Departure

Saying goodbye may not be the hardest thing old friends can do.

Departure

“Why do you want me to drive you to the Bus Station?” Lesa asked, shifting into fourth.

“Just curious about something,” Tom replied, looking straight ahead.

Lesa cranked the wheel of her teal, 68 Bug hard left, crossing traffic as she turned into the nearly deserted “Trailways” parking lot, centrally situated in the decomposing shell of downtown Jackson.

“Why are we here?” she asked with a bit less patience than before.

“I like buses,” he said evenly, still giving nothing away.

Before Lesa had a chance to throw the stick in “Park” Tom had completed five bounding steps across the lot, and for the first time, she thought she could make out a visible bulge in the fabric of Tom’s jacket, extending backward, from under his left armpit.

“Hang On!” she hollered, to no effect. She was still inside of the car, doors closed, trying, under mounting aggravation, to jerk the key out of the ignition.

Swinging the door open, and her legs to the ground, in one fluid motion, she tried again, “Wait Up!” Her words ricocheted off the now closed terminal doors. Tom was out of sight.

Lesa had grown accustomed to Tom’s flights of fancy years before but, as yet, she still had no real idea how, or why, she had been led here. Tom could be so taxing.

Once inside, she caught the back of Tom as he trotted up to the ticket counter window, partially obscuring the lone ticket agent. Taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the bus station, Lesa spotted an ancient drinking fountain out of the corner of her eye and was momentarily derailed from taking up her pursuit of Tom. She was thirsty and had wanted to stop at a Drive-thru for a Coke, while en route to the station, but Tom had skillfully convinced her that there would be time enough later. As she gulped down an immense amount of tepid water, she cocked her head in Tom’s direction to fix his position. I’ve got time, she thought.

When the watering was finished, Lesa stood erect once more, sending a single, last drop of fountain water, escaping her chin, and falling onto the front of her Charlie Chaplain t-shirt. The tiny globe of liquid landed on the surface of the screen print, just at the corner of his eye. It paused; hanging in place for a moment, till it ran a few inches down Chaplain’s cheek without soaking in, making it appeared as though the “Little Tramp” was crying.

 Lesa walked up to Tom as he spun away from the ticket counter, his business concluded. She was presently struck by the bright, yellow slip of paper clinched in Tom’s left hand. It was the same color as the promotional, Styrofoam banana her Grandpa Hal proudly displayed on the tip of the antenna on his 79 Cutlass, after receiving it “Free” with a fill-up at his local gas station.

 

Without betraying her growing unease, Lesa asked, “Whatcha got there?”

 “Ticket,” he replied, looking past her in the direction of the boarding platform.

With an extremely curious tone in her voice, Lesa continued her line of questioning.

“Ticket singular?  Not “Tickets” plural?”

“One…Just one,” he replied, tapping the edge of the ticket repeatedly on the side of his right index finger.

She proceeded with caution.

“May I see the ticket?”

Without taking his eyes of the platform he turned the ticket around so Lesa could examine it carefully. She learned that Tom was in possession of a boarding pass for a one-way trip to Kenosha, Wisconsin which would be leaving in about six minutes, according to the large clock hanging on the wall, above Tom’s head.

“Why’d you buy the ticket, Tom?” Lesa asked quietly.

“To go to Kenosha,” Tom answered, a bit confused by the obvious nature of her question.

Staring directly into his eyes, Lesa stemmed the rising frustration that this current exchange was stirring within her.

“Why are you taking a bus to Kenosha, Wisconsin?” she asked.

“Ohhhh,” he said with surprise, now realizing the actual meaning behind her previous question. “I want to see what the world looks like, traveling to Kenosha.”

Lesa lowered her head, closed her eyes, and emitted a small sigh. A moment passed she raised her head to find Tom’s gaze once again fixed on the boarding area.

“Tom,” she said quietly, with only the slightest quiver in her voice. “What will you do once you get there?”

Tom’s response was enthusiastic. “I’m going to perform random quality checks on various dairy products.”

“How?” Lesa said, as the flame of her confusion reignited.

“By eating lots of ice cream, cheese, and butter everywhere I go there,” he said smiling broadly.

After considering all she had just learned, Lesa ventured forth once more.

“The ticket is marked one-way Tom. When will you be returning?” she asked, now quite exhausted by the exchange.

“I really don’t think I’m the one to ask, do you?” he replied with a hint of mischief.

While forming her next question with furrowed brow, Tom suddenly pulled out a rolled-up old, brown paper bag from inside of his jacket. Distracted by the emergence of the “Mystery Lump” Lesa asked, “What’s in the bag, Tom?”

“Things,” he said, without emotion.

“Could you show me?” she asked, almost fearful of finding out.

Tom unrolled the wadded bag slowly. One at a time, he then produced a variety of items for Lesa’s inspection. First, a clean, white, pair of men’s underwear, then a clean, white, pair of men’s ankle socks. Next an unopened 5 stick package of Juicy Fruit which had always been both Tom and Lesa’s favorite chewing gum.

“Hold out your hand,” Tom said.

Lesa’s curiosity was in full-bloom as she extended her hand. Tom drew his tightly closed fist from the bag one last time and deposited a pair of small, toy cars onto Lesa’s palm. One was a yellow ambulance, and the other, a red, 1971 Corvette Stingray. Lesa recognized the toys, which she’d seen neither hide nor hair of since they had been misplaced when she was about nine years of age. She smiled as she drank them in. Mystery solved.

While Tom gently placed the gum and the clothing back into the bag and rolled it closed, Lesa could hear the voice of a woman coming over the loudspeaker. The voice had a rather familiar quality to it as it echoed throughout the terminal.

“Announcing final boarding for express service to Kenosha, Wisconsin.”

As the voice trailed off it was replaced by a steadily growing “BUZZZZZZZZ!”

Lesa looked on blankly as Tom’s hands closing tightly around the worn, brown bag. The buzzing surged. Lesa’s eyes slammed shut, while her jaw, neck, shoulders, back, arms, legs, fingers, and toes contracted in unison.

“That ought to do it, Doctor,” The lab technician’s voice was nearly emotionless.

“Thank you,” said Dr. Frankel, “Let her cool down here for a few minutes then have the orderly take her down to recovery.”

The technician broke Lesa’s pit bull hold on the rubber mouth guard by grasping the handle and giving it a wiggle and a tug slipping it past Lesa’s clenched teeth and lips. He wiped the saliva from his gloves onto the leg of his scrubs before removing the electrodes which lightly adhered to her temples.

Dr. Frankel loosened his necktie after signing the bottom of the treatment chart, indicating that the prescribed duration and voltage had been properly administered.

Stepping outside to the waiting room Dr. Frankel saw Lesa’s mother sitting alone on a couch, in the corner. He stepped across the room; sitting down on the arm of the chair, across from her.

Impatient for answers, her mother immediately asked, “Well, Doctor… is this going to work?”

With no perceivable hesitation, Frankel answered, “We’ll have to give it some time, but I think I can safely say that we’ve seen the last of Lesa’s imaginary friend.”

Chewing steadily on a piece of gum, the tall, dark orderly arrived next door, grabbing the medical chart, with its bright yellow pages, and placing it on Lesa’s stomach before guiding her gurney quietly out of the small treatment room, and on towards the recovery area.

“Announcing final boarding for express service to Kenosha, Wisconsin,” the orderly announced gleefully.

As he spoke, the scent from the orderly’s chewing gum cascaded down upon his patient. Had Lesa been slightly more conscious, she might easily have recognized its fragrance.