Traveling Home for the First Time
Mandi Pitt

I scooted from the passenger seat of the Bronco out to the gray sidewalk scarred with gum and grease left from decades of weary, forgotten travelers, each with a face as gray as the concrete on which I now stood. My elephant-skinned suitcase weighed down my arm as I went inside to collect my ticket, pausing only for a small moment to nod my goodbye to Brenda, my mother’s friend for years. In the Traveler’s Grille of the Greyhound station, I stopped to eat a soggy, but simultaneously crunchy, hamburger and still frozen French fries. In the line, a man stopped me, seeing that my luggage tag was directed to Nashville. He was driving one of the buses heading there. His handsome, smiling face reassured me. He seemed to know it was my first time riding the bus alone. My face must have borne a countenance of innocence and fright.

A stranger’s kind glance
Words of friendliness and hope
Make all the difference

Entering the terminal, I noticed each face around me: weather-beaten, a middle-aged man with tattoos, he passed me carrying a garbage bag of possessions. Two black men in musty suits conversed over religion, talking about evangelizing when they arrived in Nashville. An old man and woman in their Sunday best kissed their grandson goodbye. A teenage boy carried headphones, a duffel bag, and an AP psychology book. Each face told a story; each person had a journey ahead of him. I found myself wondering what lay in store for them, for all of us.

I boarded the bus after allowing the luggage-boys to take my suitcase, and looked up at the driver. She was not the handsome man who had smiled at me in the Grille. I glanced at the next bus and saw my driver sitting in its front seat as people boarded. Disappointed and lonely, I made my way towards the middle of the already crowded bus. Loud chatter floated around me as I searched for an elusive empty seat. The boy with the psychology book had sat in a seat across from a brawny man in his early twenties. The man looked up at me, smiled and offered the seat next to him. I gladly sat down and he began his chatter: he was on his way home to Pennsylvania after quitting his job and was about to go into the military full-time after serving briefly in the National Guard.

At the Jackson stop, I stretched my legs for a moment and retook my seat. The military man came back, smelling strongly of red-pack Marlboros. I gagged as I forced myself to smile and welcome him back. Halfway along the road, he peacefully fell asleep, a bulwark between the rest of the bus and me. The AP boy read his psych book, lamenting that he had so much homework over a long weekend. AP psych reminded me of a time only a few months earlier, but a lifetime ago, when Bess and I had taken all four of our AP classes together. We were study partners, each doing half of the work. She joked that I was the brain in our pair and marveled at my notes as she tried to make sense of Dr. Harper’s garbled lecture on cassette tape. We were supposed to be splitting up for college, heading to opposite sides of Tennessee- Bess to Johnson City, Me to Memphis. She craved the idyllic small town, while I looked forward to the shocking urban appeal and newness of Memphis. I looked out the window, the glorious September afternoon passing me by.

Red and gold leaves fall
The wind twirls them round and round
Until they settle

I had only been gone a few short weeks, but it felt like ages. Initially, I had no intention of coming home so early, but fate has its way of making up our minds for us. She was in a car accident, and no one had told me for a week. Our friend Donlee called, I called my Mom, my Mom called Bess’s mother and then she called me. I cried like a baby, letting the tears flow freely for at least thirty minutes as loneliness and a feeling of disconnectedness swept over my entire body.
Tears fall down her cheeks
None comfort her as she cries
The tears drop slowly

We glided over a bridge suspended above the mighty Tennessee River, glinting in the sunlight. I could see the boats swiftly sailing through the water, oblivious to my life, to the lives of all aboard this bus. The man next to me stirred. It’s sad, but I don’t even remember his name. How many people do we pass a day, never knowing their story? How many lifetimes go by us everyday, how many lessons don’t we learn? He spoke of his girlfriend and how he had given her his necklace before he left Pennsylvania to take the job that he had just quit. He worried he was missing her calls as we passed through zones of no service. I worried about Bess, thinking only of seeing her as we neared Nashville.

The trees are turning
Beautiful birds soar the air
But I think of home

Nashville’s bus terminal is dirtier and smaller than Memphis’s. I gazed out my window at the hulking figure of my brother, waiting to carry my bags outside. I saw my mother’s relieved face as I neared her, preparing for a hug. She never wanted me to leave Nashville. That night as I lay in my bed listening to the chirp of the crickets and the song of the frogs camped in our pool, I thought of Bess. They said she wouldn’t talk until someone in the hospital played a video of a John Mayer concert.

We had camped outside Tower Records all day to meet him last summer. Her dad had bought her tickets to his concert later that night. We wanted a glimpse of him then, to see the heartthrob in person. That afternoon, my mom won tickets for me from 107.5. Grass seats. At the concert, I called Bess on her cell phone. She waved at me and I could barely make her out in the rows of seats from where I was sitting, mud permeating through the blanket I had brought. Thinking about these things, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next day Donlee and I drove to Bess’s house. She greeted us on the front porch. I remember her lawn was lush and emerald green and the neighbor’s cat slumbered under one of the trees. She smiled a lot, but spoke slowly and forgot things that I told her. We went to one of our old haunts, the Starbucks in Belle Meade. We had been there so many times with friends, ex-boyfriends, and each other. Donlee and I talked about our schools and Bess sat silently and listened. We spent the rest of the day together, enjoying each other’s company, laughing and talking as we had done in high school.

The full magnitude of my visit with her hit me later that night. As I thought about our conversations, I realized that things had changed for all of us. Our lives were different. As we talked about old times, I realized that’s what they were. Old times. Those days were over. That night, I was hit by an intense sadness as I reflected on my past life. I had been so happy. I was different now, but still could be happy. Only a few weeks had changed my entire perspective. I had met new people, leaving behind old loves, favorite teachers, and some high-school friends. I would never be the same again.

Riding home Sunday
I saw the AP psych boy
And the birds outside

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