The wind mocks my ankles at the bus depot. I’ve been staring at the departure board for half an hour. I’d watch a bus to Boston load, as well as Baltimore. The passengers were as mindless and sheep, and I wondered if their final destination brought them joy.
A friend told me this bus depot was easy to sneak on without paying as long as your pushed on with a lot of people. The darkness was seeping further into the sky, and I worried I missed my opportunity. The board still listed multiple busses for the night, so I leaned back and slid to a seat on the cement.
I pulled my coat closer to contain warmth, and tapped my toe gently.
“Need a ride?” I planted my feet and jumped up.
I turned around and felt myself holding my bag closer and clenching in defense. The man staring back at me had a childish smile, but a loss of innocence in his eyes. His hair shined with grease and fell almost to his chin. It was almost impossible to study his face any longer due to the blinding gleam of his motorcycle. It was an offensive type of patriotism, with aggressive American flags plastered across the sides. It seemed like his bike gave him a confidence boost and a barrier from the real world, but to others it was his greatest weakness.
“Do you always come here to hit on girls?” I did my best to show I had no interest and started to walk away. I failed.
“I’m from LA. Only passing through. And I only stop for pretty girls like yourself who look as lost as me.”
I paused. I felt his eyes passing over me. He reeked of ulterior motives.
“We aren’t going to the same place.” I took a step further away.
“Well who told you that? Im guessing you’re leaving this city for a search of freedom, is that right? I’d reckon we are looking for the same freedom.”
The headlights of an incoming bus set his metallic bike ablaze.
“This is my bus.” I left him no room to interject.
I felt self conscious as I walked towards the door of the bus. I scolded myself for giving him that power.
Climbing the stairs I heard him call “I hope you find what you’re looking for!”
It took every ounce of my boiling blood to not go back and give him a piece of my mind.
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