Wednesday, October 18, 2017 // The Statement
7C
Personal Statement: Bus #904 to Chelsea
W
hen I was a junior in
high school, my sister
moved away from our
home in Michigan to
pursue a career in the fashion industry in
New York City. I was thrilled that my sis-
ter was finally pursuing her dream of liv-
ing in New York but saddened by the fact
that I would no longer see her every day.
After our initial trip to move her in, our
contact decreased significantly. Navigat-
ing a long-distance relationship between
a brother and sister was uncharted ter-
ritory for both of us. I would see
her during big holidays but that was
about it; I missed having the support
of someone who knew exactly what I
had gone through.
My freshman year of college, I
finally planned a weeklong trip to
New York to see the city as my sister
knew it. I was so prepared for this
trip to change my life and reignite
our relationship — but what ended up
being the most impactful part of the
whole trip was getting there.
I opted for a $30 bus ride rather
than a plane ticket because it was all I
could afford. The bus was scheduled
to depart at 5 a.m. to arrive in New
York City 16 hours later. With that
much time to waste, I packed my bag
with books, enough sleeping pills to
sedate a small elephant and a journal
for the week.
I arrived at my bus stop at 4:45 a.m.
and still remember the brisk morning
— I could see my breath as I waited. I
stood in line with about 30 other people,
many cherishing one last cigarette before
the long haul. I remember looking around,
curious of everyone’s lives around me.
5:30 a.m.
We’ve finally boarded the bus. After
some woman in the front got in a loud
argument with the driver for a long 15
minutes, she realized this bus was New
York bound, not Newark. I had to wake
up an angry man with a moustache and
shimmy into the last seat next to him. He
made himself comfortable, leaning on my
shoulder and loudly snoring — I can still
feel his moustache through my shirt. How
do men with moustaches date when the
sensation of being slightly brushed is so
unnerving?
This is going to be a long trip.
8:43 a.m.
We’ve arrived in Cleveland. I don’t
think there is anything more boring than
watching the Midwest roll by. The man
sleeping on my shoulder gets off and I
can finally feel my arm again, which is all
I’m really excited about. I’m curious what
kind of business he had in Cleveland, or
what business anyone has in Cleveland.
A woman in scrubs replaces the man
with the moustache. I’m excited because
if she ends up sleeping on me, I can push
her off easier. She immediately introduces
herself as Brita, “like the water filter.” I
can’t imagine how many times she has
had to say “like the water filter” in her
life. She asks me why I’m headed to New
York and I tell her about my sister. I ask
her the same and Brita says she is trav-
eling to New York to meet her father for
the first time. She explains her father was
“a man who let his dick do the thinking.”
Her mother was a librarian knocked up
by a traveling businessman, so Brita was
raised by a single mother. Brita and her
husband were preparing to have a child
and she wanted meet her real dad before
raising a child of her own.
“He doesn’t know I’m coming, but we
started writing letters back and forth
about six years ago. He’s a property man-
ager out in Harlem now. I have his address
and I’m going to surprise him.”
We share a pack of Starbursts as she
continues telling her story. We agree
pink and yellow get more hate than they
should. I really hope everything pans out
for Brita. I’m not sure she knows exactly
what she wants to get out of meeting her
dad, but I hope she finds it.
11:20 a.m.
We stop in Pittsburgh for a three hour
layover. It’s the worst amount of time for
a layover — I don’t have enough time to
really explore, but I have too much time
to simply sit. I lug my backpack and duf-
fle bag to a local restaurant and order
some fennel salad that they’re apparent-
ly famous for. I wonder what Pittsburgh
must be like if a salad can be famous here.
2:00 p.m.
Finally, back on the bus, I manage to
secure the front seat on the second level.
The seat has additional outlets and extra
legroom — I think this is what first class
on a bus feels like. I’m so tired of sitting.
I admit watching Pennsylvania through
a bus window is way more exciting than
watching the Midwest. This state is full
of beautiful mountains and farms; there
is always something new to look at. I try
to draw some mountains but I remember I
don’t really know how to draw.
2:50 p.m.
I’m at a loss for words right now. From
the time we departed Pittsburgh, the
bus has been making worrisome noises
— the kind you never want to hear from
any vehicle. After every successive noise,
passengers share worried looks — until
there’s a loud boom and the back of the
bus fills with thick grey smoke.
We pull over and everybody runs off. I
sit on the side of the road in Pennsylva-
nia with a group of 60 or so strangers. It’s
cold and it looks like it could rain any sec-
ond. We may not get another bus for four
hours.
I’m beginning to understand why tak-
ing the bus is a last resort for many peo-
ple. Brita finds me and we watch “The
Empire Strikes Back” on her computer.
5:50 p.m.
So this is what it feels like to be res-
cued from a desert island. I opt for back
into my glorious first-class bus seat. This
time a tall man with long, dark hair and
a beard sits next to me wearing sandals,
a brown vest and vertically striped green
pants. Without saying anything, he hast-
ily begins sketching me. I pretend I don’t
notice until he catches me staring.
“You’ve got a weird chin, I
hope you’re not coming to New
York to be a model.”
A little insulted, I tell him I’m
going to New York to pursue my
dream of being a foot model for
flip-flop ads. He looks confused
but seems pretty convinced. The
guy introduces himself: Kent is
running away from home to be a
painter. He looks a little old to be
“running away” — “moving out”
would have probably been a more
accurate phrase. I take a few
sleeping pills and drift off.
11:40 p.m.
I wake up to see the bus
entering the Lincoln Tunnel. I
don’t think people realize how
tiring it is to sit in one place for
such a long time. Everyone is
weary, but there might be some
hope in the air.
12:18 a.m.
When we emerge from the
tunnel and finally enter New York City,
the bus is silent in awe. Eyes fixate
on the skyline. It’s kind of humbling
— everyone is coming to New York for
different reasons, but nobody can deny
being totally enchanted by the view.
1:20 a.m.
I have never been happier to reach a
destination. I meet my sister. We get a
slice of pizza.
After 20 hours, everything falls com-
fortably back into place — like putting
on an old pair of gloves, things fit per-
fectly just as they had before.
The trip was totally fulfilling. My
sister and I fell back into place, and
our contact became more frequent and
meaningful afterward, which is exactly
what I wanted. I think seeing my sis-
ter felt even more satisfying because of
how long the trip took — but more than
anything, I think I have a new appreci-
ation for people taking the bus to New
York.
by Adam Rozenberg, Contributor
ILLUSTRATION BY HANNAH MYERS