Bus

I wake up to the person next to me shuffling through her bag. I stay still for a moment as I try to piece everything together. The sun tickles the edge of my eye but I can tell it is full of tricks as a strip of ice blows across the window.

I boarded the bus around the first hours of darkness, and it now seems to be midmorning based on the pale yellows cast around the space. As far as I can see the only identifiable feature is corn, but deep within my heart I feel something larger approaching. My neck is stiff and cries for a break, and my arms rejoice the sleep by stretching overhead. 

Chicago. I knew little about it besides for the isolation of the surrounding countryside and blues music. I had never been there, and knew no one. I suppressed the voice inside telling me to go back. 

“Is this your first time?” The woman next to me had clearly been observing for a while. The warmth of her tone and sound of her words indicated she was from the south, but a bus from New York to Chicago would make that story a bit troubling.

“Yes, just traveling around for a bit.” I pretended to fix a hangnail.

She wasn’t content with my answer. I continued, “I needed to get away. I don’t really have a destination in mind."

She nodded like she understood. In the space between us I could feel a common need to escape, but the pain associated with the escape felt different. 

I wanted to know more. “Are you from Chicago?" The woman thought about it a moment longer than I had anticipated, the lines of worry in her face exaggerated. 

“You can say that." I didn’t think I should pry further.

“Do you have recommendations for the best place to hear the blues?”

“Yes but they’re not in your parts of town honey.” 

I looked back at my finger out of confusion. Were we not going to the same city?

We finished the ride in quiet.