*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.*
The night air was chilly, tickling every inch of my skin. As much as we needed her, the moon was hiding behind the clouds tonight. I pulled the navy hood over my ponytail and looked around. Greyhound buses sat parked next to one another. The exhaust started at the end of each one and rose up into the sky to join the grey lumps hiding Mother Nature’s light. One of the security guards checked his phone and lifted his walkie talkie to his lips. His voice echoed around the station.
“Bus two hundred and eighty-seven, bound for New York City, is now boarding,” the intercom announced. People inside moved, tossing bags over their shoulders and pulling their suitcases behind them. Children twisted their hands into their parents’ and stepped forward. It was time.
Standing up from behind one of the gigantic light poles, I tightened the straps of my backpack. My fingers brushed over the ticket in my pocket. In my other pocket, my phone buzzed. Then it buzzed again. My eyes scanned the caller ID. It was my mom. I ignored it.
Walking briskly under each light, I kept my head low. I couldn’t risk being seen. It was bad enough Mom already noticed my absence and missing belongings. It was only a matter of time before I was actually caught. My phone buzzed again and I clicked the top button to silence it.
I found my way to the back of the line right behind a bald man with broad shoulders. He reeked of chewing tobacco and beef jerky, two scents that made me want to gag. I shoved some mint gum in my mouth, my last piece, and pulled out my crumpled ticket.
My entire body was shaking and I couldn’t help but look around. What if Mom had sent her friends to come and fetch me? I would be done for. Grounded for the last semester of school and who knows how long after that. I couldn’t be negative. I had to think positively. I was going to make it. I am going to get to New York.
“Next,” the ticket collector announced. His dark eyes looked at me without a single smile line twitching. He grabbed my ticket, ripping off the edge, and turned it back over to me. “Enjoy the ride.”
I stepped onto the bus. A dozen people had already found their places, and I found mine. I slid all the way to the back, moving into the window seat facing the highway fifty feet away. The roar of cars hummed outside. My fingers tapped against my knee cap. Couldn’t we just get a move on already?
A minute or two later and not a single seat was available. A mother and her son snuck in next to me, pulling out pieces of fruit and a few juice boxes to suck on for the trip. The ticket collector came up one last time. His eyes glanced at every single seat and his lips moved silently. He counted. And counted. Then, he nodded to the driver, turning down the little staircase that led outside. Finally!
The engine chugged to a start and there was a jolt back and forth, then the vehicle reversed. My eyes rested on the window. The cold glass felt nice against my skin. It was almost as nice as the breeze on a warm spring day off the Monongahela River.
We left the well lit bus station, turning right to the highway entrance. Slowly ascending, we joined the little cars and trucks gliding along either side of us. To the left, the city of Pittsburgh stood valiant. Every light was lit up on the skyscrapers. I could recall every name, every little memory passing by on the bus from Oakland to the Southside. Every laugh and every tear I shed in that city of steel. And yet, part of me knew it was time. It was time to move forward. It was time for the next chapter.
I checked my phone. Three missed calls from Mom and two missed texts.
Where did you go?
Why didn’t you tell me it was for good?
I bit my lip and felt the tears starting. No, not here. Don’t do this. My fingers hovered above my phone screen. I knew what to say, even if it wouldn’t make any difference now. She wouldn’t understand until later, much later.
I’m sorry Mom. It’s not forever. I will come back soon. I promise. I love you.
I pressed send and shoved my phone into my pocket. My right hand swiped away a few stray tears. Next to me, a hand pressed against my right arm, followed by some young laughter.
“Sorry,” the mom said with a smile. She pulled back her son and held him close to her. “He’s very social.” The little boy looked to me with deep blue eyes and a smile as innocent as the carousels at Disney World. Despite the tears still fighting me, my lips curved into a smile.
“It’s okay. He’s very cute,” I said to them. The little boy giggled and looked at his mother again, this time reaching with one hand for one of the orange juice boxes. She handed it to him and he cradled it in his hands, taking one giant big sip before glancing back to me. The mother looked from her son to me.
“Would you like a juice box?” She pushed a juice box my way. I held up my hands, but she gently let go of it once both my hands had a hold. “I insist.”
“Thank you,” I gave her a small smile, opening up the straw and taking a small sip. The mom and her son went back to chatting in small baby size sentences. I glanced back out the window, holding my juice box with both hands. The steel city skyscrapers were disappearing now and the stars were appearing, sprinkled across the night sky like a giant midnight blue blanket. It was nearly pitch black, except for the passing street lights every hundred feet.
Visions of New York flashed through my mind, lighting fireworks inside of me. The grin on my face grew and the tears dried on my cheeks. Soon, I would be walking along the city streets. I’d be riding the subway, heading to work and to auditions. I would look out my apartment window to the streets below, clogged with taxis and cars and bikers and pedestrians. I would be one of them, a New Yorker.
Someday, I would be boarding a bus back from New York to Pittsburgh. I’d run through the doors, hug my mother and grab my baby brother from the crib, crying tears of joy. And I’d be able to utter the four words I longed to say to her and to everyone who told me it wouldn’t happen:
Mom, I made it!
