Tim rides the Greyhound bus over route 27
You would never be able to tell it was summer up here, Tim thought, as he watched the wind drove a misty rain onto the front windshield and fog wreathed the tall redwoods along the side of the highway. He was riding the Greyhound bus back to Alta Lara for what he hoped was the last time.
He was sitting five rows from the front. The bus was near empty tonight, so he got two seats to himself, which was nice because he didn’t to worry about any bus schmacks sitting next to him. Buses seemed to attract a certain class of person–an odd class. Strange people, who had either too much stuff or too little, talked to themselves, or looked angry, desperate, or both. There were never other people Tim’s age on the bus, or any cute girls, or anyone Tim could imagine wanting to know.
As Tim listened to his walkman, he looked out the window and remembered all the times he had made this trip before his first two years at UCSZ. Partly it was the chemical smell of the bus’s restroom, partly it was the Cult’s album Electric that took him back, one of the biggest party albums of freshman year.
He had learned about the Greyhound from Shek. Tim had assumed that once he was in UCSZ, he would stay there the whole quarter until his father or mother picked up him at the end. Shek, though, had found out about the Greyhound, and they used to go back to Alta Lara for film shoots when Tm Tremaine or Troy couldn’t give them rides. At first, Tim had only ridden with Shek, but later in the year, when he had become estranged from Helen and her friends, and he couldn’t bear to spend the weekends in Santa Zita, he had started riding it himself, leaving Friday evenings, not returning until Monday afternoon.
He had ridden the bus to try and escape, but invariably when he got on and the bus started heading up 27, he would wish he wasn’t on it, that he had stayed behind. He had felt like a failure twice over (with Shek’s Fremont friends, then with his own friends at Kane), longing for Helen and her friends and wishing he was partying with them instead of on the bus.
He remembered that awful feeling that he was the prisoner of something he didn’t understand, that it was not by his choice he was leaving Santa Zita, that he had been compelled by a dark force. He felt as though the best part of himself, the person he should have been, had been left behind. He felt split in two, that while part of rode the bus, ghost-like, his better half was still at Kane, drinking Milwaukee’s Best, reveling in their freedom.
Once he got to Alta Lara, he would walk to his mother’s house, stopping for frozen ice cream. As he walked, he would fantasize about somehow running into Melissa that weekend. Of course, he didn’t, since she had a life and Tim didn’t even begin to have an idea of where to look for her.
So he would end up spending the weekend alone, unless Shek happened to be back as well. So much pleasure he had missed out on, as he had learned once he had been accepted back in the fold, when Helen had reached out to him, and forgiven him, talked to him even when he said he didn’t want to be talked to, that he just wanted to be left alone in his private sullen hell.
Where would he be if she hadn’t? He owed Helen, he didn’t know where he would be if it weren’t for her–maybe dropped out of school, or one of those friendless weirdoes like his freshman year roommate–people you saw in classes, who never spoke, just hung around in the back of the classroom, then disappeared afterwards. Never seen at parties, at the beach, at the café. They were like ghosts, or homeless people. That spring quarter had been such a close thing–it could all have so easily gone the other way. If he hadn’t stayed for that one weekend, if he hadn’t been in his room when she stopped by, if she hadn’t knocked three times.
And yet, Helen had brought him back into a kind of servitude–owing her the debt that she did, he had to put up with her flakiness, that their friendship was always conducted on her terms, not on his. If she didn’t want to hang out with him, she had Jessica, her old friends from Alta Lara, Todd Fox and his group. Most of all, she had guys–Todd, Dave Stone, her manager–she never had to be alone, she always had the option of being with someone.
Tim didn’t have that. Before Helen, all he’d had since the beginning of high school were his friendship with Melissa’s step-brother and his collaboration with Shek. No girls had shown interest in him, ever. He’d had to struggle for whatever meager social success he’d ever had–success that, until Helen, had usually been followed by failure and rejection.
His life was better now. He sniffed the disinfectant and cigarette smoke odor of the bus and thought how was the last time he would ever have to ride the Greyhound. He was going to have a car, like Helen, Jake and Sophie did. He had thought after all the times he had failed the driving test, that he might never drive, that something that came so easily to everyone else might be denied to himself, like so much else was, but then Helen and Alice had encouraged him to keep trying. Helen told him she had failed twice too. Now his father was giving him a car to use for the summer, a nice car, with a cassette deck. All he had to do was drive it to Santa Zita over route 27.
He was sitting five rows from the front. The bus was near empty tonight, so he got two seats to himself, which was nice because he didn’t to worry about any bus schmacks sitting next to him. Buses seemed to attract a certain class of person–an odd class. Strange people, who had either too much stuff or too little, talked to themselves, or looked angry, desperate, or both. There were never other people Tim’s age on the bus, or any cute girls, or anyone Tim could imagine wanting to know.
As Tim listened to his walkman, he looked out the window and remembered all the times he had made this trip before his first two years at UCSZ. Partly it was the chemical smell of the bus’s restroom, partly it was the Cult’s album Electric that took him back, one of the biggest party albums of freshman year.
He had learned about the Greyhound from Shek. Tim had assumed that once he was in UCSZ, he would stay there the whole quarter until his father or mother picked up him at the end. Shek, though, had found out about the Greyhound, and they used to go back to Alta Lara for film shoots when Tm Tremaine or Troy couldn’t give them rides. At first, Tim had only ridden with Shek, but later in the year, when he had become estranged from Helen and her friends, and he couldn’t bear to spend the weekends in Santa Zita, he had started riding it himself, leaving Friday evenings, not returning until Monday afternoon.
He had ridden the bus to try and escape, but invariably when he got on and the bus started heading up 27, he would wish he wasn’t on it, that he had stayed behind. He had felt like a failure twice over (with Shek’s Fremont friends, then with his own friends at Kane), longing for Helen and her friends and wishing he was partying with them instead of on the bus.
He remembered that awful feeling that he was the prisoner of something he didn’t understand, that it was not by his choice he was leaving Santa Zita, that he had been compelled by a dark force. He felt as though the best part of himself, the person he should have been, had been left behind. He felt split in two, that while part of rode the bus, ghost-like, his better half was still at Kane, drinking Milwaukee’s Best, reveling in their freedom.
Once he got to Alta Lara, he would walk to his mother’s house, stopping for frozen ice cream. As he walked, he would fantasize about somehow running into Melissa that weekend. Of course, he didn’t, since she had a life and Tim didn’t even begin to have an idea of where to look for her.
So he would end up spending the weekend alone, unless Shek happened to be back as well. So much pleasure he had missed out on, as he had learned once he had been accepted back in the fold, when Helen had reached out to him, and forgiven him, talked to him even when he said he didn’t want to be talked to, that he just wanted to be left alone in his private sullen hell.
Where would he be if she hadn’t? He owed Helen, he didn’t know where he would be if it weren’t for her–maybe dropped out of school, or one of those friendless weirdoes like his freshman year roommate–people you saw in classes, who never spoke, just hung around in the back of the classroom, then disappeared afterwards. Never seen at parties, at the beach, at the café. They were like ghosts, or homeless people. That spring quarter had been such a close thing–it could all have so easily gone the other way. If he hadn’t stayed for that one weekend, if he hadn’t been in his room when she stopped by, if she hadn’t knocked three times.
And yet, Helen had brought him back into a kind of servitude–owing her the debt that she did, he had to put up with her flakiness, that their friendship was always conducted on her terms, not on his. If she didn’t want to hang out with him, she had Jessica, her old friends from Alta Lara, Todd Fox and his group. Most of all, she had guys–Todd, Dave Stone, her manager–she never had to be alone, she always had the option of being with someone.
Tim didn’t have that. Before Helen, all he’d had since the beginning of high school were his friendship with Melissa’s step-brother and his collaboration with Shek. No girls had shown interest in him, ever. He’d had to struggle for whatever meager social success he’d ever had–success that, until Helen, had usually been followed by failure and rejection.
His life was better now. He sniffed the disinfectant and cigarette smoke odor of the bus and thought how was the last time he would ever have to ride the Greyhound. He was going to have a car, like Helen, Jake and Sophie did. He had thought after all the times he had failed the driving test, that he might never drive, that something that came so easily to everyone else might be denied to himself, like so much else was, but then Helen and Alice had encouraged him to keep trying. Helen told him she had failed twice too. Now his father was giving him a car to use for the summer, a nice car, with a cassette deck. All he had to do was drive it to Santa Zita over route 27.
Works
Recent Writing
- 1989 A Novel: Tim's father picks him up at the Greyhound station
- 1989 A Novel: Tim rides the Greyhound bus over route 27
- 1989 A Novel: Tim talks to Jessica at the surfer party
- 1989 A Novel: Tim, Helen and Jessica go to a surfer party
- 1989 A Novel: Tim shows Helen his new apartment, and realizes he has no bed