2000-08-23

When we pulled away from the city and were on the New Jersey turnpike, I looked back at Manhattan from where we were. It was almost a half an hour before I couldn't see the Empire State Building and the Twin Towers in the distance. Mostly though, I just watched the people on the turnpike driving next to us. Rich people, commuters, driving in luxury cars. Jaguars. Miatas. Red convertibles with unbuttoned blue oxford shirt flapping in the wind. Cigarettes wafting through the interiors of grey Mercedes. The suits were going home. I watched the exodus from my perch, high in the very last seat on the left side of the Greyhound. I was right next to the Restroom. I could hear the water swishing back and forth with every stop and go.

The girl sitting nearby looked interesting. She had short hair. Girls with short hair are always good. She had a pleasant face. I couldn't help but smile to think that she might be queer. But she couldn't be. What would be the random possibility that she would be. She ran to the bathroom every two hours. I imagined in my mind that she ran into the restroom to snort a line of coke. Why else would anyone need to go in the bathroom so often in one day?

Eventually, we make it to Philadelphia. This is a city? You've got to be kidding! It looked like a city when I was here years ago. It was scary and big and black and now you're trying to tell me that it's a city? It just looks like row after row of falling apart houses! I don't understand how this can be a city. New York City is a City. I laughed at Philadelphia in my head. The sun was hitting the pavement and was smearing the sky with pink.

We pulled into the Philadelphia Greyhound terminal and I was listening to a tape that sasha had made for me many months prior. We had been sitting there for a couple of minutes when an older black man came back to where I was sitting. He was wearing a Greyhound shirt. He said, "Is anyone sitting with you?" I said no. He said, "You'll need to move your stuff so that someone else can sit there." I rolled my eyes and put the backpack underneath my seat, the pillow behind my head and the water bottle next to my right thigh. For a while I wasn't sure if anyone would really need to sit next to me. I was enjoying my solitude. Soon, however, three teeny-weeny black kids walked up by me. They were all between the ages of 3 to 5. A taller girl walked behind them. She looked 15 or so. I said, "I hope that's not their mother." I sat up further in my seat and realized that the lady up front was their mother. The mother was tall and skinny, she had big brown eyes, big brown lips and long legs. She had her hair pulled back into a tall pony tail that when cascaded in the back was blonde. The older girl who I thought might be the mother came to me and asked if she could sit down. I said, "No of course you can sit down." I was still listening to my tape.

We eventually pulled out of the Philadelphia terminal. The city was nothing spectacular. The streets were blank compared to what I might expect to see in NYC. Philadelphia reminds me of Detroit except in better shape economically, Cleveland except cooler than Cleveland.

We drove on in the darkness. The girl sitting next to me. The smell of her hair infusing itself to my nostrils. Her cornrows perfectly braided and stretched over her head. Her cornrows that ended with a colorful rainbow of plastic barrettes. She was wearing a brown slip dress and an over-sized blue polyester basketball coat. I smiled at her occasionally. I ate a banana. What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to talk to her? I listened to Stereolab.

We pulled into the Harrisburg Greyhound terminal and I finally mustered up the strength in my voice to say, "So where are you going?"
      She said, "California."
      "Where in California?" I asked.
      "LA."
      "What'chya doing in LA?"
      "Well ma momma knows a boy out there and we gonna move out there to be wit him."
      "You're moving out to LA?"
      "Yep. Me and ma momma and ma grandma and my 7 brothers and sisters."
      "7 brothers and sisters?!?"
      "Yeah, my momma's 22 and she's got an eighth one in her belly."
      I said, "How old are you?"
      "Twelve."

I tried to get the facts straight. Her mom was 22. This girl, who was named Vanessa, was the oldest of 7 kids. She was 12 going on 13. She and her mom and her grandma and her mom's boyfriend and all the kids were moving from Philly out to LA to live with some guy. I didn't understand why exactly. Her english was so broken it was difficult to understand exactly what she was trying to say. Her vocabulary was very limited and she didn't enunciate anything. I don't know how I got her started exactly, but my series of questions started a verbal barrage that just poured out of her. She spoke in circles. She spoke but she didn't look at me, except for once every couple of minutes to glance at my eyes to see if I was still paying attention. I wondered if anyone ever listened to this girl. I wondered if she needed a therapist.

Within minutes she was telling me about Selena. You know, Selena the Mexican singer who was killed by the leader of her fan club just as she was hitting it big in the States. Jennifer Lopez starred in the movie about her. Everything I know about Selena I know because of a "Behind the Music" documentary on her on VH1.
      Vanessa said, "I love Selena. I'm gonna move to LA and have me a room where I can have Selena posters up. My gramma's gonna get me tapes of Selena so's'I can put it in my backpack and listen to it at school. I's gonna put a rose on Selena's grave cuz I love Selena..." She went on and on and on for 20 minutes about Selena saying the same things over and over and never very clearly, either. She went on and on telling me about Selena with her disjointed facts and her impressions of Selena. It was difficult to maintain face.
      I said, "So, what are you going to do with your life? You want to sing?"
      She proceeded then to her next topic of conversation; Juan -- her twelve year old boyfriend. "I's gonna have 5 kids. I's gonna wait until I'mma teenager but I's gonna have 5 kids. I's gonna marry Juan. He's my boyfriend. I love Juan. Just talked to Juan today on the phone. Some kids threw milk in his face at school. I'm gonna throw fruit at 'em..." She went on and on about Juan this and Juan that. I wish I could say that I understood the details that she spoke of, but I don't. She spoke quite loudly and passionately about Juan, I might add. "He kiss me and and grab my butt and hold my hand and I know he love me. I know. We's gonna be married and have 5 kids..."
      Soon she delved into the story of Juan's younger brothers. Juan had apparently two younger brothers who had been shot in the back of the head recently. She saw the blood come out. But I don't know who did it, and I don't know if she did either. It was adults, however, one black and one mexican. She said, "Me and Marlan and Mac (her two younger brothers) were on the news the other day. They asked us questions and we told'em that Juan's little brother got shot in the back of the head and where." It was about this time that her little brother Marlan walked up to where Vanessa and I were sitting. He simulated the gunshots for us. "Pow Pow Pow Pow went the bullets!" He was a beautiful boy.
      Before too long, the woman in the seat in front of us told Vanessa to "Hush." She said, "I'm trying to go to sleep." I said, "Vanessa, I think we need to be quiet. She needs to sleep."
      Vanessa knows how to fucking sleep. Within no time at all she was conked out next to me, her cornrows pushing into my lap. She was squirming and would push further and further into my arm and my lap. I would push her back. She drooled on herself and onto my arm. I was semi agitated and semi amused. I didn't know what to do about this, so I just waited it out.
      It was midnight and the bus pulled over at a cafeteria in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania for a 20 minute rest stop. I grabbed a bag of pretzels and a bag of cheez-its. I went to the bathroom and peed. When I went to wash my hands, the lady who was sitting in front of me said, "You've got quite a talker there." I said, "Yes ma'am. She's got quite a difficult life it sounds like.." She said, "Yes and it sounds like she has no one to talk to." I nodded in agreement. I finished my pretzels and got back on the bus. My nose was acting up and needed to be cleaned. Vanessa was still asleep. I got back into position and eventually the bus moved. We were on our way again. For the next 2 hours Vanessa slept with her cornrows and barrettes in my lap. She held onto my wrist at times. Her mouth laid wide open. I couldn't sleep. I wanted to but I couldn't. I was tired but I couldn't sleep in that position and I couldn't sleep with her in my space. So I just closed my eyes and thought about Vanessa.
      Time went by and we pulled into Pittsburg. We had an hour layover in Pittsburg that lasted from 2:15 in the morning until 3:20am. It was ridiculous. I napped for a while but we reboarded after they had cleaned the greyhound. When we got to Columbus, it was 7:00 in the morning. I made Vanessa wake up. I said, "We all have to get out. Get up!" I brought my backpack with me. I was pissed. My neck was stiff and sore and I felt like I couldn't move it. My head was filled with so much pressure I felt like it would explode. I kept thinking that I had never spent so much time with someone who I had so little in common with. I felt bad about the whole Vanessa story. I wished I could help her. But what can I do? What could anyone do? What could anyone do in the time between Philadelphia and Columbus that would alter her course of life such that she wouldn't have children in her teenage years and heartbreak in her adult years? What could I do for her? How could I pull her up or out or make her see or make her think? I kept thinking about Tupac. I kept thinking about that song "Brenda's got a baby." I kept thinking about the system and about how her momma and her momma's momma probably went through similar shitty situations that Vanessa is going through. But what could I do? At one point during the bus ride I asked her if she and Juan had had sex. She said no. I said, "Well if you do, please use condoms." I don't think she even knew what they were. And you know what? I can still smell Vanessa on my fingernails and on my jeans and on my skin... I pray for Vanessa.
      When we got off at the Columbus terminal, I just sat on the floor and ate my bag of cheez-its and gave everyone dirty looks. I wanted everyone to know that they should stay away from me and that I was not one to be talked to. I was not feeling friendly. I had a headache, a neckache and a bodyache. I wanted to be a bitch.
      When we reboarded, I finally worked up the nerve to ask the cute girl that I mentioned earlier where she was going. She was going to Seattle. She was taking a bus ride from New York City to Seattle! The whole trip was going to take 3 days, however she was going to stay with some friends and family in St. Louis and in Denver. Turns out she is queer! She mentioned that she and her girlfriend had been together for a year. Turns out that she is a student at Smith College in Massachusetts. But she's from Olympia originally. She wants to major in Government with a minor in women's studies. She wants to go into law and work for environmental justice, among other things. We talked from Columbus to Dayton about this and that. It was mostly small talk but she was interesting and refreshingly friendly. She had a beautiful smile. I snook a carrot from her. When I got off at Dayton I said goodbye to her and for her to email me if she gets the chance.. Her name was Gail, by the way.

Anyway, when I got off the bus, I didn't know what to tell my dad. I looked at the city of Dayton and said, "This isn't a city!" I laughed. The barrenness of the Ohioan countryside really shocked me. I couldn't believe how flat and undeveloped it was. It was like seeing Ohio again for the first time. So now I am home again and I have to get ready to leave again in a couple of days. By sunday I will be moved into Ann Arbor again for the school year. But for now I am home.

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