***Trigger Warning – contains potentially distressing material pertaining to sexual assault
Adventures With Greyhound
My first solo trip happened on the cusp of my 10th year of life. I was traveling back home from what was supposed to be an eventful summer vacation with my aunt. The environment of this vacation was less than kind, however, and I struggled (but fortunately survived) through it.
I was now ending my summer vacation on a bus ride back home after my aunt finally came to terms with the fact that she could no longer provide me with the summer she had planned for me. The trauma I suffered was not the primary reason for my leaving; my aunt was ill and in the final stages of breast cancer.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I pondered this as the other wheels of my mind and their minds sought to understand and connect the tragic events that led me to be sitting on a bus all alone. I was not alone for much of the time though. My solitary presence had garnered the curiosity and stares of other passengers.
I remember an older woman sitting near me for a bit when the bus driver informed her that he was looking out for me to make sure I made the transfer connection to the next bus. This older woman who was probably my grandmother’s age took a keen interest in me. She sat across from me and watched me with loving but concerned eyes. She was most likely concerned that I was traveling late at night when I should have been in bed.
The older woman remarked on some things, but I could tell that she was simply puzzled by me and whoever had put me on the bus alone. Several times I recall her attempting small conversation with me, but I was mute. I only nodded when I thought it was appropriate while trying to maintain respect for her. Nonetheless, she was a stranger, and I was not supposed to talk to strangers. Plus, I was tired and wanted to go to sleep.
The Transfer
When the bus reached the terminal for transfer, the bus driver let me exit the bus first. When I got off, the bus driver grabbed my suitcase from underneath the bus and walked me to another driver. Both drivers exchanged brief pleasantries and then the original driver walked off. As I recall, this particular bus driver was extremely nice and very talkative. He told me that he would be my driver for the remainder of the trip until I reached my home destination.
According to this driver, he knew my home destination very well as he made trips frequently to my area. He also mentioned that he knew of my family’s name and new a few of my relatives. Yet, to me, this bus driver was just another stranger. He seemed kind enough, but looking back on this time, I honestly do not know how my parents could be so trusting of complete strangers to get me where I needed to be, but I guess they figured they had no choice.
During the transfer, I quickly became a phenomenon traveler. Who lets a young child travel solo? I was far from being a teenager, and although there were physical developments going on with my body, I was still very much a child. The stares I received were most likely more about the fact that I was traveling solo at night. My ticket time for departure was marked as 9 p.m., but the transfer time had to be around 12 midnight. It was bedtime for a child, but not me. I was living a far different life back then that was hastened by volatile circumstances.
Needless to say, I successfully got onto another bus with a lively bus driver who was excited about making sure I reached my home destination safely. He told me that he was in it for the long haul with me and had been given specific instructions to handle me with care. So, I was seated directly behind him just like on the last bus with the previous driver. I hoped to get some sleep, but that was not to be the case. Maybe this bus driver wanted to keep himself awake and alert for the drive. I do not know, but he talked and laughed incessantly almost the entire drive. It was the most exciting trip I had ever taken.
The Nightlife
I should have been asleep is probably the thought of some of the adults on the bus, but I was wide awake, carefree, and watching the nightlife. For every place that the driver passed by on our destination, I would watch the lights. I would look out into the city, and I would imagine what life would be like to live in a particular area. I wondered how safe the area was and if the area was as impressive during the day as the nightlights made it seem during the night.
I could not sleep because I was on edge. I was anxious, and I thought fondly of my aunt. I knew that she and her child would be fast asleep during this time, and I wondered with sadness if she even thought of me. I was anxious because I was ready to go home and be in my own bed. I was ready to get rid of the summer and shed it like it old skin. I wanted to freely breathe in fresh air. I was ready to be back home with my family. The bus ride had rendered me agitated by the sounds of voices – mainly the bus driver’s. I was tired, but I was too fearful to shut my eyes.
At some point, however, I did shut my eyes, and the next thing I knew, I was awakened by the bus driver who told me we were at a rest stop. I glanced around to see people unloading from the bus, and for whatever reason, the bus appeared to be empty. The bus driver watched me as I ventured off the bus and to the restroom, but before I could completely gain my bearings, I heard my name called.
It was the first time I had heard my name pronounced in its entirety in a long time. My aunt always called me by my nickname. It was a nickname that was synonymous with “crazy” or “eccentric”. Hearing my nickname always made me shutter to turn around and have to acknowledge it, but this time around, I heard my actual name. When I turned around, I saw a woman smiling back at me. Her face was as kind as the kind woman’s face who had rescued me from the sexual assault. My heart skipped a beat because when I looked into this woman’s face, I saw what I thought was an angel in human form.
A Bus Ride To Change
Although I cannot say that I have ever seen an angel’s face, this woman whom I will call “Mother” was an extremely kind woman. She was not simply kind, however, she was empathic. There was something wonderful about her energy – her entire being – that drew me to her like a strong magnetic force. Most often, if is difficult for me to open myself up to people. I can be rather aloof upon first getting to know another individual. Yet, with this woman, it was as if I already knew who she was … as if we had long known each other in my short span of 10 years living.
In fact, she informed me that I did know her. She lived up the street from my family home. Specifically, she lived three houses up the street from my family home. She happened to be visiting with family in the city. My aunt had phoned her because they were close friends. They talked frequently. They were best friends. “Mother” made me aware that she knew a lot about me. In the way that she spoke, I could tell that she knew more about me in terms of what happened during the summer with my aunt than even my parents knew.
There was a depth to “Mother’s” eyes that I understood. The depth was that she knew me. She knew what happened to me, and for a quick moment I remember recoiling from her. I withdrew from her in shame. I will never forget that feeling. I remember feeling as if there was a sudden flash of light in my brain as it tried to take in the moment as if something had backfired. It was as if my mind recognized that this person, although safe for me, knew something that was supposed to remain a secret. Instead of my brain giving me flashbacks of remembrance, it quickly pushed my body into feeling exposed, and then I felt overwhelmed with an unbearable shame.
Although I did not understand the word shame, I knew what shame felt like, and it was the most hideous of feelings. I wanted to hide … to run … to escape. Because I could not immediately cover myself and blanket the shame I felt, I felt a sense of panic. I remember trying to catch my breath when “Mother” did something that brought me instant calm. She gently touched the side of my face and then placed her hand on my shoulder. She looked at me with all the intensity that her eyes contained, and then she smiled at me.
Without words, she seemed to say that it was all going to be okay. In that moment, I felt a sense of relief. This woman knew my secret. She knew my shame, and she waited with me to become calm. With the exception of the kind woman who had rescued me the day of the sexual assault, my aunt and others who had seen my shame were not as patient with me. They were not as gentle. “Mother” was gentle. She seemed to understand without ever talking to me about anything. She seemed to just know. Her empathy was overpowering, and it was the first time I had ever recalled the empathy of someone so strong.
At some point, I went to the bathroom and she came with me. Then we boarded the bus. When I sat down, she made an attempt to sit next to me, but I blocked her by placing my body in the empty seat away from the window. I remember her smiling and almost breaking out into a laugh. Then she said, “Oh, it’s like that, huh? But I get it. You need to trust me first. We did just sort of meet even though we have been neighbors for years.” I remember smiling sheepishly. Yet, the remainder of the ride, I found myself relaxing and falling off into sleep. It was the first time I had really slept since the trip began. I was safe now.
When I awakened, it was the break of morning. I opened my eyes to hear “Mother” and the bus driver talking. They were talking about my hometown. I was amazed how much the driver knew about the area and how many people he knew in the area too. He was very aware of who my family was and he also knew the family of “Mother”. Because of the discussion, I was feeling a bit of uneasiness. I felt like I had not seen my family in a long time. The summer was a long stretch of time. I had been gone for nearly three months.
A lot had occurred in that span of time. A lot had changed me. I was no longer the child that boarded the bus three months earlier with my aunt. This time when my parents would see me, I was bound to bring them into shock. My appearance alone was no less a teenager but no longer a little girl. I knew that I was different. I knew that I had changed. I could feel the change internally just as I could feel the change physically. My brain even operated at a different capacity. I was split and operating another “self”. I was a different “me”, and my voice had become more forcibly chained.
I was on a bus ride to change, and the change was going to unravel my family. They were so unprepared for the bus that was arriving towards them.
Stay tuned for more.
My Voice Unchained 