Interlocked

The wind tore at my exposed skin, injecting its bitterness into my skin like thousands of tiny pinpricks. Each gust penetrated deeper into my flesh, compromising my circulation system until it reached my core. I don’t know why I insisted on waiting. It might have been my pride keeping me in place, or the cold freezing me in place. Either way, my mind wasn’t ready to accept the reality of the situation. I kept thinking that if I waited just a minute longer, she would appear and I would instantly forgive her.

She broke her promise. I should have known better than to trust her. All the grandiose ideas and plans she created, never to materialize. I wish she had the decency to have stopped herself before it got this far. Before I packed my belongings into my step-father’s rucksack and slipped out into the dark with no intention of returning. 

At this point, I had a better chance of catching hypothermia sitting here outside the greyhound station alone in the middle of the night than reaching the city by sunrise with her by my side. Pulling my hands into the sleeves of my oversized jacket, I pushed past my mental block of disappointment and forced myself to my feet. I readjusted the rucksack on my shoulders and left the bench I had occupied. Stepping out of the lamplight of the station and into the darkness I realized I had no idea where I was going. I couldn’t go home, that was certain. 

I wanted to see her. I wanted to know why she didn’t come. Our plan was basically immaculate with little room for error. The only reason either of us would not be able to follow through was by choice. Did she choose to stay? If that was the case, I didn’t want to know. 

I turned back to the bus station. The lamp’s light pulsated with the hum of electricity, beckoning to me. I checked my watch. It wasn’t only her choosing not to show, the greyhound bus was running late too. It should have arrived fifteen minutes ago. 

I took my seat on the bench, allowing the wooden slats that held me up to drain whatever heat I had left to give. Leaving this town was my only choice left to make. Either the greyhound would come and take me away or I stayed and died. 

I pulled the bus tickets out of the inside pocket of my winter coat. Two one way tickets to Edmonton, two one way tickets to start our lives over together, but her not showing tonight was never part of the plan. I have no choice but to make it work now. Her name was perfectly printed on one ticket, taunting me as a reminder that she didn’t want this after all. She didn’t want me. 

The wind whistled a haunting hymn while it tried it’s best to beat whatever stamina I had left in me with its whip. Below its deafening pitch, a low rumble of a motor roared in harmony with the wind’s requiem. The greyhound’s lights pierced through the dark, the literal light at the end of my hopeless tunnel.

Knowing the bus was willing to keep its commitments, although late, allowed me to finally acknowledge how cold I now was. I longed for the warm hum of the bus’s heater to soothe me to sleep as I curled up in my fabric-fitted seat. I knew I only had a few hours on the bus before I would be left to my own devices and the night’s ruthless chill again. The city would still be alive and lit by the time I got there, but I wasn’t looking for a good time. I was looking for an escape. All I knew was I was going to take in every second of warmth and comfort the bus ride could offer while I could get it. 

I shoved my ticket back into my inside pocket. I didn’t know what to make of the second ticket anymore. The longer I held it in my hands the more resentful I became. I tucked it between the wooden slats of the bench, disassociating myself from it and her altogether. A twinge of guilt and regret coursed through my head, but I had to leave it all behind as a symbolic gesture of truly starting over entirely.

 Maybe she would show up in the morning and find the ticket still lodged there, a momentum of her own choices. Or perhaps the wind will take it for itself and discard it somewhere less public, where the ink will fade in time as the elements break it down to nothing. No meaning, no purpose, and no value. 

The bus groaned to a stop, and momentarily the driver rushed off the bus. He ran behind the building, my guess was to relieve himself, before returning to check my ticket. He gave me a look of disapproval but ushered me on regardless.

Five other inhabitants had already boarded in other stops before this one, each passenger undoubtedly having their own stories to tell. Would mine hold up to theirs? Or would the abuse and neglect I’ve suffered outweigh theirs soundly? Not that I was expecting them to share, but I couldn’t help wonder. 

None of them seemed to notice my existence and I reveled in that reality. Being invisible was all I ever wanted for so long and now I was getting it. 

I carefully removed my sack and slid into a window seat evenly spaced out from the others. I looked out the window to take in the pitiful setting I had last occupied. The bus driver was taking a quick smoke under the lamp’s light. He paced around a bit, trying to fight off the chill and sickness that the wind was offering. His movements could easily have been translated into a dance of sorts. His addiction had trained him to face the cold for the taste of nicotine by moving ever so slightly from side to side just fast enough to stay warm while savouring his vice.

Then I saw it, the ticket I had abandoned. The wind was working overtime to dislodge it from its spot, as though I had given the universe the challenge to take it. The part of the ticket still exposed above the benches slats waved back and forth in time to the driver’s dance. I finally allowed myself to smile, at the sight of it. As the driver would pause, the ticket would pause, and vice versa. Together, they made the most captivating and impromptu dance duo. 

Maybe the universe didn’t see my actions as a challenge after all. Perhaps this was its way of sending me off with the peace of mind that I needed; that my life would get better and that I just needed to trust the process of change. If not better it would be different, and I needed that reassurance too. 

  The driver finally stepped on his last inch of cigarette, leaving a streak of soot on the concrete below. He climbed the steep steps of the bus and took his seat at the wheel. He looked back to check that he had all his passengers still in place and apologized for running behind schedule. He explained there would only be three more stops before reaching Edmonton, and started to refill his mug of coffee from a massive thermos he materialized from somewhere below his seat.

I looked back to the bench outside. The ticket has gone. The wind had got its way with it. Then a rapping at the door of the bus made me think differently. The bus driver pulled the lever to open the door, a look of bewilderment plastered his face. 

“Just in the nick of time, I was about to roll out of here.” the driver confessed while accepting the outstretched ticket to examine its details before handing it back. “Hadlee, what neat name.”

“Thank you.” she returned, as she climbed the last few steps and locked eyes with me. 

My chest tightened and my mouth went dry. We just stared at each other, not knowing what to say or do. She finally shifted her own rucksack she bought from the thrift store last week in front of her and made her way down the aisle to me. She offered a wry smile and shoved her pack in the overhead compartment before sitting right next to me.

“I didn’t think you were going to make it.” I tried not to let my emotions overpower me.

“I wouldn’t miss it. It’s you and me to the end Dewy, remember?” she recited as if her words demanded instant forgiveness.

“Do you remember?” I shot back, “I was waiting out here for you, I were supposed to meet me here at-”

“Dewy, stop, listen,” she interrupted me as if she still had the right to, “I had to make a quick stop before I came here.”

“Did you?” I had no real return at this point, I just wanted her to feel guilt and I wasn’t getting any sense of guilt from her. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

The bus started to pull out of the parking lot and onto the highway’s feeder. She stood and pulled folded printer papers out of her jean back pocket and handed it to me. I unfolded each sheet and discovered that I was looking at two plane tickets from Edmonton to Vancouver with our names on it.

“Where did you get these?” I choked on my own shock.

“Mrs. Johnson, I stopped by to return the book she lent me last week. I wanted her to have it back before we left, and before I knew it I was sobbing my eyes out.”

“That doesn’t explain the tickets.” I was growing impatient and agitated that she tipped off an actual adult about our exodus from this hole of a town.

“I told her about my mom and your step-dad. She said she knew that something was going on, but didn’t know how to help us without making life more difficult for us. So she bought us these.”

“She bought us plane tickets to Vancouver? Really?” 

“Yes, she and her husband bought them and printed them off for us.”

“Why?” 

Hadlee paused for a moment before answering. “She said she wished someone would have done the same for her. I think she knows all too well why we’re doing this.”

“And she isn’t going to rat us out the second she can? She is assisting us with running away.”

“She is helping us get a new life! Better yet, she is encouraging us to do it. Her sister lives in Vancouver and has already agreed to pick us up from the airport when we arrive. We are going to stay with her until Mr. and Mrs. Johnson can fly themselves out and help us get on our feet.”

“You’re kidding?” I gawked in unbelief. 

“Nope, you still have your learners' license on you right?

“Yes, it’s the only piece of identification I have ever owned.”

“Good, because that is all you will need to get on the plane.”

“Are we actually doing this?” I asked, trying to cry from exhaustion and anxiety. 

“Dewy, we will never have to fall asleep again afraid that we’re not going to make it to the morning alive. No more abuse, no more hurt. Our lives are in our own hands now.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she held my face with her hands and looked right through me. I wrapped my arms around her, and she tucked her head into my chest.

My eyes welled up, as I whispered one final remark before we both drifted off to sleep.

“Stay with me, Hadlee. Promise me you will stay.”

She interlocked her hand in mine, and I knew her answer.