On the Road, Off the Road, On the Road

I got off the bus when it stopped for gas and a short stretch for the passengers. I assumed we were somewhere in Nebraska, but it might have been Oklahoma. I'd never been in either state, and everything looked the same when it sailed past my window at fifty-five miles an hour.

I speed-walked to the edge of the parking lot and back to get the stiffness out of my legs. It was so hot that I could feel the cracked concrete through my shoes. The bus was air-conditioned, but any comfort was gone within three seconds of descending the steps.

A hand-painted sign on the station window advertised some of what I assumed one might buy inside. Most of the sign's contents were so badly faded that it was hard to identify anything, but I headed for the door just to get out of the sun.

As I approached, an aged, overweight dog who'd been sleeping by the door raised its head and stared lazily in my direction. For the most part it was just an ordinary mutt – probably a mix of several breeds, grimy-looking fur (no doubt from lying around on the dusty, oil-stained concrete all the time), and lazy eyelids. But there was one feature that stood out. The dog had one blue eye and one brown eye. I couldn't tell whether both were functioning, but I guessed that at least one was okay, because the beast seemed to be looking at me.

Several of my fellow passengers had gotten off the bus and were wandering into the store, so I followed them in. Every time one of us pushed the door to pass through, a little bell dinged to alert the guy behind the counter, who'd probably become oblivious to that sound over time.

I moseyed over to the soda machine to find a little refreshment, but found only an “Out of Order” sign, so I headed for the glass-front refrigerator unit along the back wall. A predictable assortment of frozen treats and pre-made sandwiches stood out among a lot of empty space. I decided on a cup of vanilla ice cream, but there were no spoons, so I plucked a cup out and went on a hunt for something spoon-like.

As I approached the counter, I noticed some of the passengers climbing back into the bus, so I interrupted the cashier's crossword activity. “What time is it?” He started to point toward the wall clock, but saw that it had stopped. “Bout two-thirty, I'd say,” he said. Not that it mattered. The bus driver hadn't announced a departure time, so I assumed he was planning to either step inside and round everyone up or just drive away with whoever was on board.

To play it safe, I headed out, with my cup of vanilla ice cream and no utensil. The dog with the mismatched eyes was still lying there, so I peeled the lid off the ice cream and held it down to her nose. (I don't know why I assumed it was a her, but I hadn't noticed any evidence to the contrary.) She didn't bother sniffing the cup's contents, but instead just rolled out her tongue and took a couple of licks before looking up at me and going back to her nap. I guess she wasn't sure she liked the taste. So (not knowing where that tongue had been) I set the cup down next to the dog for her later consideration, and hurried back to the bus.

And off we went again, rolling across the wide expanse of Nebraska/Oklahoma/wherever, on a sightseeing tour I paid too much for but I'm retired so who cares it's only money. Until it runs out, at which time I guess I'll have to figure out what I want to do with my life.