Two states away they were burying my uncle,
but when I got on a Greyhound bus,
it was heading towards Chicago instead.
I had a job interview there the next day,
one that could have been easily rescheduled,
but as usual I preferred to go off alone
rather than endure the barrage
of my family’s blunt questions,
each innocent on its own,
but together as cold and stinging as a sleet storm.

The bus was crowded that day, so I ended up
far in the back with the long-distance travelers.
A man covered in Doritos crumbs
with a teetering stack of Dungeons and Dragons novels
opined on a speech he’d heard the night before
by a young state senator from Illinois.
“44th president of the United States,” he predicted cockily,
while everyone nearby snickered and shook their heads.

My eyes met those of a young man across the aisle,
unkempt and smelling of too many things to identify.
Although it was the middle of summer,
he wore a grey wool turtleneck sweater,
just like one my first husband had owned.
After a few minutes of small talk,
he said he was going to Kennebunkport
to visit the Kennedys.
I didn’t laugh and didn’t even tell him
he had the wrong city.
I think he loved me for that more than anything.
Why did I love him?
After all these years, I still cannot say,
only that something inside me
clung to something inside him,
as unmistakable as it was preposterous.

We spoke desperately of many things that day,
words tumbling out as fast as we could form them.
I have no memory of the topics we covered,
only that it felt like a sexual act,
thrusting toward something together
until we finally reached a climax.
Then we fell apart, exhausted, as lovers always do.

While he snored beside me,
I chatted with the man seated behind us.
He told me he liked books about drow elves.
Then he said he was on his way to his uncle’s funeral.

Right as we pulled into Chicago,
my busboard lover finally awoke.
He apologized for wasting our time together,
but said it felt much easier to sleep
when I was there to protect him.
In the perpetual chaos of the bus terminal,
he showed me his ticket to Kennebunkport,
then said he wanted to spend the night with me instead.
I knew it would change nothing,
or maybe I was afraid it would change everything.
I said I needed time to think.

We went outside and sat on the steps of the building
as people shoved their way past us
and tripped over our luggage.
He lit a cigarette and silently smoked
while I thought about a woman I knew.
She married a man she met on a plane
and ruined her life forever.
I told him he should get back on the bus.
We hugged each other long enough
to last for the rest of our lives.
Then I picked up my overnight bag
and walked off down Harrison Street
to the aquarium as I’d planned all along.
I thought of his drab clothes
as I watched the brilliant fish swim by.
I told myself I was glad to be alone once more.

# # #

Marne Wilson lives in Parkersburg, West Virginia. Her poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Poetry East, Atlas & Alice, Emrys Journal, and Steam Ticket. She is the author of a chapbook, The Bovine Daycare Center (Finishing Line, 2015). Read more here: http://marnegrinoldswilson.wordpress.com

Photo: Mario Azzi