 |
| The Greyhound Station in Delaware Water Gap |
In the late summer of 2009, I rode the greyhound from Delaware Water Gap, Pennsylvania to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I had a pillow, a backpack and a gym bag. The pillow was stuffed full of random goodies that I thought were too important to leave behind. The backpack had my computer, a bunch of spices, and a bunch of tea. Maybe some pasta too; I forget. The gym bag was full of clothing. I also had my camera. I had decided I was moving about a week beforehand. I had just arrived home from 2 1/2 months of being on the road to a landlord that wanted to evict me, a bank account of $42 dollars, and my (seemingly) final semester of college rapidly approaching.
I felt detached from little ol' Stroudsburg and had spent the past year and some odd months fetishing South Dakota. I called up some friends, found a floor to crash on, sold a bunch of records and cds, and bought myself a bus ticket. I showed up at the bus station late and missed the first bus, but managed to catch another one an hour later. We rode east into New York City first.
While i was sitting in the Port Authority, police chased a pigeon about. I sat awkwardly next to a girl who was reading a book with a blue, white, and very indie book cover. I had never ridden the bus and was terrified of sitting next to some big smelly dude, so i latched onto a quiet and nice looking girl. We sat for about an hour waiting for the bus; Well, I sat. She and I were not interacting. I dug through my backpack, realizing I had only brought three books. All Bukowski. I had read them so many times that it was awfully difficult to get my interest up. So, I sat. Once the police finished chasing the pigeon, nothing really engaged me.
We got on the bus, and I asked to sit next to her. She said it was okay. We exchanged pleasantries. She was from Poland and riding to Chicago for a wedding. She was going to school to study Yiddish. When I asked what she planned to do with the degree, she told me not to ask such things. The conversation ended.
The next hours passed. Not quickly, mind you. Night time came and my body became aggravated. Unable to find any sort of comfort in the rigid seats, which were embraced by itchy fabric, I tossed and turned and scrunched up my body until the pain was rather severe. We stopped at a McDonalds around 1 am. Everyone poured off of the bus, a sad parade of half-zombies marched towards the dull neon golden arches. The building was nothing but grey cement. I sat outside with a few scrawny middle-aged fellows who were chainsmoking. They wore baseball caps, mild amounts of facial hair, and said nothing.
25 minutes later, the ride continued until we arrived in Cleveland at 3 am. The police don't chase the pigeons in this station. The pigeons just live in the bowl shaped chandeliers.
If there's one thing I've learned about the Cleveland greyhound station, it's that there is a physic field enclosing it that causes something to go wrong. In this instance, our bags were put on the wrong bus and we had to scamper around after an hour of waiting and move them ourselves, unsure we were actually moving them to the right bus. All went well, but many unassuming attendants sat dumbfounded as they were berated. Blank faced and adorned in neon yellow and orange, the attendants said little.
We arrived in Chicago after the sun came up and my polish friend made her leave. I sat next to a quiet, well-groomed fellow my age who didn't speak English. It worked well. But across the aisle sat a man who took up both seats, wore short shorts, reeked of unrefrigerated cheese, and had a sort of a vanilla ice with grey hair hair-cut. He decided I was worth talking to. He was riding all the way out to Seattle to go crab fishing and was very interested in my love life.
We arrived in Chicago after the sun came up and my polish friend made her leave. I sat next to a quiet, well-groomed fellow my age who didn't speak English. It worked well. But across the aisle sat a man who took up both seats, wore short shorts, reeked of unrefrigerated cheese, and had a sort of a vanilla ice with grey hair hair-cut. He decided I was worth talking to. He was riding all the way out to Seattle to go crab fishing and was very interested in my love life.
"You got a girlfriend?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"You go to high school prom?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"Oh..."
(A momentary pause, then he spoke again)
"Well, at least this driver isn't black."
"What?????" (punctuated by bewildered laughter)
Then it was silence. By this time, It was very flat outside. I watched the prairie roll by, both excited and terrified that my new home looked sort of like this. The flat land was both claustrophobic and agoraphobic and my senses were hooked up all wrong after the night of half-sleep on the bus.
 |
| Minneapolis, near the bus station. |
Eventually I was picked up by Rosa, who would be my housemate in a few months. The stay at Maggie's was almost silent. The ride with Rosa was almost silent. After about 7 hours on a small road, we were in Aberdeen. I got to Leah's, set up camp on her floor, and no longer lived in Pennsylvania.
