Sometimes We Get What We Need

Sometimes You Get What You Need

I was the only one left aboard by the time the Greyhound’s droning engine throttled down and the passenger P.A. system squawked, “Redding. Last stop, Redding.” I rubbed my eyes, stuffed my dog-eared study manual into my backpack, pulled on my parka, and walked up the empty aisle while checking my phone for the time − 12:08 A.M. The driver said, “Good night. Watch your step.”

Inside the terminal, I went to the food counter, but looking over the days-end assortment of wilted sandwiches and stale pastry, I settled for coffee. The counter-man drew the dark blend into a Styrofoam cup, and set it on the glass countertop saying, “Here yuh go.” He rang up my dollar eighty-five and then began shutting down for the day as I walked to the passenger waiting area.

 I was dog-tired but there would be no dozing. I had to catch a 5:15 A.M. connection to Sacramento and there would be no wake-up call. Besides that, sleeping in a bus depot is like wearing a sign that says Come steal my luggage. With a do-or-die job interview just hours away I didn’t need any bad timing, bad men, bad luck, bad food, or bad dreams.     

I stepped into the fluorescent-lighted waiting area and looked around the huge, unoccupied room before taking a seat on one of the long, high-backed, wooden, benches. Setting the backpack next to me as an elbow rest, I opened my manual to a dog-eared page. I was about to take a sip of hot coffee when a willowy woman appeared from nowhere and took a seat near me on what I considered my bench. Having the whole rest of the room, why did she have to take a seat so near me on my bench?

She wore a loose-fitting dress with a Spanish-style shawl draped around her slight shoulders. Jangly bracelets dangled from her thin wrists. Her graying hair was parted in the middle, pulled back in a bun, and held in place by a web of black netting. She had magnetic, deep, dark brown, unmade-up eyes. Setting her handbag next to my backpack she said, “My name is Pesha. You must be exhausted after such a long bus ride, and quite worried and anxious about your job interview in Sacramento.”

I was startled by her impertinence and she must have read my shocked expression. She continued in a reassuring voice, “Please don’t be concerned about me. I’m no stalker. I knew about your journey by reading the claim tag on your backpack. Departure Corvallis: Destination Redding/Sacramento.”

What the hell? That explained the bus ride, but how could she have known about the interview?  I asked, “How could you know about the job interview? I haven’t told anyone.”

She responded matter-of-factly, “I saw the tattered reading matter and put it together with the Sacramento destination. No college-age person reads the California State Fish and Wildlife Study Manual just to pass the time.

The interview will not go well, by the way. The State Park Ranger dream job will not be offered to you.”

“What? What makes you think so?”

“The interviewer will see the same things I’m seeing. Your slumped shoulders and irresolute frown say you lack confidence, self-belief, and ambition. You’re inclined to avoid risk. You always imagine the worst. You worry about losing control or making wrong decisions. It’s written on your expression and demeanor. You need the caffeine because you’re afraid to sleep; worried about missing your connection or something even worse. Studying the manual is an endless exercise, not for a lack of comprehension, but a lack of self-assurance. Constant uneasiness about disapproval has robbed you of the power to control your destiny many times in the past, and it will continue to plague you in the future.”

 I was stunned! “Why would you be so offensive and discouraging to someone you don’t even know?”

“I’m a fortuneteller. That’s what I do. Sometimes the truth hurts. But I can also transform your destiny for you if you please. Allow me to immerse my mind into your mind and I will give you what you need. I can change what is written in the stars.”

That’s when I realized that Pesha was nothing more than a petty swindler, but what the hell, her time was worth something just for keeping me awake. I responded, “I suppose this is going to cost me something, right?”

She said there was a ten-dollar flat fee for changing one's destiny for the better.

That seemed a little steep but I took two fives out of my wallet and handed them over. She closed her eyes and rolled the bills between her palms, making them into a small ball. I heard her bracelets jangling as I closed my eyes. When she told me the feat was accomplished I opened my eyes and joked, “So which lotto am I about to win?”

She replied, “I didn’t promise to give you what you want. I said I’d give you what you need to impress the interviewer.”

Then Pesha smiled the way food servers and sales clerks smile at customers - genially. Gathering up her handbag she said good night with wiggly fingers and a blown kiss. I watched her edge her way to the aisle, and then disappear through a side door to the street. 

My coffee had gone cold, and I was alone again in the chilly, cavernous waiting area - and out ten bucks with still more than three hours before the connection to Sacramento − plenty of time for some solid shut-eye. If I missed the 5:15, I could always catch the 6:20, no problemo. I threw my boots up on the long wooden bench and put my head on the soft part of my backpack, feeling an iron-clad guarantee that I was going to ace my job interview. I wasn’t worried about that or any other damned thing as I floated off into a welcoming dream that included me as a California State Park Ranger.  

The End