The driver was sandy-haired, although much of it was graying. He looked like a pleasant sort of guy, paying total attention to the job of driving and making good time despite the running commentary he was giving under his breath. With the kind of day I had been having, it was a relief not to have to worry about the people around me suddenly turning on me for no reason. The bus felt like a safe place for me to ride and think at the same time.
Lost in thought, I kept a corner of my awareness on my surroundings, just in case. The rest of my mind circled endlessly through a combination of dread, shock at my father’s sudden supportiveness and concern, and keeping an eye out for suspicious people outside the bus windows whenever we slowed or stopped for passengers.
Before I realized it, we were there. This was the last place I would see in St. Louis, maybe for a very long time. I scanned the area for danger, though it was probably a waste of time and effort. I had no idea what I was looking for. I wouldn’t recognize it if I saw it.
My heart started to race as the door opened and I got out with several other people, tossing the raincoat’s hood over my head again to obscure my face. Wasting no time, I walked toward the entrance of the station. I’d never been here before, so I didn’t really know what to expect.
What I did know was I needed to get the hell out of St. Louis. The sliding automatic doors opened, and I walked inside. The place was awful. Harsh overhead lighting illuminated a grimy, echoing space full of lost luggage and lost souls.
I would fit right in.
I found the ticket desk after only a couple of minutes of wandering around like a clueless idiot. Thankfully, nobody bothered me, or seemed to take any notice of me at all, really. There was a line, populated by a diverse collection of people ranging from wholesome-looking families with small children, to men I definitely wouldn’t want to be caught alone with. When my turn came, I stumbled through the unfamiliar process, much to the obvious irritation of the guy behind the heavy glass.
Eventually, with his help, I figured out what bus line I needed, and shoved cash for a one-way trip through the little gap at the bottom of the window. Ticket in hand, I left the counter and wandered toward the sweltering passenger area to wait until it was time to board.
Two hours. I just had to keep my head down for two hours, and then I’d be out of the city. Out of the state, and—hopefully—out of Werther’s reach.
I sat in a seat surrounded by sad and desperate people. To my left, a family of three. Mom, dad, and a baby who was squalling—loudly. Poor kid was probably hungry. Or maybe he was as grossed out by this place as I was. If so, I could hardly blame him. To my right, there was an old black man who looked like he’d stepped straight out of the roaring ’twenties. Suspenders, newsboy hat, vest, and high-waisted pants. He was quite dapper for such a stooped, wrinkled old guy, but his eyes looked lost and frightened.
I sat in the waiting area for more than ninety minutes, knee jiggling restlessly. My nervousness grew and grew, even though I couldn’t pin down a reason for it. I didn’t know if it was the people around me, or the memory of cops surrounding my house that did it, but I felt increasingly unsafe in this cramped row of plastic chairs. My heart started to pound in my chest as I thought about all the things that could happen between here and Chicago.
I cursed myself as the warning signs of a full-blown public panic attack clamored in my mind. Jesus, no. Please, please, not here, not now. But there was no stopping it. I knew that much from bitter experience. Gathering what little strength I had, I threw my backpack over my shoulder and practically fled to the women’s restroom down the hall.
If I’d thought the waiting area was bad, the restroom was worse. It looked and smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned in a month. Still, I preferred it to the open waiting area where anybody could see me losing my shit. I didn’t feel safe here either, but this was the best I could manage right now.
Taking deep breaths, I huddled in the corner near the line of sinks and wiped away the tears that were falling again. What the fuck was I doing? I didn’t have time to cry. I didn’t have time to let my guard down like this.
It was no good, though. I slipped inside a stall and locked the door, then leaned against it. My heart pounded like it was going to explode any moment now. I couldn’t catch my breath. Every time the restroom door banged open, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Still, I stayed hidden in the privacy of the stall... tried to relax.
Yeah, as if.
Time passed, and I knew I couldn’t hide in here any longer or I’d miss my bus. I looked at my new phone. It was nearly time to board. I had to do this, I told myself as I left the restroom and headed out, rejoining the other passengers in the stifling waiting area. This was my best—and maybe my only—chance to get away.
I’d put my hair up in a high ponytail, hoping it would make it harder for anybody to recognize me, since it looked nothing like my hairstyle in the photo on my ID. Despite the heat and humidity inside the echoing building, I pulled my hood up as well. The dampness of my clothes from the earlier rain made me feel
