The Girl on the Bus

It was 1992, and I had gone to Boulder City for a week to see a friends high school graduation. It would have been a four hour drive from Ridgecrest, but my fair weather 1980 Mercury Capri was being temperamental and so instead it would be an eight hour bus ride. The trip there was uneventful just myself and seven other people rattled around the fifty seat Greyhound.

With Brian (my elementary school friend) old memories were shared, new events were learned, graduation ceremonies attended, and parties till dawn were enjoyed. It was a great week, even if it was too short. He drove me to the bus terminal, where we shook hands, slapped each other a hug goodbye, and parted company with the promise to keep in touch. The bus growled lowly to itself, as the driver waited for the departure time. With my travel bag hanging off my shoulder and a pillow under my arm, I stepped up the stairs of the ten wheel transport for a quiet trip home.

Looking down the aisle, to my surprise, the bus was filled (minus a few seats up front and one towards the back) tie-dyed shirts, dread locks, and the familiar fermenting smell unique to a crowd that hasn't bathed in a few days. I felt completely out of place in my red silk shirt, black slacks and my 10 eye Doc Martins. I made my way to the available seat in the back and sat down next to a dish-watered blonde girl. She wore an oversized multi-colored tank top, the kind with arm holes that go nearly all the way to the bottom of the shirt. the garment did just enough to hide her bra-less form, bringing a slight blush to my face. She didn't wear the shirt in a provocative way, instead she sat there looking perfectly comfortable. Her hair hung back stiff behind her sweet soft face, and her green eyes brought out the freckles that lightly dusted her cheeks.

Just before I sat down, she gave me a quick look with an odd expression, perhaps it was uncertainty, but the look changed quickly into a pleasant inviting smile. "Hi, I'm Angel" she said, extending her hand.

"Hi, I'm Twink" I replied with a gentle shake.
"Tweak?"
"No, Twink."
"Oh, Twink, that's cool"

We slowly worked our way through the awkward conversation that takes place when strangers meet. I learned she was returning home from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. She had been in town attending all three days of the Grateful Dead concert, which also explained the rest of the passengers on board. The conversation lulled, and we look'ed out the window, and watched the sun begin to set over the barren landscape of the Mojave Desert.

After about thirty minutes she finally broke the silence. "The world is so wonderful," she floated back to me, still looking out the window "Each aspect and each scene has it's own beauty, ya know?"
"What do you mean," I replied, "there's nothing out there. It's just dirt. It's a total wasteland."

"Are you kidding me? Look out there, tell me what you see?"
"I see sand and rocks"
"Oh yeah, what about all those li'l bushes?"
"OK, so there's a few bushes out there too"
"Right, and those li'l bushes are an entire world for lizards and jack rabbits, which feed birds and coyotes. So because of those li'l bushes there's life in this so called wasteland of yours."

She went on to tell me how the whole world was alive, and that all life carried with it, its own personal rhythm. She believed in the good in everyone. She didn't believe in evil. She felt we needed to remember that people are still animals, and what some consider evil, is just our instincts of survival. So that if we approached the problem of evil with the mind set of, "what has made these people feel that this action is their only choice for survival?" we might be able to prevent a lot of the problems before they ever occur. She spoke with a calm optimism, explaining that everything has a soul; people, animals trees, even the dirt itself. And these souls need to be recognized and respected. She ended the conversation saying that each soul has a path, and no matter how obscure and undefinable that path may seem to be, it needs to be followed. Though I may not have agreed with everything she said, the attitude which she carried and saw the world from infected me.

She got up and went back to the small room that housed the bathroom leaving me to think of all we had just talked about. During this time in my life i was swinging in religious confusion, nothing seemed to click inside me with all the churches I had attended all the books I had read, and it was with her words that made me realize that my beliefs are individualized for me. They don't have to match anyone else's, for I am on my own path.

The bus then abruptly pulled of to the side of the road. A voice then crackled out of a small speaker above my head. "Would the person smoking in the restroom kindly exit the bus."
Angel emerged, shrugged at me, grabbed her bags and said goodbye with a small friendly kiss. That was the last I ever saw of her. I only had known her two and a half hours, but she had given me the courage to be me. To hold my beliefs proudly, despite what others may think. To always be willing to open myself up to new views and interpretations. Also that just as my views are mine other have their own, and just as I wish to be respected I need to do the same for others.