Join the new world

I had to leave. I needed to leave.

I was a wanted man. I was wanted by someone who is broken in the heart and mind. A crazed one women self proclaimed sheriff.

She called my friends in Florida, and Reno. All my relationships in L.A. including my Mom. The calls consisted different versions of my job termination, our break up, my drug and alcohol use, her boyfriend for that day, and my son.

If you notice my print is shaky, I'm on a Greyhound bus.

I'm headed west.
I won't go back.
I feel horrible guilt for my son.
I feel vicious anger for her.

I'm starting a new life in the southwest with nothing more than one change of clothes , a guitar, a knapsack full of snacks given to me by a good friend, and seventy dollars.

It's been fourteen hours and I've made it to Arkansas followed shortly by Texas.

My rides pleasantness marked by by how many people riding on my particular bus.

My ride marked by two to three hour cigarette breaks at some unfriendly bus stop or convenience store.

I got a seat alone and my next smoke is in Texarcana. I'm as happy as I can get.


---Rewind---

I walked into the Memphis terminal. Knapsack on back, duffel bag across shoulder, guitar case in hand.
Several looks of expression from the audience. You can imagine, I felt very Carl Perkins.


-==Rewind further==--


Boarded the bus in Louisville. I was fucking determined to have my own seat.

I sat on the outside seat, put my knapsack and jacket on the inside seat. I kept a mid level gaze with my best grimace.

It seemed to work. I had it.

Then bad luck would have it's way. A big fat cowboy walked on the bus.
He started walking down the center of the bus looking for an open seat. I went back to my "I'll be a bad seat mate look."

It did not work. "You mind" is what I heard. I said nothing as I moved inside, looking disgusted.

He took off his ten gallon and gay cowboy coat and passed out within minutes.

His fat hairy arm pressing into mine.

I started to press back. His hair like small needles sticking into my arm. Sweat started to build between our arms. His fat chubby hand starting to fall off his fat legs on to my leg.

I raised the recline of my backrest as hard as I could, muttering "this is bullshit!"

He woke up.

I won't bother you with the lies he told me.

*Texas*

I'm so tired. It's OK though, I'm away from her and her posse of phone calls.
I know they are out there. Spreading distortions of truth, manipulations, and outright lies.

I wish I could sleep but I can't. Which is a big gamble. The next bus I get on (in Dallas) could be packed to the seams.

The bus is quiet except for the Ohio gangster couple in the back with a son about the same age of my own. I try to ignore them for so many reasons.

We pull into the city of Dallas. I start to see familiar sights of the west. It's not my home but it's good to see a Jack in the Box.

-=Rewind=-

You have to meet Walt from Wisconsin. An older man with a big stature and some what disfigured face.

He sat down in the seat in front of me and would read gas station prices out loud to me. He would also ask me probing, uncomfortable questions. These questions would consist of:
Why did you leave Cincinnati?
Did you have any kids together?
Will you ever see your boy again?

Finally I blurted out "What happened to your face?"

He disarmingly told me he had skin cancer. They had to remove a inch and a half of circle of skin by the left side of his nose. In turn, they pulled the whole left side of his cheek over to cover the hole...

He went on to tell me that his wife of forty five years had just passed. His daughter has to have a biopsy of her kidney due to hepatitis c.

I told him my Mom is having the same procedure on Friday.

It seemed we become instant friends. Speaking of politics, religion, other people on the bus, life experiences, and the price of gas at every service station we passed.

We pulled into the south Dallas terminal.

I was sad to see Walt go. He wished me luck in Tucson and told me although he will never see me again, I was a great friend. I told him the same.

I lamely said "If your ever in Tucson, look me up."

We both knew he wouldn't.

He walked away.

-😃allas Terminal=-

I called from a pay phone, my destination in Tucson.

She had called. Turns out, I have been smoking crack and shooting heroin. My destination just took it. They said nothing.

Waiting to get on the bus there was three fellows waiting to get on the bus. They had unusual attire on. One was wearing circa 1982 (Izod, Members Only) type of clothes. The other two had mechanic or service type of uniforms on. The name and company patches were there once, but not now.

The preppy (from 25 years ago) turned around and asked me "We look like lames, don't we?" I smiled an uncomfortable smile, still not really understanding.

As we got on the bus, Mr. Izod sat across the lane.

He told me his name is Ryan. Ryan and his travel buddies had just got out of prison.

I had to ask "What were you in for?" He told me he is originally from Philadelphia, ended up in Texas because he met an underage girl on myspace. He was discharged from the Air Force and did time for statutory rape.

He was going to reconcile with her. She was in Hesperia, CA. They had a child together as well as a meth habit.

He seemed genuinely happy to be free, I felt it for him.

As night fell, there was a change in him, in his talk. He became sinister. Already forgetting about freedom. I saw the jones in his eyes.

I distanced myself more and more.

We reached El Paso.

So wicked and criminal, Ryan seemed to want to knock off the Greyhound bus station itself.

A welcome goodbye.

I had a good seat mate the rest of the way. Dustin was a good, normal kid. Although it seemed, he had a bit of a drinking problem.

He was on his way back to Sacramento, away from his parents in Texas. His parents were worried about him. He acquired two DUI's in three months. He is nineteen.

At unfriendly stops, he would talk of buying alcohol. I felt his longing of comfort of being buzzed on the bus. I also pictured Dustin and I left by the roadside. The bus has strict policy against this. They announce this ad nausea. I was successful in advising him not to do this.

The bus was full, we always made sure to sit together. I shared snacks, Dustin his mp3 player.

We pulled into Tucson. Happy to be off the bus forever. The weather was gorgeous.

I called my destination, they were on the way.

I sat against the wall, on the ground, waiting, playing my guitar. A one dollar bill in my guitar case.

It was her car.

I saw my son screaming &quot😉addy!"

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

Rewind to the beginning****

I got a call from Jenkins today. . He said he had to leave, he needed to leave. Jenk's told me about how she was going psycho on him- calling his friends and family telling them bogus stories.

I told him he could crash at my place for a while, until he got on his feet. He should be here in a couple days.

****Fast forward

Jenkins called again, this time from a payphone in Dallas. She had already called me. I just listened to what she had to say- giving no response. He didn’t have much to say- just that he’ll be here tomorrow.

****The Next Day

She’s crazy. It’s undeniable. I have no idea how she knew he was coming here; maybe the fact that I didn’t freak out when she told me all her little lies.

Jenkins told me he’d be waiting in front of the station, so I wasn’t surprise to see him killing time playing his guitar as I walked from the parking lot to where he was sitting. I was about 10 feet away when I heard the screaming kid in a car, 5 feet away when I saw the crazy woman with the gun. By the time it registered, it was too late. Jenk's was slumped against the wall the dark stain spreading quickly. In typical Jenkins style- he died laughing at the irony of it all.