest with me. I won’t say anything.”
“Yes, I have never missed a single day of school since kindergarten. I’m that guy. The rumors are true.”
“Impressive, though not quite where I was headed.”
“Not sure what else it could possibly be,” he jokes.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, trying to figure him out. I’ve noticed little details that on their own look like nothing, but together they add up enough that I have questions, if not theories. Normally, I’d say it’s none of my business, but if I’m going to consider keeping company with him for the next six hours, it seems reasonable to know what I’m getting myself into. I ask him, “Truth: Does anyone know where you are right this minute?”
He laughs, but I can see the question catches him off guard. It’s obvious my gut was correct and I’m on target. “Why would you think that?”
I shrug. “Just a vibe. I’m pretty good at reading people. You’re sitting in a bus terminal alone on grad night. You’ve checked your phone about a million times. And you’re wearing your hoodie inside out, which, unless it’s a fashion statement, means you’re distracted. I think there’s more to your story.”
He bites back a smile. “You’ve really Scooby-Doo’d this, Velma. You’re here. So, does that mean there’s more to your story?”
“Of course.”
He reaches back, feeling for the exposed tag and blushes as he casually rights his sweatshirt. “You’re right. Nobody knows where I am right now, but that’s because I didn’t even know I was going to be here.”
“I see.”
“I’m supposed to be leaving for New York tomorrow to start this internship and then college in the fall, but a lo
t has changed since I made those plans. I’m hopeful that seeing my brother may be the key to making sense of it all. I didn’t even realize how important it is to me to go visit him until I saw you tonight. Since we both need to get from A to B, I thought it would be cool if maybe we went together. I mean—to San Francisco. Not to see my brother, obviously.”
“Oh. Wow. That sounds intense.” He seems harmless, but I still sense there’s more he’s probably not telling me. Of course, there’s plenty I haven’t told him.
He looks at me encouragingly. “Whaddaya say?”
Everything in me wants to, but my brain starts coming up with all the logical and obvious reasons why I shouldn’t. I can’t simply jump in a car with two guys I’ve basically just met, although technically it’s not all that different than hopping on a bus with fifty complete strangers. He actually looks a little surprised, if not disappointed, when I reply, “I’m sorry. I can’t. But thank you.”
“Oh. Sure. I understand,” he says. He grabs his sideburns and pulls them straight on either side of his head and smiles. “It’s my hair, isn’t it? I know—it’s way too long and does this flippy thing over my ears.”
“That’s it, you got me.” I laugh. “Plus, I never trust a guy with a side part.”
“I knew it.”
“It’s nothing personal.”
“Sure, I get it.” He stands and reaches for his backpack, sliding his arms through the straps. “Well, Oscar should be here any minute, so I should probably go wait for him out front.”
“It was nice seeing you again, Jack. Safe travels and good luck.”
He smiles and gives me a little salute before he turns on his heel to leave. “Yeah, you too.”
I open my book again, trying to focus on the words, but I steal another glance at him, his back to me as he pushes open the door a little harder than necessary and exits the terminal. Just like that, Jack Freeman disappears all over again.
As the minutes pass, I start second-guessing my decision. I may not know Jack, but there’s a familiarity about him that makes me feel safer traveling with him versus being alone. And if seeing Owen is important to me, this could be my best, if not only, shot at making that happen. From the sound of it, I’m not going to be on a bus anytime soon.