"The Greyhound Blues" Part IIA

***Story week continues***

Clik here for The Greyhound Blues Part I

Aaron Fletcher walked out of the Greyhound bus depot around five thirty in the evening expecting to inhale the warm mugginess of the early morning air only to be hit with a blast of wind as cold and bitter as the hard slap of a spurned woman. The weatherman did say that a cold front was coming through, but Aaron didn’t expect it to be this cold. He didn't even have his gloves.

He trotted over to an empty stone bench and laid his newspaper and duffel bag down at his side. He opened his duffel bag and removed his wool scarf and wrapped it around his neck. His bus wasn’t set to leave for another ten minutes, but people were already pushing forward at the bus entrance, either interested to get going or to simply get out of the harsh grip of the cold air. He decided to hang out on the bench for a minute and wait for the crowd to settle down. Besides, he preferred to be the last person to board the bus before it left.


Aaron blew warm breath into his hands and rubbed them together to warm them up. He sat there and watched as people scurried along. Lovers gave each other rushed goodbye kisses, mothers clinched their children’s hands out of fear of them being snatched, and college students weighed down with heavy backpacks pandered along as if they were still on campus. The homeless huddled in corners, taking possessions of small slabs of floor, getting ready to hunker down for the night. At five-thirty, it was already as dark and cold as it would have been at midnight. Funny how the cold weather and darkness quickened everyone’s steps.

Just then, he spotted one of the regulars shuffling fast in his direction. When she spotted him, her eyes widened. She pulled the dirty hood of her cap low on her head, and zipped her jacket up around her chin, almost hiding her face. Aaron allowed her to come within a few feet of him before speaking.

“Hey Peaches,” he yelled. “How you doing this fine evening?”

Peaches shot him a look so hard that her eyes bucked. “I ain’t studyin’ you tonight Fletcher. I get in trouble every time I fool with your ass.”

Aaron rose from the bench and slowly walked towards her, his hands outstretched in surrender. “Aww Peaches, why you gotta be so mean?”

“I’m warning you. Get away from me.”

Aaron couldn’t help but to laugh. Peaches sneered. She looked around quickly, then back at Aaron.

“You eat anything today?” Aaron asked.

“Nawl, I ain’t ate nothin,’” Peaches said.

Aaron unzipped the side pocket of his duffel bag and pulled out a yellow card. “Here, take this voucher and go get yourself a cup of coffee and a doughnut from the concession stand inside.”

“I don’t want no damn coffee,” she said. “What you need to do is give me some money, so I can go get some real food.”

“Now you know I’m not giving you money. Take this voucher. Get some coffee, or at least some of that good hot chocolate. It’s gonna be a cold night.”

Peaches snatched the voucher from his hand and stuffed it in the pocket of her thin coat. “I’ma take it this time, Fletcher. You better stop messing with me.”

She walked off fast, glancing back over her shoulder at him.

“You have a goodnight, Sweetie,” Aaron said. He blew her a kiss.

“You shut up,” Peaches shot back. She snatched the hood of her coat over her matted weave and scurried into the bus station.

Aaron walked back over to the bench and sat down. He wiggled his feet around in his new Timbalands, which were a little too tight on his feet. It wouldn’t make for much comfort on the long bus ride, but now was as good as any time to break them in.

There were only a few bus passengers left to load up on the bus. The bus driver was securing the cargo bay just under the bus.

A woman was standing to the side, leaning against a pole surveying the action. She had no luggage, only a large purse which appeared to be made from some animal other than the usual cow. She wore a long pink fur coat and a pair of shiny brown gator boots. The sun had set a good half hour ago, and she had the nerve to be wearing dark sunglasses.

Aaron stood up and walked closer just to get a better look. She didn’t appear to be a working girl like Peaches, looking for a quick piece of action to support a nasty habit. Her hair was neatly braided and she was sophisticated, even though she dressed like a high price hooker. And she leaned against that pole like it belonged to her, like it was specifically made to support her classiness.

He inched closer, just to see what she would say.

She might have been a working girl, new to the bus station crowd.

The woman shifted the purse from her side and reached in and pulled out a shiny white pack of cigarettes. She reached in her pocket and retrieved a gold lighter, then flicked it, cupping her hand around the bright yellow flame and expertly lighting the long thin cigarette. She balled the pack up tight and tossed it to the ground.

His heart sank. He hated seeing women smoke. His wife Nia had smoked a pack a day for twenty years before the lung cancer took her life a couple of years ago. There was no way he was going to stand there and keep quiet.

“You know,” Aaron said. He was surprised his voice had gone so high. He cleared his throat. “You should pick that up. Littering is against the law.”

The woman turned to him, peering at him over her dark sunglasses. She looked him up and down before moving. It had been a long time since a woman blatantly took him in like that. He tugged at the scarf on his neck. It all of a sudden felt too tight.

She knelt down to the ground, her eyes still trained on him, and palmed the scrunched up pack from the ground. She stood back up, and took a long drag from her cigarette.

“You know,” she replied. Smoke flowed from her mouth as she spoke, giving her an appearance of a woman well seasoned in the art of black magic. “You need to mind your own business.”

Aaron’s chin dropped to his chest. He backed away from her, almost losing his footing on a crack in the pavement. He glanced down at his too tight shoes, and peeked back up just in time to see her slowly look away from him and back at the passengers crowding onto the bus.

She was not a working girl.

A bus sped by, and the exhaust from it blew the cigarette from the mystery woman’s fingertips. It fell into a puddle of water a few feet away left by the morning rain. They both stared down at it as it sank like the Titanic into the murky water. The woman took a step towards it, but thought better of it.

“That’s what you get,” Aaron said. He slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and headed for the bus entrance.

*Stay tuned tommorow for Greyhound Blues part IIB *