Exodus to Massachusetts

Quigley moves back to Massachusetts, his home state. Not everything is as it seems to him however.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Greyhound schedule 1681 with service to Indianapolis, Dayton-Trotwood, Columbus, and Pittsburgh is now boarding. Proceed to door C." The driver bellowed. This bus was going to be full. The early morning hours had not yet given way to dawn. The air in St. Louis was thick and humid, as if it were going to rain. In this line of people was a dull blonde haired man carrying a duffel bag that weighed at least fifty pounds. He looked down at his ticket

"Yup, 1681. That's me." He thought to himself.

Slowly but surely the line dwindled, until he was the only one left. He handed the driver his ticket and stepped aboard the bus. The bus was an older Prevost model. The seats squeaked, the windows stained with the oil of countless other passengers before him. He found his seat in the back of the bus, nearest the lavatory. It was this moment that Quigley, a twenty-three year old man was going back home to Massachusetts. He had lived in Saint Louis since he was seven. Now it was time for him to go back home.

Quigley was not proud of his name. It was an old family name, used by a few scattered cousins. Mostly it was a 19th Century name. Oftentimes he used his middle name as his preferred name. He was handsome, but not very attractive. No girl would go out of their way to date him. He was single, not proud of it; but single all the same. He came from a broken home, his parents having divorced nineteen years prior. His stepfather was harsh on him. Had it not been for him having, then losing a job; he wouldn't be in the mess he was in now. His mother cried when he left the house only hours prior.

As the bus careened across Illinois, Quigley tried to sleep, but he was too wired for it. His seatmate, a woman also in her early twenties kept trying to talk to him. He wasn't that interested, but he was warming up to the idea. By the time they crossed into Indiana, they were talking. She was coming from California on her way to Utica, New York.

"Utica's a shithole. Even the residents will tell you that."

"Why are you going back?"

"My family wants me to come back."

"Oh."

An hour later they were in Indianapolis. Quigley smoked a cigarette and went into the terminal to get something to eat. He paid five dollars for a slice of pizza. Eight for a new pack of cigarettes. The Indian woman at the counter eyed him suspiciously, as if he was going to steal something. Forty five minutes later the bus left Indianapolis and was cruising the plain of Indiana. Ohio was uneventful, as Quigley fell asleep in Springfield. Columbus was bustling, and even though the bus was late, he still made his connection. He fell back asleep as they headed up I-71 to Cleveland. Quigley had always wanted to see Cleveland. He had seen enough.

It was a long way still to Buffalo, where he would have to wait two hours. Finally after some time, they arrived. His seatmate  went out with him to smoke. While they were outside, a woman came up to them and started screaming something about creatures. She kept going at it, not letting up. This woman was persistent.

"The creatures shall not pass!"

He gave her a cigarette and she scampered off.

"Schizophrenic, she is." His seatmate said.

"How can you tell?" Quigley asked.

"She was yelling at nothing."

He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say he didn't know. He surely didn't want to have schizophrenia. As the layover was finished, he boarded the bus. They reached Utica at 4:30 in the morning. His seatmate was right, Utica was indeed a horrible looking place. Albany was the next stop. He watched the sun rise over the Adirondack Mountains. Albany was painless, like ripping off a bandage. Now it was onto Boston. Boston, the land of dreams.

They crossed into Massachusetts. Quigley was home.