Don't Use Cellphones

"You're always doing this!"

The bus conductor shouted at me when I handed him my ticket. I just looked at him. "Every time you come here it's the same old thing. You never learn." He continues on, looking at my ticket with a frown, bringing it up close to his eyes. "Yeah, and you're going to Ahoskie again too!!" I don't know what you're talking about, I tell him. I haven't been to Ahoskie in three years. And this is the first time I've ever seen you. "I'm not talking about YOU. I'm talking about all you people going to Ahoskie. You're always taking the 8:30pm bus, but we don't get into Norfolk until 5:00am. Your connecting bus leaves at 5:30am. That means that I have to get there on time or you'll miss your bus." That's cool, I hunch my shoulders. When's the next bus? "That's what I'm trying to tell you. There IS NO next bus to Ahoskie." What? "You'll be stuck in Norfolk until somebody comes out to get you."

I get that sinking feeling. What am I supposed to do now? I get on the bus, that's what. I get on the bus and find a seat in the middle because I've been told that in the majority of bus wrecks, the people in the middle seats survive unharmed. I don't know where I got that from, but I get in the middle anyway. Soon, bus Operator Smith introduces himself over the PA system of the bus. He is a tall, broad, thick Black male with a bald head. A military type. The kind that gets up in the morning and does sixty push ups and sit up and then barks at the dog. He does the same to us over the PA. He lays down the fucking law on his goddamned bus, and if you don't motherfuck like it, you can step off now! And then he pleasantly reminds us to have a pleasant trip.

No one fucks with Operator's Smith's laws. They DON'T use their cellphones, they DON'T talk loudly, they DON'T drink in the back, or at least I think they don't. Shit I don't, not that I want to. I settle down and take in the ride. I try to read a book, but it knocks me out. I nap with an arm over my backpack, the 'baby's bassinet'. The bus roars to it's destination.

Later, after waking up from another nap, I hear Operator Smith on his cell phone calling ahead. "Yeah, I've got people going to Ahoskie on my bus. Don't pull off until I get there." Very professional, I think to myself. Although the driver on the other side is probably scared shitless of him. He literally shoots over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, a pretty long motherfucking bridge, and burns a flame trail into Norfolk Bus station. We are told to head to gate two as we jump out and grab our bags. The mass of us rush into the terminal with our bags, turn around and find gate two. I, being the self chosen, and much faster, leader of the bunch, bust through the doors of gate two...to see Operator Smith and his bus.

Hey, this is the same place! "He's not boarding now!" He barks, "Go back and wait inside!" I sulk back in, and sulk back to the back of a line that's starting to congeal. I am deflated. Soon, the next operator opens door number two and directs everyone down to a bus berthed at gate number one. I climb in and take a seat...in the middle of the bus, and stare out of the window. Light rain begins to pelt the window. Soon this bus too is rocketing down the highway. I try to read again and black out...with my arm over my baby. What I remember as being a long ride when I came the last time during the day, seemed incredibly short at night.

The bus lurched up into Ahoskie at ten after Seven am, cutting directly through town. I slide across in my seat, looking at the houses, until the bus gets up to North Academy, where I see my parent's house slip by. There is no car in the driveway. I take my seat again and this time stare out of my side of the bus. The gas station appears shortly and the bus makes a wide mouth turn into it, pulling up under the awning over the pumps. I jump in the que leaving the bus, step out side and grab my bag. When I turn around...

...HE is there. The one man that I am told that I look so much like. Time had waged havoc on him though. The passage of the arms of the clock has so crushed him, shriveling him up like a raisin. Yes, he still looked like my father, but a less heartier version of him. He was stooped over slightly but still spry. We shook hands and he took my bags . "Goddamn are you ugly." Gee, thanks poppy. "No I mean it," he turns and walks off. You have to know my father to understand his sense of humor. Although I've come to realize that it's not far from what he really thinks. He throws my bag into the backseats of one of his new Cadillacs and motions me to enter. I slip in and find my mother in the front passenger seat. She looks over her shoulder: "How are you doing boy?" All these years and she still calls me 'boy'. Great Ma. My father jumps in and off we go.

The house is pretty large if you take in its work shed and livingroom garage. Yeah, my father built a garage, a carport, and then a living room around the car inside so that he could relax, and look at his babies. He collects Cadillacs. I walk in and set down my bags. My mother shows me where everything is, as if this is my first time here. Soon, we retire to the den which is my father's communications center. Here he has his television and VCRs, constantly recording and watching CNN, or the local news channel, recording the news and replaying it back so that he doesn't miss a beat. He works his way tiredly over to his couch and stretches across it. My mother takes a seat on her chair at the head of the couch. She is heavy, still heavy. Not much has changed on her but her hair, now a soft white mantle of grey. I snap their picture. I want a record of them. I get that sinking feeling again.

We talk in my father's Situation Room.

This is going to turn out to be one interesting trip. Mark my words.

Hobobob