By Restless [Originally on goofyblog 10.28.07]
Midnight in a Greyhound depot underneath one of Pittsburgh’s many bridges. The harshly lit rectangle of a room was packed. Amish, black, latin, whites. One of my bus mates from New York, a short, fat guy, sat down at the table next to what passed for a café. Based in Arkansas, he delivered school buses for a living, then took the bus back. Without prompting, he went off on George Bush, a scenario to be repeated with others over the next few days.
An hour passed and we re-boarded, with a fresh bus driver and some fresh passengers. Our Opus Dei pastor had taken the bus to Cleveland, thank the Lord. A Rob Zombie lookalike, tall, dreads, guitar strapped to his back, sat a few rows back.
We drove out from under the bridge and up through town to the freeway as our new driver did the standard spiel twisting it into a mildly funny standup routine. We were on the road to Columbus, set to arrive at 4am for an hour breakfast break. Hadn’t seen my friend Bill, who lived near there, so I’d called him as I left New York to see if he was up to a real early start to his Friday and he was game.
I tried to doze in the dark, now quiet bus. 2 hours later, we pulled over onto that area between an on ramp and the far right lane of a freeway. Our driver announced there was a problem with the bus and we’d have to wait for a replacement to be sent from Columbus, now 70 miles away. He allowed us outside for a smoke and fresh air, but told us: stay close to the bus, stay off of the on ramp.
The freeway was deserted; the on ramp looked to be the outlet for a small country road. I went out twice, calling my friend to tell him of our delay, then walking up the on ramp away from the bus to take a piss. The night was mild, breezeless and quiet. I took my seat on the bus, sitting a few rows behind the driver.
I could hear something coming down the ramp. Then desperate shouts watch out! watch out!! And thwack!!! — a sickening sound – a car swerved into view stopping in my line of sight on the island in front of the bus. A guy in a white T-shirt got out wringing his hands and walked back. He’d plowed into a young Jewish man who’d been walking with an Asian man on the ramp talking their backs turned. When they finally saw the approaching car they tried to dodge it – just as the driver tried did the same.
The passengers across the aisle went into a running narrative. A young girl ran back onto the bus and down the aisle crying. I couldn’t bring myself to look. I thought it might have been Rob Zombie, who was out there and whom I’d spoken to a few minutes before.
First a fire truck, then 2 state trooper cars, finally an ambulance came. I could see the driver of the car being put into the back of one of the trooper cars. He was weeping. He passed a breathalyzer test and was eventually released to drive away even before our replacement bus arrived. The medical people were helping the Asian passenger sit up on the gurney, then carried him into the ambulance.
The young man died later that night. He was 26, on his way to visit a grandmother in St. Louis.
An hour later, we got a new bus and driver, drove to a rest stop, waited another hour for a mechanic to fill the old bus with coolant. When our original driver limped the old bus into our stop, he sat in front on the right. He was inconsolable. In sue-happy America, he was about to have major problems.
We got to Columbus 3 hours late and were met by insurance investigators who kept us from leaving for another 2 hours.
Why were those guys walking in the road like that? Why didn’t the bus driver go to the rest stop? Life is so fragile, it can end so easily.
I’d been watching many documentaries on the wars of the past 30 years. Millions have died just because of a concept, a political dogma or religious belief. During Pol Pot’s reign of terror just wearing glasses was a death sentence. Our passenger had died young, there was no reason, no meaning to it.
Get your affairs in order. Be aware of the gift of life.
My friend met me at the Columbus depot then had to go to work. While waiting for our bus to depart for St. Louis, I watched a cluster of Amish men wearing Panama hats and long beards accompanied by one Amish woman in blue full-length dress and matching bonnet. They were speaking what sounded like Dutch, smiling and politely joking with each other.
Our new driver, the only woman driver during the entire trip, barreled out of the station trying to make up for some of the time lost. I napped fitfully wondering what more lay ahead.
[to be continued]
An hour passed and we re-boarded, with a fresh bus driver and some fresh passengers. Our Opus Dei pastor had taken the bus to Cleveland, thank the Lord. A Rob Zombie lookalike, tall, dreads, guitar strapped to his back, sat a few rows back.
We drove out from under the bridge and up through town to the freeway as our new driver did the standard spiel twisting it into a mildly funny standup routine. We were on the road to Columbus, set to arrive at 4am for an hour breakfast break. Hadn’t seen my friend Bill, who lived near there, so I’d called him as I left New York to see if he was up to a real early start to his Friday and he was game.
I tried to doze in the dark, now quiet bus. 2 hours later, we pulled over onto that area between an on ramp and the far right lane of a freeway. Our driver announced there was a problem with the bus and we’d have to wait for a replacement to be sent from Columbus, now 70 miles away. He allowed us outside for a smoke and fresh air, but told us: stay close to the bus, stay off of the on ramp.
The freeway was deserted; the on ramp looked to be the outlet for a small country road. I went out twice, calling my friend to tell him of our delay, then walking up the on ramp away from the bus to take a piss. The night was mild, breezeless and quiet. I took my seat on the bus, sitting a few rows behind the driver.
I could hear something coming down the ramp. Then desperate shouts watch out! watch out!! And thwack!!! — a sickening sound – a car swerved into view stopping in my line of sight on the island in front of the bus. A guy in a white T-shirt got out wringing his hands and walked back. He’d plowed into a young Jewish man who’d been walking with an Asian man on the ramp talking their backs turned. When they finally saw the approaching car they tried to dodge it – just as the driver tried did the same.
The passengers across the aisle went into a running narrative. A young girl ran back onto the bus and down the aisle crying. I couldn’t bring myself to look. I thought it might have been Rob Zombie, who was out there and whom I’d spoken to a few minutes before.
First a fire truck, then 2 state trooper cars, finally an ambulance came. I could see the driver of the car being put into the back of one of the trooper cars. He was weeping. He passed a breathalyzer test and was eventually released to drive away even before our replacement bus arrived. The medical people were helping the Asian passenger sit up on the gurney, then carried him into the ambulance.
The young man died later that night. He was 26, on his way to visit a grandmother in St. Louis.
An hour later, we got a new bus and driver, drove to a rest stop, waited another hour for a mechanic to fill the old bus with coolant. When our original driver limped the old bus into our stop, he sat in front on the right. He was inconsolable. In sue-happy America, he was about to have major problems.
We got to Columbus 3 hours late and were met by insurance investigators who kept us from leaving for another 2 hours.
Why were those guys walking in the road like that? Why didn’t the bus driver go to the rest stop? Life is so fragile, it can end so easily.
I’d been watching many documentaries on the wars of the past 30 years. Millions have died just because of a concept, a political dogma or religious belief. During Pol Pot’s reign of terror just wearing glasses was a death sentence. Our passenger had died young, there was no reason, no meaning to it.
My friend met me at the Columbus depot then had to go to work. While waiting for our bus to depart for St. Louis, I watched a cluster of Amish men wearing Panama hats and long beards accompanied by one Amish woman in blue full-length dress and matching bonnet. They were speaking what sounded like Dutch, smiling and politely joking with each other.
Our new driver, the only woman driver during the entire trip, barreled out of the station trying to make up for some of the time lost. I napped fitfully wondering what more lay ahead.
[to be continued]
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