To Seattle on a Greyhound

Maggie’s heart was pounding as she walked quickly down the street, keeping her head down and her hood up. The backpack that held all she now had in the world felt like a bag of rocks. 

It was drizzling, and the sky was grey. Appropriate. That was what Maggie’s life looked like, here. This was what she was leaving.

Her beloved, scuffed black Converse beat a rhythmic pattern against the concrete. Her choppy blond hair brushed her shoulders, a gentle October breeze stirring up the limp locks. Impulsive, her stepmother had said, after spending a week with Maggie. She won’t get far.

Well, Maggie was going far now. She was going very far, in fact. Finally, her savings from her two jobs were enough. The bundle of bills were tucked into her backpack. She was ready for this world.

The Greyhound station came into view. It was a low-slung building made of dull, stained grey stone, with a bus idling in front of it. Maggie slipped her ticket out of her jeans pocket and stepped into line. A fat lady with two screaming toddlers gave her a suspicious look. A man smoking a cigarette by the corner leered at her.

The driver glanced at her ticket and waved her down the aisle. She found a seat near the back and clutched her backpack to her body. She didn’t dare put in her earbuds, not yet. She needed to be able to make a run for it if need be. 

She glanced at her phone. No missed calls or anything that was stereotypical for a kid running away from home. Well, no, not home. That wasn’t home, and never had been. It was just a house that she lived in. Her mother was gone. The father she used to know was gone. It was just Maggie and her backpack against the world.

The bus began to move. She didn’t relax until they were pulling onto the freeway and half the passengers were asleep. Even then, she kept her hood up. 

She slipped in her earbuds and leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Maggie had dreamed of this day for years. The day she ran away.

Greyhound by Calpurnia came on. She smiled to herself. What a fitting song.

Going to Seattle on a Greyhound…

She’d bought the one-way ticket to Seattle three weeks before. It had felt so wrong, hiding something like this from her shell of a father, but at the same time she knew that if she didn’t do anything she’d never get anywhere. She’d had her bag packed for days. She had kept checking it, though, to make sure that one of her step siblings hadn’t found the ticket. She was paranoid but she needed to be, because she had one shot at doing this and not screwing up.

I missed school for this…

School wasn’t worth going to, not anymore. Maggie remembered how she’d enjoyed it so much when she was younger. Now, the kids were mean, the teachers strict, and the classes harder. There was so much pressure to get good grades and go to a good college or whatever. Maggie always did her best to stay out of the spotlight. She got B’s and read in the library instead of eating lunch. The librarian was the only person who remotely understood her, and by that Maggie meant she left her alone. 

Sometimes I can’t feel a thing…

Maggie could barely feel a thing, today. She knew she should feel guilty for leaving her father with the Stepmonster, and scared of the road ahead. She didn’t feel anything except for the weight slowly lifting off her shoulders.

She must have dozed off because when she woke up they were approaching downtown Seattle. It was bright, too- the sunlight reflected off buildings and lit everything up. Maggie straightened and checked her phone.

27 missed calls from Becky

86 missed calls from Dad

Becky: Come back, wherever you are

Dad: Maggie-bun, where are you???

Becky: You little bitch

Missed call from Stephen

She finally felt a bit of guilt. Just a little. The old nickname stung, but she knew it was just a reminder of what she was leaving. What she’d left- the bus was pulling into the station, now, and Maggie was swinging her backpack over her shoulder, and now she was stepping off, and now she was watching the bus pull away as she realized that she’d done it.

She’d finally left.

She went into the station and cleaned up a little. She couldn’t be looking too scruffy at her interview.

Ah, yes. The interview. She’d scoured the Internet for days to find what she was looking for, and they were in Seattle today. She’d emailed ahead, and she’d gotten a reply within three days. That’s when she knew she was really doing it.

She stepped out of the station, into the sunlight, and began making her way to her destination. 

It was a solid half hour of walking to get to where she needed to be. When she finally did get there, there was a huge crowd in front of the doors. “Sorry, excuse me,” she said, weaving through the people. She slipped through the doors and made her way backstage, just like the email had directed.

She came to a door that had Manager hastily scrawled on a sign hanging from the doorknob.. She took a deep breath and knocked seven times.

The door flew open and there stood a tall, thin man with jet black hair that stuck up all over the place. He looked Maggie up and down. “Margaret Stevenson?”

“Yes,” squeaked Maggie.

His face broke into a huge grin. “Well, come on in, then!”

He led her into a room filled with boxes and gestured for her to sit down on one of them. “Coffee? Tea?”

She shook her head.

The man sat himself gracefully on a box opposite her. “Here, there is only one rule. The past is forgotten. We do not ask about yours, you do not ask about ours. There is only today, and the time we’ve spent together. If you choose to share, then go ahead, but there is no point. We only ask one question: What is your act?”

Maggie blinked. She thought she’d have to make a speech. She had one prepared. But here- here was the question that would decide her fate.

“I’m a contortionist,” she said in a slightly shaky voice.

“Oh, excellent! We did need a contortionist, you know, because the last one left, but we do not talk about that. Would you mind giving a demonstration?”

Here was something that Maggie had, thankfully, also been prepared for. She ran through some of her best tricks, each more marvelous than the last, and ended by twisting herself into a knot, twisting herself back, and bowing with her feet facing backwards.

The man clapped. “Bravo, bravo!”

When Maggie straightened up, he had his hand outstretched for her to shake.

“Welcome to Bart’s Traveling Circus,” he said.