FICTION

I’ve Gone to Look for America

A bus trip with Kathy

Photo by Yan Agrit on Unsplash

“What is his story, do you think?” she asked.

I met Kathy on the bus that day. Her smile glittered, and her eyes stuck to mine. I blushed and then introduced myself.

“Jenny,” I said.

“Kathy,” she said.

We shared a heavy handshake, and she plopped into the aisle seat next to my window seat.

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

“Same as you. To the end of the line. Carmel, California.”

“We have about fifty stops along the way. I am interested in them. You know, America,” I said.

“I’m interested in the ocean,” she said.

Once the bus started and we bounced around for a few miles, Kathy showed me a note on her phone.

“Let’s guess everyone’s story.”

We did by sharing notes on our phones. After five people, we started whispering instead.

“What is his story, do you think?”

Kathy was pointing to an aisle seat six rows ahead.

“Well,” I whispered. “Let’s see. Backpack. About twenty. Flannel shirt, hole in the right elbow. Jeans. Workboots. But reading a hardcover book. Kind of…