The Ride of a Lifetime
Linda Carter
I came close to being “felt up” on a Greyhound bus
as I traveled home for Christmas break in 1978. Before you think I would treat
this topic lightly, please understand the circumstances.
I was a sophomore in college. You could tell how
sophisticated I was because I made a big show of reading Look Homeward Angel by
Thomas Wolfe and smoking Old Gold Lights.
The bus trip was an arduous trek across the great
state of South Dakota
As darkness fell, the only signs of life came from
yard lights marking the occasional farmhouse in a black, black night.
We stopped often at tiny town cafes to pick up more
people. And more people. It soon became apparent to those of us lucky enough to
have a seat that the bus was oversold, way oversold.
Weary passengers stood in the aisle, clutching
aluminum poles and nodding off every now and then. Once in awhile one of them would
jerk awake and glance around sheepishly to see if anyone noticed.
The smell, oh my God the smell. People sweated profusely in heavy winter
coats they had nowhere to hang. Crying babies pooped their diapers and threw up
on their harried parents.
This had to be illegal, right? But no one wanted to
be the one left behind, unable to catch a ride to that magical Christmas
destination.
Just in front of me, an elderly woman massaged
Vicks Vap O Rub onto her neck and chest, filling the air with a minty aroma.
Next to her a man in a threadbare coat gave off a stench of Christian Brothers
Brandy and Brylcreem.
I was fighting the urge to puke when I felt a tug
at my sleeve. I looked up into the doe eyes of a teenage boy, about 14, with
sandy brown hair. Man his feet hurt, he told me, could he just rest on the edge
of my seat for awhile?
I graciously agreed, proud of the magnanimous
gesture I was making. He swaggered a bit as he sat down, balancing himself on
the armrest of my seat.
We talked briefly and he told me he was on his way
to visit his Grandmother for the holidays. As the lights from our last stop
vanished into the distance, the blackness of the night prairie descended once
again on the crowded bus.
At first I thought I was dreaming, but then I realized
a hand truly was moving slowly up my thigh, searching for gold at the end of
the rainbow.
When I realized what and who it was I quickly
removed his hand, hissing NO as quietly and forcefully as I could. He shrugged,
then began a daring attempt to climb
Mt.
I swear to God he was like an octopus on steroids.
I fought him off for half an hour, tempted to lodge a complaint, but afraid of
the embarrassment this action would cause. If this happened today, I would
simply squeeze a nut sack until screaming commenced or threaten the driver with
a heavy duty lawsuit.
This night was just another cog in my wheel of
life, but it taught me something incredibly profound.
I learned true maturity does not come in showing
people what you read or smoke. It comes in how you handle yourself, face the
unexpected and lay down limits. This boy wanted nothing more than to regale his
pals with tales of lust on a Greyhound Bus.
He never got to finish his journey that night, but
I did.
Story by Linda Carter 2014
