The bus pulled in an hour ago. It had a thick coat of mud on it which contained the grease and dirt of countless cities left behind. Steam still floated out from under the cooling engine, cold headlights stared out sleepily, and the windows were as dark as pitch. Sleet was starting to fall, the ice pelting the metallic shell with the aid of a strong North wind. Eight passengers had followed the driver off, moving in a mechanical sluggishness to his easy gait. Desperation, dreams, hopes, imagination, disillusionment, love, lies, they were all present tonight. These, and one, lonely girl.
She had been in the rest room from the very first moment they arrived. Running in quickly, she had failed to notice the name of the diner, though it proudly advertised a gas station and hotel as well. Only the neon glare of "open" made an impression. This sign, dangling in the window freely inviting the strangers in, barely survived her assault on the front doors. They continued swinging as she ran headlong to the end of the counter, where the word "restroom" was visible. The others filed in afterwards wordlessly. Their driver disappeared upon getting the promise of his usual wake-up call from the waitress. He didn't even turn to see his charges as they filled up the barstools.
A counter acted as the centerpiece of the room. Behind it gaped a wide hole which, through ragged flyers, revealed a darkened kitchen. Aged walls were lined with advertisements; the daily special, the soup of the day, drink this, eat that. Barren tables were spread out to cover the corners, while an empty coat rack stood sullenly next to a silent jukebox, three plays for a nickel. A man sat in the farthest corner. The girl hadn't noticed him as she went by, but he had seen her. He drank coffee and had grey hair.
Orders were taken and gestures made. Courtesies were extended, along with idle small talk as the group finally settled in. Soon fresh food came out steaming from the once lifeless kitchen. Plates cooled, as forks and knives clanked. The coffee pot was never empty for long. The coat rack's invitation was accepted, and no ashtray was left empty. The two newspapers were shared, and divided, and traded, so often that a gentle breeze blew against the thick, hot air. All the while the soft patter of ice gently echoed from the windows, and an old radio croaked out the forecast. All of this was repeated a few more times as people stretched their legs, and stared out at the steaming giant that had brought them here.
Minutes on the clock lengthened. The amenities wore out and the hunger passed. Their waitress and chaperone read a magazine while others nodded off in a lethargic daze. The man still sat in the corner, his coffee tepid. He took notes with a pencil firmly grasped in his aged hand. White hair sprouted from fingers, and wrinkles rose and fell in a dance as he scribbled words on paper. A thick book occupied most of the table, and eyeglasses lay on the open page. Occasionally he would look at the window, or watch as the infrequent headlight would pass slowly upon the wall. He had not paid much attention to the performers in this circus before him. But he would glance past the pay phone, from time to time, to the light that escaped from under the rest room door.
The bellow of a toilet flush had been heard some time ago, and water was running from a sink. There had been a few chuckles, and a comment made earlier at the girl's expense. There was also a statement referring to the abilities of their slumbering chauffeur. However, the feast had soon begun, and this small corner was forgotten.
After the clock struck the hour, the door opened and gently shut. The girl, perhaps sixteen, held her coat on her arm, and wiped water off her face. She made a small effort to straighten her reddish hair before sitting down at the last stool of the counter. It gently creaked under her weight, and she leaned forward easily onto the smooth, cool wood of the bar. One of the women from the bus hurried past, muttering, "It's about time." This was followed by a mixture of laughs and snickers, which repeated themselves as the woman reemerged shortly thereafter.
The girl turned her back to the others, and found herself face to face with the elderly man. He was still sitting at the table and the light outlined what had once been a stern jaw. The girl too, was finally in the light. She wore little make-up, but what she did ran, making her eyes looked even more tired. Her dress appeared worn, but new, and her shoes had obviously seen a lot of walking. She was startled by the man's gaze, but not frightened. Brushing the hair back from her eyes, she asked, "Have you been here long?"
"Longer than you." He answered her, chuckling, the wrinkles on his face curling up. "You rushed past me, on you're way to ..." he continued, pointing.
"I ... I didn't notice you."
"You seemed a little busy." His raspy voice breathed.
"Yes." She said dreamily, biting her lower lip.
The waitress had sauntered down by this time. "You maybe want something to eat? Maybe some pie?"
The girl looked down at the purse in her hand, and up at the chalkboard menu. "Can I have a glass of water?" In a moment the large woman returned, a small glass of water over some shaved ice in her hand. She set it down on a pale napkin which quickly soaked up the moisture, and returned to her reading at the other end of the counter.
The girl gulped half of it down immediately, and then stopped not wanting anyone to see. She wiped some water off her chin and scrutinized the menu. One could almost see the arithmetic within her eyes. She frowned a little.
"You're not hungry?" Came the man's voice from behind her.
"Starved!" she exclaimed, turning once again toward him. "But I'm not eating until the next stop. I've, ah, ... got a budget."
"I see." He said. "Have you been traveling long?"
"About a day." She stopped. "And what a day it's been."
"The weather you mean?"
"Hmm. Oh, oh yes."
"Are you going clear to the coast?"
"I hope to, I've never been out West before. Have you?"
"Me, oh my yes! Lovely country out West, desert, mountains, and such."
The girl lifted the glass to her forehead, and then drank a little more.
"You're not sick are you?"
"No, it's just warm in here. I think it'll pass."
"You're going to see you're folks, or family, I suppose."
"No, I ... , friends. I've got friends."
"Oh! That so! Well, I bet they'll be pleased to see you!"
"Mmhmm." She looked down at her hands for a moment. "So, why'd you go?"
"Go?" he repeated. "Oh! to the coast, heh-heh. S'funny story. Well, perhaps not. But you'll listen anyway won't you." She nodded her head agreeably. "I grew up in the East," he began. "Tall buildings there, reached clear up to the sky! Casting glorious shadows. You could crane your neck clear back 'till it fell off and not see the tops of 'em. And you could walk back and back and still be in their shadow. People used to say, 'How lucky we are to have them,' and how there wasn't nothing, nothin', as magnificent as those. And all so very proudly. Why they was just like a Christmas tree to a small boy like me. And all I wanted to do was be a part of them. Help build them. Keep them tall, you see. And I did too. But, only they weren't as much fun to put up as a Christmas tree. You've put up a Christmas tree, haven't ya'?"
"Me? Sure." She responded.
"Well then, you know what it's like! Got all the family together, laughin' and tellin' stories. And then when it's all done and lighted up, WOW!"
She smiled and laughed a little at all this. He was waving his arms, and gesturing, and laughing. She could see it in his eyes.
"So, like I said, building those wasn't like I thought, the buildings I mean. At first it was alright, but as time went on I guess I got tired of it. No. Not really. Anyway, I heard from a friend of mine, well to tell the truth, he wasn't really a friend. But he says to me, 'They've got trees as big as this building you're making out West, in California.' Well, I says to him, 'You're a lying bastard, there ain't nothing, nothin', as big as this.' He didn't take too kindly to me calling him names, but he says, 'No sir, it's the God's honest truth, I swear. I read it in one of those LIFE magazines. They got trees so big out there that they can't go around them. They gotta' drive the cars right through them!' Well, I tell you that sent my world spinning. 'Cause I figured I'd outgrown these big tall things, always casting their shadow. So, I up and went, that I did. I was a little older than you I suspect." He stopped quietly. "Did you think an old man like me could ever be your age?"
She grinned a bit. "Did you ever see them?"
"Why I most certainly did! Grand, glorious things of beauty! Only, not quite so tall."
"So then what happened?"
"Then? Why, nothing." He shrugged.
"Nothing? What do you mean nothing?"
"Well, they didn't need no help building themselves, these redwoods. Redwoods they're called, I suppose you already knew that though. Kids nowadays are smart. They know. So there I was, only I couldn't do nothing. They don't even decorate those. I spent about three days looking at all of them, and then I left."
"You just left?"
"Yup. Kinda dumb huh? I bet you'd never do anything like that, would ya'" He looked at her curiously.
"Well, ... did you go back home?" She asked after a moment.
"Home." He sat quietly for several seconds. "No, I never did, ... have. It took me so long to get to where I wanted, well where I thought I wanted to go. I just didn't have the strength, or desire to go back. If you stay away from home long enough you don't here it calling you no more. But I'll get home, in fact that's where I'm headed. And I'll get there too."
"You really think so?"
"Of course. I'll get back some day, even if it's my very last one."
"No, I meant about home not calling you."
"Listen, home is always calling. And you can feel it deep down inside. When yer' away and you look out a window, bring in your mail, or hear a phone ring, you can sense it. It's right there pounding in your chest. And it's a fool who wastes life looking for it somewhere else, or running from it.
"But what if you've got to run? What if something terrible has happened, an you've just, just got to leave!" She pleaded.
"In that case, you've gotta' get someplace and put down roots, grow up strong and with friends by you. A person can't run forever. Old trees like me break easy, young ones, like you, bend easier. You've still got time. But, ..." He looked gently into her eyes. "I don't know if even a young redwood can grow up alone."
She looked back, placidly, into the eyes of this man, some sixty years her senior. "I hope it doesn't have to." she breathed.
During their talk the driver had gotten both himself, and the metal behemoth started. Exhaust fumes were blending in with the steam, creating a thick smog beyond the windows. The sleet had started again, and the driver knew that the road ahead would be difficult but nothing new. Ice froze over caked on mud so that it glistened when light hit it. He rounded up the passengers, rousing those that were sleeping, and got them aboard. The girl got up gently, "Gotta' go!" She smiled heavily, and walked out. The man waved gingerly. Taking coffee for the road, the driver bid a casual farewell to the waitress with a promise that he'd be back soon, then turned and followed the girl out the doors.
"Do you think you ever do any good?" The waitress asked, carrying the coffee pot down to the man.
"My good woman, " began the man, waving off the refill, "It never hurts one to think about life, after all, you're living it." He finished, putting his glasses on and flipping through some pages in his book. "Now go away," he smiled, peering over his spectacles. "Or do I need to talk to you too?"
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