The Long Way Home

I could have blamed it on the intoxication of youth.

Others might find fault on just intoxication.

My parents would say that it was an act of plain stupidity.

Reality would point out that it was Thursday night at college and the youth are prone to err.

It’s a media trope, like Rebel Without a Cause. Whole movements begin with this idea that young people have tendencies to do stupid, reckless, and impulsive things. Remember Elvis?

Well, I disregard all of you goodie-goodie nay-sayers that spend every waking moment, including Friday nights, at the library. I also don’t count the opinion of the people who don’t venture outside into the wild at all because they’re too busy playing Skyrim all day and have virtual romantic relationships. I have nothing against libraries or videogames, but let’s be real here, there are valuable experiences outside the format of four walls.

Long story short, you will at least get that one unreasonable impulse to prove to yourself that that the invincibility and imperviousness that you feel during youth. It’s something tangible, something that can yield results like in chemistry lab or through gains in stocks. You want to get high from being at the cusp of adolescence; like the sweet smell of hookah that you know your neighbor smokes and you don’t know why it’s appealing.

You know what I’m talking about.

However, this isn’t about getting drunk on youth, but the sobriety that follows.

It was on a Thursday for me, coming home from drinking with a friend, celebrating her first job offer and meeting her current flame from Tinder.

It seemed crazy to think that we were all going to graduate in a few days and the thin veil between us and the real world would suddenly recede. We would eventually get jobs, settle down, and hope for the house with the white picket fence and the 2.5 children promised by the elusive American dream.

Of course, none of us wanted to think about that; we merely wanted to enjoy our Long Island Iced Teas and make idle chit chat about professors and exams and papers.

I departed early from our gathering, knowing all too well I needed to get some sleep before class the next day. Too enamored by the lights of the city and unable to take the beer glasses off, I decided to take a different route home.

I hopped on the 6 and sat down, waiting for the bus to turn down the road and towards the familiar, glittering lights of the downtown area.

The bus didn’t turn.

Instead, I was whisked away down streets I did not know with buildings I had never seen before. The lights of the downtown area faded and suddenly the bus was swallowed into dense darkness. It was sort of like going into hyperdrive from a thousand glittering stars and into a black hole…

And the passengers seemed to metamorphose into abysmal beings as well.

With every stop, the happy drunks from the Capitol hopped off and were replaced with the dark travelers of the night. The new passengers were those worn-out workers coming home from their dead end jobs or the nightcrawlers of the evening industries who were just heading out to do business. They all exuded this heavy ambience, like a collected and withheld sigh.

I felt so out of place. It was a complete buzzkill.

As sobriety settled in, so did panic. I realized that I was not going home. I was not going in the direction I was supposed to.

Damn, I needed a drink.

I leaned against my seat and clutched my purse, considering my options. I had five:

A) Get off at the next stop and hop on another bus

B) Call a cab and get off in a few stops to meet it

C) Call my hopefully sober friend to pick me up

D) Stay on the bus for the whole ride

E) Call Mom and Dad

I cringed at the last option. Right before I went out to drink, I had an argument with my Dad on the phone. I told him that I didn’t want to go on the family trip to Zion National Park again this year. We go there every year and hike down the same damn trail and everyone just gets really cranky and snippy at each other throughout the trip. I don’t want to be part of that this year. This year, I want to actually enjoy myself during break…

I stopped at that thought when I noticed that there were only three people left on the bus: a large man in dark clothing sitting at the back of the bus, the driver, and myself.

Time to freak out now.

Time to plan if one of the guys attacks me, which one am I more likely to kick the ass of.

Time for me to…

“Hey, girl… are you lost?”

The driver looked at me and asked, seemingly too considerate.

Shit. What do I say? A lie to protect myself or tell the truth to possibly help myself?

I have no idea… so I went with the latter, even though it was the more dangerous option.

“I was wondering when this bus gets to Carroll Street?”

The driver raised an eyebrow and frowned, “It’ll take another hour before I get there. You should have gotten on the other bus on the other side of the street.”

Right. Damn the alcohol.

“Oh, um, I see. Well, what can I do?” I laughed sheepishly, mentally beating myself up. What else can I do?

I don’t even know where I am.

We ventured further down the road, past the residential areas. The whole neighborhood was asleep, lethargic streetlamps standing guard on the corners of the blocks. The large man who was sitting in the back got off at one of those lonely lit areas and is swallowed whole by the darkness. I can’t help but sigh, feeling trapped.

“There should be another bus when we get to the mall. It is heading in the direction back to the city. I suggest you get on that one, dear,” the driver said quietly, keeping his eyes on the barely seen road.

I nodded, daring not to look at him as we continued down our journey. I glanced out the window and saw the comforting glow of the city lights on the other side of the shadowy waters of the lake that separated us. The buildings seemed to glimmer in the backdrop of night, as though floating in the air by itself.

It took a few minutes before we arrived at the mall. It seemed almost desolate at this time of night, the usually filled parking lot was empty and none of the signs were lit up.

On top of it all, it started raining.

“See, that’s him. Just go on the bus and wait for your stop,” the bus driver said as he opened the door for me, “Have a nice night.”

I thanked him before making a dash to the other bus, which thankfully was just a few feet away. Once inside the other bus, I plopped myself on the seat closest to the door and looked around for the driver, who was nowhere in sight. I let out a heavy sigh before leaning back, raising my head to look at the ceiling. What the hell was I doing here?

“You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

I scrambled to sit up straight in my chair, looking at who was talking. It was the driver of this bus. He was an elderly man, maybe in his late fifties, early sixties. He looked like he had been some sort of athlete or body builder in his younger years with his large arms and broad shoulders, but age had given way to other things like a beer belly and hair loss. He wore a baseball cap and the Metro uniform, somehow looking more unkempt than the other bus drivers I usually saw around. He smiled at me sympathetically as I sighed.

“I guess you could say that,” I responded. He merely nodded as he closed the door and started driving down his usual route.

The first few minutes of the drive were filled with peaceful silence. The driver hummed to himself, not saying much as he maneuvered through the slumbering neighborhoods. After a few more turns, I noticed the number of street lights increased; we finally had made it back to the main roads. I took that chance to finally take note of the areas we were driving by, not so scared of it anymore because I knew that the bus was heading where it needed to go. That, at least, gave me a sense of security and relief.

Glancing at the overhead mirror, he smiled.

“You a university student?”

I nodded, unable to take my eyes off of the enchantment of quiet, sleepy homes in contrast to the loud city I was so familiar to.

“What are you studying?” he asked, stopping the bus to pick up another nightcrawler.

“Atmospheric and Oceanic Sciences, sir,” I answered, “I want to be a meteorologist.”

“I have a son who’s about your age. He’s into that kind of thing too. He’s not majoring in it though. He wants to be a teacher.”

He continued to look down the road, not taking his eyes off of his route, “You’re not from around these areas, are you?”

“No,” I confessed, “I’m from the West Coast. I’m here because my parents went here.”

“But you enjoying yourself here?”

I shrugged. That was a loaded question. “It’s growing on me.”

I looked back once more out the window, remembering my fight with my Dad. I sighed and shook my head, turning to conversation to distract myself.

“Do you have any other kids?”

“I have thirteen,” he stated as he made a turn and stopped once more, picking up more passengers, most of them nightcrawlers and some of them partiers.

“Wow, is your son the oldest?” I asked.

He chuckled, “No, he’s second to the last. My youngest is twelve and my oldest is turning forty soon.” He turned the wheel and turned a street and turned himself, making sure to check the road.

“Wow. That’s quite an age gap.”

“I know,” he chuckled.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“It’s fine,” he looked at me through the overhead mirror, eyes twinkling like the streetlights we passed by.

“You know, you put me in a sentimental mood,” he said, the lilt in his voice sounded like a fond listlessness.

“How so, sir?” I asked quietly, looking out the window as we passed through the twinkling incandescent lights of the city.

“You know... You remind me of her.”

I turned to glance at him, “Of whom, sir?”

He kept his twinkling eyes on the road, but gave a small smile, “My oldest daughter, Perdita.”

“Oh.”

“Perri was a little spitfire... Outgoing, smart, sociable... Stubborn too, but she got that from me. Most of all, she had that far off look in her eyes, eyes that searched for the things beyond what me and her mother could offer.”

As I listened to him go on about Perdita growing up playing in the mud and dragging stray kittens into the house, I couldn’t help but wonder.

“What happened to her, sir?”

“She never liked the fact that I didn’t marry her mother. When we had Perri, we were too young, too naive. We fought too much, she drank too much. I got sober after we had Perri, working long hours to make ends meet,” he paused, a pregnant silence between us settled weightily before he went on.

“Then, I fell in love with another woman. I broke it off with Perri’s mom to be with her...

I tried to be a good father to Perri, but as she grew up, she became more resentful. She applied to college at the other side of the country and refused my help to pay for it. I...” He cleared his throat, hiding how choked up he was, before continuing on. “I have not seen or heard from her in over twenty years.”

As I listened to his story, I found myself shifting closer and closer to the front of the bus. I felt for him.

“My other children ended up the same way. I have thirteen of them and eleven don’t talk to me.” He laughed mirthlessly.

“Of course, they were different from Perri. They wanted to do drugs and party. None of them wanted a better life... And neither did their mothers. I blame myself for falling for the wrong women.”

We both were silent as he drove on, the dark night seeming denser than ever.

“Have you tried to contact Perri before? Ask for forgiveness?”

He shook his head. “I have, but she won’t even pick up the phone. I know she’s somewhere in New York with a nice house, a job, a family. Her husband sends cards to us every Christmas... But that’s it.”

“I see,” I bit my lip, “I... I’m sure she misses you and feels bad... She’ll come back. I’m sure that they all will. I hope they all realize someday that they’re wrong.”

I thought back to my Dad and the rest of my family, who were probably all asleep by now, nestled in our house, which wasn’t so different from the sleepy homes we passed by earlier.

I remembered my high school days when my Dad would leave the single porch light on when I stayed out late, that little beacon lighting up the surface of our driveway. He would scold me for staying out past curfew, but the light would always be left on when I came home.

I swallowed thickly, “I know it might sound weird from a stranger, but I think you’re a good dad.”

I looked away, back to distracting myself with the flickering lights of the slumbering sidewalks.

“Thank you, dear.” He smiled at me, taking a quick glance at me before turning to the road.“Looks like we’re back.”

The Capitol building shone like a beacon as we drove towards it, the city glowing with the life of the night.

As we drove through the twinkling streets of the familiar cityscape, an unkown feeling resounded inside me. It was stuck in my throat, thick and immovable.

Maybe it was guilt, I don’t know. Maybe it was sympathy...

When he dropped me off at my stop, the bus had become crowded with familiar strangers, the kinds of people I expected in my neighborhood. The bus was filled with the too happy chatter of parties and bar-hopping. They were all too loud and too carefree.

I stepped out of the bus and turned to face the driver, a small smile on my face.

“Thank you for taking me home.”

He smiled back, leather bound face crinkling as he said, “You’re welcome, kid. You be good now, okay?”

And with that, he drove off, turning the street corner to paths beyond my periphery.