"The Greyhound Blues" Part III: "Wine and Tears"

Happy Valentine's Day
Here... have a virtual rose!


Part III of "Greyhound Blues" goes out to all the Lovers in the house.

...and for those who are loving someone from afar.


Wine and Tears
He steps on the bus, clean as always, wearing that same camel suede coat.
His favorite black thick ribbed turtleneck clings to his body like a long lost love.
His hair is neat, and looks like it was just trimmed with scissors fresh out the pack, specially manufactured for the cutting of his coarse hair .
He stops beside me just to tease me, wearing that scent, all citrusy and woodsy, that just had to be custom made just for him.
He was polite to the rowdy college crowd that sat just behind me. It was like him to do that, pinpointing the most boisterous crew on the bus and purposefully convincing them he’s one of them. I’d already assessed them, found them to be relatively harmless, although flirty, and oh so eager to practice that machismo that flows thick and fast through all mens veins.
“Hey baby, what’s your name?”
“Why a woman as fine as you riding the bus?”
“If you were my lady, you’d never have to ride the bus. I would take you wherever you wanted to go, even to the moon.”
I tell them I’m on a trip to visit my sick cousin, and the bus is cheaper than my gas guzzling car or an airline ticket. This explanation seems to work, as they express their sympathies and hope that everything will be alright.
But Fletcher does what he does well, bending over and saying my name like no other.
He never calls me Chandra, but calls me Twist, preferring my last my name to my first. Maybe it’s because it only has one syllable and not two, or because he can lazily leave off the “t” and draw out the “s”. The “sssss” that flows from his lips when he says my name is like that from the serpent that moved through the garden, and hung from a tree, convincing Eve that she can be all she all she can be. . .
. . . if she would just listen.
I use to love it, but now I hate it. I wish he'd call me Chandra, or at least put my title Seargent in front of the “Twist” like everyone else does. But I play the game as always, never blowing our Nightrider cover, making it tight like a new pair of shoes in need of breaking in.

“Twist,” he says.

I cut my eyes at him, like I always do, then look all around like I’m checking to see if he’s addressing someone that I just don’t see. I look back up at him, then flip my hair back behind my ear, then look away like I always do.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” he says.

“Excuse me?” I say.

His duffel bag falls to the floor. It makes a hard thump, sounding too much like the bang of his fist against the door of my hotel room during that awful snowstorm last year. He was hurting that night, and needed to talk. . .
. . . or so he said.

He leans over, folding his arms and resting them on the back of my seat, getting a little too close for comfort. He smells like the rain that fell one night during our layover in a town whose name I can’t remember. Our bus had broken down and we sat on a bench much too close, waiting for another to come our way.

“Twist that pretty thick leg out the way so I can sit with you, sugar,” he says, with a quick lick of his lips for effect, even though the only one who can see this is myself.

I grip the laptop resting on my lap like I gripped his back the night we first made love a few months ago, the night of that big snowstorm in some town whose name I can’t recall. Again, he missed his wife who’d died a year ago, and needed to lay his head on my shoulder.

Or so he said...
I listened as he cried that night over missing, wanting, and needing his dear Nia. I missed her too, as she was indeed a good friend of mine. But I wasn't in the mood that night to reminesce for life long gone. I only wanted to be alone with my two bottles of oak-aged Shiraz, bought on sale at the liquor store across the way.
But who would've known that wine and tears do blend so well. . .
Just like me and Fletcher did all through that stormy night, when his yearnings for Nia turned into yearnings for me, then back to yearnings for Nia.
To wake up the next morning with him long gone was the worst feeling I've ever had, especially since he didn't acknowledge me afterwards. . .
Acknowledge these feelings I have for him. . .
These thoughts I have flow through my heart strong like a raging river as I search for the words to say to him now.
“There’s no sugar here, player,” I say, my voice strong and nasty, my heart trembling like a baby fresh from a warm bath. “Uh, maybe you should check up front with the geriatric crew. You might find some sugar up there.”

I say it smooth as I can, like a woman spurned, not a woman sad. A series of oohs and foot stomps explodes from the back of the bus, letting me know that I’d done my job, and done it well. Fletcher glances over his shoulder at the laughing fellas, then the coal black eyes I love so much fell back against me, causing me to twitch ever so subtlely in places I don’t care to mention.
He turns and jokes with the guys, then turns back to me. I’d opened my laptop and was busy pecking away at letters, all consonants, no vowels. I lean my head back against the glass and for once, I am glad of it. The cold feel of it reminds me that I am here to handle business and to smother all things personal, to make sure those who ride this bus can anticipate of the pleasures of their destination and not fret over their safety.

But at times, I can’t help myself. I stare at this man, this man that I love, from afar no less. I ponder this man who I’ve had the pleasure to experience in the late midnight hour, when two become one, and no one knows.

But I know.
And he knows.
Even though wine mixes with tears, it’s not a good mix, as one dilutes the other.
Wine made weak, and cleansing tears made strong.
Whoever knew that such coming together could be so wrong.


Afterword for Part III.

**crickets**

Well, well, well...

Did you think that Aaron Fletcher knew the woman with the laptop? Hmm.

I didn't either. I just remember getting him on the bus and having him talk to different people. She was attitudinal with him, but I began to think...

I wonder what that chick with the laptop is thinking about? Is she looking him up and down like the pink coat, cigarette smoking Ta.yari, or what? Is there a connection between Aaron Fletcher and Chandra Twist.

I made her a bus marshall. Makes more since anyway to have TWO cops on the bus just in case anything went down, really.

But I must say, I like Chandra Twist. And I just wanted to know what was on her mind, and uh, she has A LOT on her mind.

Now something funny happened when Ms.Blackliterature.com read this piece a couple of weeks ago.

She sent back an email saying something to the effect of that she thinks that Chandra Twist is ME (LadyLee)...

**huge crickets**
Stop playing, Ms. Blackliterature.com !!

Naaaaawwwwwwwl...

First off, I'm not opening my hotel door. Nope. There would have not been any wine and tears. The story wouldn't have even started out like that. It would've started out more like...

"Look at this negro here... getting on the bus. DANG! I told them folks I didn't want to be on the same bus with him. And now look. He's coming my way. He's gonna catch this laptop in his grill if he so much as THINK about say one word to me."

Then I would've went into a long flashback of me going off on him for sleeping with me and walking off the way he did. Matter of fact, I would snap on him every time I saw him. Aaron would hate the Oldgirl! I have a bad attitude. I have anger managment isshas. I have a violent streak. I have absolutely no tact to speak of.

Nope. This ain't about me. This is about Chandra Twist.

Like I said, I like her character a lot, even though she is apparently hurt and confused. I'm wondering why she continues to work with him. I'm also remotely thinking about her past. Obviously she was good friends with Aaron's deceased wife Nia. But I'm wondering what else is up with her. Hmm...

This could all end up in a girlfight between Chandra and Ta.yari.

(Tay.ari would lose. I can see pink fur of her coat flying all over the place.)

But it's not going in that direction. (Although that would be. . . interesting.)

Hmmm....

Stay tuned for Part IV.
Warning: Not the final part, but will finish the set-up of the story.