Unrivaled

The thud-squeal of the brakes, as the bus pulled into South Station, woke me from my daze. I wasn’t changing buses, but I was ready to change seats. After being hunkered down near the front of the bus since I boarded in Rhode Island, I was done with the driver’s endless prattle. He clearly thought he was a New England tour guide. He’d started with a monologue about the weather and moved on to steady commentary about other drivers and the various sights one could encounter from Providence to Boston. I’d tried to sleep, unfortunately, he’d noticed.

“Don’t let me keep you awake,” he’d spouted, plainly trying to keep me awake. “I remember when we used to drive my son around at night when he was tiny…” and he was off, into another tale. I had no way to block him out. The batteries in my Walkman were dead, and I’d listened to the few cassettes I’d brought with me so many times I was afraid they’d wear out if I didn’t let up. So, I sat staring out the front window, attempting to will us into a bus accident that would end the torture of listening to him talk.

The South Station stop was my moment. After the riders disembarked, the driver rose and followed them out. I was free from his sight, and I recognized that this was my chance.

I grabbed my backpack, stood up, and started back down the aisle. The large number of available seats was unexpected. Snagging the back seat on the door side of the bus, I pressed my face to the glass. My bestie, the driver, unloaded luggage for passengers leaving South Station for other parts of New England and the Northeast. I was finally on my way home to Vermont. 

My brain was exhausted from a week at my friend Mattie’s house in Rhode Island. I was a fairly simple teenager in 1992: I listened to grunge, dressed in flannel, and worked part-time to make money to spend on concert tickets. A week spent with a friend who “came from money” had made me realize that our lives couldn’t have been more different. Even though we might have been confused for one another in photographs. Long dark hair, combat boots, ironic smirk: check, check, check. 

My family didn’t have a staff, for example. No one took care of our dishes or cleaned up after us. No one walked our dogs or drove our cars. My family also spent time together. Lots of it. We ate our meals together, often in front of the TV. While I was in Rhode Island, Mattie and I watched TV in her room. We’d “taken” our meals on the deck or in the dining room, while her mother bustled around getting ready to go out and her father harrumphed over the newspaper in the living room. I was ready to go back to my sweet, chaotic, bumbling, Vermont family.

Stretching my arms above my head, I turned to evaluate the passengers readying to board the bus. There were three stops after South Station: Concord, NH, White River Junction, VT, and Burlington, VT. This meant the line was full of college students and grandmothers. There was one man in a business suit, and he stood out dramatically. His skin was tomato red and slick with sweat. He was overheated in the July sunshine. He appeared pained. Especially in comparison to the couple standing behind him: a tiny, pixie, grunge girl in a tank top and long batik-dyed skirt looking up at a tall guy with long hair, endearing dimples, and a nicely cut leather jacket. They laughed at something together, and Business Suit glanced uncomfortably their way. I found myself smiling along, affected by their shared joy.

The driver began loading the bus, having passengers set their bags down as they passed through the door. Most of the grandmothers seemed to be carrying luggage, the college students were like me and only carried backpacks. Truly, I was striving to be like them. I was between my junior and senior years of high school and desperately wanted to grow up. I looked to the college kids as an example of how I pictured myself.

The final people to enter the bus were Business Suit and the couple, followed by the chatty driver. Business Suit took the seat behind the driver, where I had previously sat, and immediately pulled a newspaper out of his briefcase. Pixie Girl slid into an empty seat about halfway down the aisle, moved over to the window, and looked up at Leather Jacket. I also looked up at him and was startled to find him looking at me. I immediately broke eye contact, glancing through the window at the Coach Bus that had just pulled in beside us. I felt the seat bounce next to me.

“Hey.” said a warm, soft, wholly unfamiliar voice. “Nice day, right?”

I turned toward the leather-clad shoulder next to my left ear and cleared my throat. I realized, from her glance over the back of her seat, that he was not, in fact, part of a couple with Pixie Girl. She looked disappointed and confused. I felt disoriented and equally confused. I hadn’t expected to do anything but sleep for the three-hour drive ahead of me, and now a handsome stranger was attempting conversation.

“Where are you headed?” he tried again.

“It’s beautiful out…um…” I responded, answering the first question. He was, it seemed, unprepared for my 15-second delay in replying.

His sudden laughter was disarming and woke butterflies in my belly. He launched into a story of his destination: Burlington. His name was Ethan. He was a student in the city, and he was working for the university during the summer. Ethan was staying on the UVM campus but had gone home for a few days to see family. His home was outside Boston, in another college town, Weston.

The more Ethan talked, and I listened, laughed, and engaged with him, the less forced it felt. As my ease grew, I found myself asking questions about his life. To my surprise, I was also answering questions about mine. I told him a bit about my plans and talked about my family. I told him all about my trip to Mattie’s and how bizarre it had been. 

When we stopped in Concord, New Hampshire, Ethan stepped off the bus for a moment, and I noticed that Pixie Girl followed him. He walked straight to the vending machine. She strolled over, tossing her hair and trying to get Ethan’s attention. He turned, almost bumping into her, and smiled down at her again. Her demeanor lit up, and she followed Ethan back toward the bus. She had never even used the vending machine. 

He boarded first, and in several long strides closed the gap between us, sliding into the seat next to me and unexpectedly dropping Cheez-Its and a can of Coke in my lap. I thanked Ethan and peeked up to see Pixie Girl glaring at me, a storm brewing on her face. This was not the outcome she had anticipated.

“Do you know her?” I asked, raising my chin gently toward Pixie Girl in as nonchalant a gesture as I could manage.

“Huh? Who?” Ethan said, glancing around in a conspicuous manner that had me wanting to slide under the seat. 

I already knew Ethan was traveling alone, he’d shared this when talking about his family visit, but I thought maybe Pixie Girl was someone he knew from school. Apparently, she was not.

Ethan settled back into easy conversation, and I found myself feeling melancholy counting the miles to White River Junction, Vermont. I couldn’t give him my number. Honestly, my parents would kill me. He was twenty, I was seventeen. He was headed into his sophomore year of college; I was a mere senior. There would be some sort of cataclysm if I invited him to call and my father found out how we’d met. The remaining two hours were all we had left.

As the minutes and miles rolled past, we snacked on vending machine goodies and talked about the really important things. Ethan told me about his little sister’s struggle with her chemotherapy treatments for her cancer diagnosis. I told him about my mom’s drinking and how it had upended my world. We talked about how much family meant to both of us. By the time the bus traveled down the off-ramp in White River Junction, I realized that I knew Ethan more deeply than I knew Mattie in her big house with her staff. I could tell that he was feeling the connection too. We were no longer strangers.

Ethan had one more stop after White River. Two more hours on the bus for him. He sprang to his feet when the driver braked, and the door opened. I figured he’d slide over and let me out, instead, he stepped forward and reached a hand back to grasp my palm. I took his hand and entwined my fingers through his. He gently pulled me down the aisle, as if we were a couple.

Glancing to my left, I saw Pixie Girl’s shocked expression. She immediately broke eye contact and looked out the window as we passed. I felt a brief wave of something like pity for her. Apparently, she had assumed more about the two of them as well.

Stepping off the bus, we moved hand in hand toward the bus station entry. I had no bags to grab, but I noted that the chatty driver was helping Business Suit figure out where to go to catch a connecting bus. Several grandmothers waited to the side for their luggage, trying to catch the driver’s attention as he prattled on again about timing and stations.

Ethan pulled me into the shade and his arms. His hug was warm, friendly, and safe. It felt like we were old dear friends saying goodbye. As I stepped back from him, I was stunned when he leaned down and kissed me. His lips were velvety soft and the pressure of them against mine was unexpectedly firm. He kissed me for the first time with the intensity of a last kiss. We’d had three hours together and were now returning to our lives. There was no future, but the present was unrivaled. 

“Goodbye, Serena,” he whispered against my lips.

“gmbm..Ethan…” I muttered back, returning to the stumbling language of three hours before.

He turned and strode back onto the bus, returning to the rear seat we’d shared, and watched me out the window. The driver followed him aboard, also glancing back at me, and the bus shuddered to life. Shifting into reverse, the driver tapped the horn and waggled his fingers at me to say goodbye. Ethan just watched me as the bus rolled backward. He held eye contact and smiled gently at me. I felt the same butterflies as before.

After I watched the bus pull away, I saw my father’s dark gray sedan parked on the edge of the parking lot, waiting for me. He’d been hidden behind my bus. I slung my purple backpack over my left shoulder and crossed the distance between us. I was happy to be home to my family, and at the same time, something significant had shifted inside me while I was gone. In the last few days with Mattie, I’d learned that my closest friends could actually be strangers. In the last few hours with Ethan, I’d discovered that some strangers might have the capacity to help me feel seen and known in unexpected ways. I settled into the passenger seat next to my quiet father, smiled silently, and closed my eyes to process everything, especially that kiss.