By Jeff Hampton
(Based on real events)
Patrick shuffled forward as the line moved ahead of him. He looked up one more time at the sign on the front of the bus. Amarillo. It was a long way to go – almost 400 miles, in fact – but he sure didn’t want to get on the wrong bus, go to sleep, and wake up halfway to Chicago or Los Angeles.
And sleeping was the whole point of getting on a bus at 11 p.m. in downtown Dallas and riding all night to Amarillo and then on to Tucumcari in the morning. He had slogged through three days of final exams and now would sleep through the dark, eight-hour trip to the Texas Panhandle and awaken refreshed and ready for the next leg.
The bus was half full and Patrick found a seat a third of the way back on an empty row. He slid in and put his coat on the empty seat next to him, looking forward to having some extra room to sleep, but he had to move his coat when the bus filled up. His seatmate was a little girl of about seven. She boarded late with a woman who was obviously her mother and who sat two rows back. They were followed by a man who struggled down the aisle on crutches, and he was followed by a half dozen soldiers carrying their duffle bags.
Patrick watched as the soldiers sat down on their heavy green duffles in the aisle and the man on crutches stood next to his wife. When it was clear that nobody was going to offer their seat, Patrick started to get up but the bus lurched forward, pushing him back into his seat and bringing a clatter and a moan from the man on crutches. The little girl looked back at him.
“What happened to your father?” Patrick asked.
“He fell off the ladder.”
“Really? When did that happen?”
“This morning. He was hanging the twinkle lights.”
Patrick looked back at the man and understood why his cast was so clean and white; it was brand new. Just then the bus hit a bump and the man groaned as he tried to keep his balance. Patrick started to get out of his seat again but one of the soldiers offered the end of his duffle bag.
Patrick turned back around. ”Where are you going?” he asked the girl.
“We’re going to see my grandmother. She’s in Witchyfalls.”
Patrick thought about that a moment. “Oh . . . Wichita Falls. It’s good to see your grandmother at Christmas. That’ll be lots of fun I bet.”
“Uh huh,” she said. “Are you going to see your grandmother?”
“No, but when I was your age all four of my grandparents came to see me at Christmas.”
“Do they still come?”
“Just my grandfathers. My grandmothers are both . . . they’re in heaven.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Yes, very much.”
“What do you miss most?”
Patrick thought for a moment. “They always made me feel special, like I was the most important person in the world. Just like your grandmother probably makes you feel.”
The girl’s mother reached forward and tugged on her arm. “Honey, let the man sleep. And try to get some rest too.”
Patrick realized he was keeping his seatmate awake so he turned to look out the window. The highway was dark and the bus was quiet, and a moment later Patrick felt the little girl’s head leaning against his side. He tilted his head back and thought about his grandparents and all those Christmases together, and then for the first time in a long time he thought about his little sister, who had died 10 years earlier. He tried to remember their last Christmas together but the details didn’t come. And then he did the math in his head and realized that if things had been different she would be a senior in high school and in the thick of all that came with that. But instead she would be forever a little girl like the little girl next to him.
Patrick drifted off to sleep as the bus pressed on through Sunset, Bowie, Henrietta and Joy. The next time he awakened the bus had stopped and he turned to find the seat next to him empty. He looked around and the father and mother were gone. Behind him, the soldiers had all found seats. Everyone was sleeping now except for him. He looked out the window where below him the driver took the luggage of a few new riders. There were only single seats left and one of the newcomers, a woman maybe 10 years older than his mother, paused and looked at Patrick.
“I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” she said as she sat down beside him. He smiled and nodded and then looked out the window, hoping that might be the end of the conversation and he could get back to his dreams, but she spoke again.
“It’s really turned cold out there, hasn’t it?”
“Has it? It was muggy when I got on in Dallas.”
“Dallas? Well you’re coming a long way tonight aren’t you? Or this morning, actually.” She looked at her watch. “Yes, I believe 2 a.m. makes it morning.”
He nodded.
“Are you going home?”
“In a roundabout way.” He read the question on her face so he explained: “I go to college in Waco but I’m from Dallas and I’m riding out to meet up with my brother and then we’re going home together for Christmas back in Dallas.”
“Well that sounds like a real adventure for two young men. I’m sure your family will be thrilled to have you both home.”
“Yes ma’am, that’s where we’ve always been at Christmas.”
“That’s so special. My children . . . they’re spread out and busy so they make grandmother come see them. We used to drive but I’m alone now and decided to take the bus. Only I let my son book the trip and he must have gotten his AM confused with his PM. But then he said I could just sleep on the bus, so here I am.”
She looked around the bus, where everyone else was sleeping, and then leaned toward Patrick and whispered, “I do wish more people would just stay home for Christmas. It would be easier for everyone, and maybe people would spend more time being quiet and thinking about the real meaning of Christmas. But it’s 1978 and everyone’s just racing and shopping and going and the little Christ child gets left alone out in the snow. But you’re going home for Christmas so that’s good. I bet you have some nice traditions.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, and then he told her that he and his brother would be home on Christmas Eve in time for dinner and church, and then the next morning they’d open gifts and have a big meal prepared by his mother.
“That’s just lovely,” she said. “I can almost see the candle flames being passed from one person to the next, everyone singing ‘Silent Night’ and all that. Oh what a blessing that will be.”
Patrick turned to look outside. The window had fogged and when he reached to wipe it with his hand he was shocked at how cold it had gotten.
“You’re right, it is really cold out there,” he whispered and turned to find the woman was sound asleep. “Lucky you,” he thought and turned back toward the window.
Quanah, Childress, Esteline, Memphis, Hadley – on up into the Panhandle the bus rolled and Patrick with it, drifting in and out of sleep. He awakened briefly when the bus stopped in Clarendon and the woman patted him on the shoulder and bid him “Merry Christmas” as she got off.
Back out on the highway. A glint of light caught his eye and he cupped his hands on the window to see patches of white on the ground. The further north they went, the more connected the patches became until they were a solid blanket of white. And then he watched as a distant string of bright lights grew closer and in time became the city of Amarillo. A few minutes later the bus crunched down the snow-covered downtown streets and into the garage at the station.
The bus door opened and a cloud of cold air rushed down the aisle. Stepping off the bus, Patrick slid on a patch of ice and crouched to keep from falling backward on his seat. He straightened up and shivered with the others as they waited for their bags and then stumbled inside. He looked up at the schedule board and next to Tucumcari was the word Delayed. He walked to the information booth.
“The bus to Tucumcari is coming from Oklahoma City but they’ve closed I-40,” said the man behind the counter. “I’m guessing they won’t get rolling again till dawn. Have a seat and I’ll let you know when it arrives.”
Patrick found a row of hard plastic chairs and sat down. The clock on the wall said 6 a.m. The connecting bus was to have arrived at 6:30 and dropped him off in Tucumcari at 8:30. Now it looked like they might not even leave Amarillo until after 9:00. Patrick looked over and saw a pay phone on the wall. It was useless because his brother didn’t have a phone.
Patrick and his brother were close but their interests were worlds apart. He had spent the past three semesters being the typical college student, while his brother had left school to try his hand at cowboying in the wilds of New Mexico. In the past seven months they shared one letter each but hadn’t talked at all until two weeks earlier when his brother called him from a motel pay phone to plan this trip.
A thud on the ground broke Patrick’s thoughts and he looked up to see one of the soldiers from the bus settling into a chair down from him. The soldier nodded and Patrick nodded back.
“Hurry up and wait. That’s my life,” the soldier said. “You gotta get used to it or you’ll go crazy.”
The soldier pulled off his cap and scratched his closely shaved head, and that’s when Patrick realized this soldier was no older than his brother.
“Going home?” Patrick asked.
“Yep. I’ve got a full week.”
“Where’s home?”
“Borger. Not far from here. My buddy’s picking me up.”
“How long since you’ve been home?”
“What day is it?” the soldier laughed. “I could tell you the exact days, hours and minutes, but it’s been close to year.”
“That’s a long time. Been anywhere interesting?”
“Fort Hood mostly, but they sent us to Germany for some training. That was pretty cool. I’ll go back to Hood after Christmas and see what’s next. But for now I’m just glad to be going home. Can’t wait to see my parents, brother and sis, hang out with my buds if they’re around. Got a lot of catching up to do.”
Patrick looked at the soldier. He never gave the military the slightest thought, but this kid had and he’d given up so much, so he asked: “Why the Army?”
“Didn’t know what I wanted to do. And my grades weren’t so good.” The soldier stood up and moved a few seats closer. “So what’s your story?”
Patrick explained how he was in college and had finished finals and rode from Dallas to connect with his brother in Tucumcari and then they’d go home, seeing some sights and visiting folks on the way.
“Where’s home for you? Albuquerque?”
“No . . . Dallas.”
“You kidding me? You come all this way just to go back? What’s that, like 500 miles or something?”
“By the time we’re done visiting some friends out here it’ll be more like a thousand.”
“Dang! If it was me I’d be sitting warm in my momma’s kitchen eating stew and cornbread while my brother dragged himself home on his own. So what’s your brother doing way out here?” the soldier asked.
“Working on a ranch.”
“I grew up around ranches. Seemed like lonely work to me. I decided I needed some excitement. So how come you’re not a cowboy?”
“Just not my thing. I was always going to college.”
“What are you studying?”
“Just general stuff right now. Don’t have a major yet.”
“What do you like?”
“Still trying to figure that out. My best classes so far are English, writing, history.”
“Maybe that’s you. Maybe you’ll do something with that.”
“Maybe so,” Patrick said.
Just then a door opened and there was a burst of cold air. “Hey, Henry, let’s go.”
“That’s my ride.” The soldier slung his duffle bag on his shoulder and extended a hand to Patrick. “Hang in there college boy.”
“You too . . . and Merry Christmas.”
An hour later the bus to Tucumcari arrived. There were just a dozen passengers and Patrick found a seat away from anyone else. There were only two stops going west but the bus was warm and quiet and Patrick slept through them. The next time his eyes opened the bus was pulling into the station in Tucumcari. Patrick wiped the crust out of the corners of his eyes and used his sleeve to clear the window. Looking across the icy parking lot that sparkled in the morning sun, he saw his brother’s tan pickup looking duller and more beat up than when he last saw it. There were just a few people getting off the bus and it didn’t take long to collect his bag. As he walked up to the truck with its windows fogged and vapor pouring out the tail pipe, the driver’s window lowered and there was his brother looking every bit the cowboy he had gone west to be.
“You’re late,” his brother grinned through a tangled mustache.
“Yeah, sorry about that. So . . . you gonna let me in?”
“Sure.”
Patrick tossed his duffle bag into the bed of the truck and climbed onto the warm seat. His brother jerked the transmission into gear and rolled forward onto the highway.
“So, where we going?” the cowboy asked.
“Home,” Patrick said. “Home for Christmas.”
THE END
Copyright © 2016 by Jeff Hampton