The Illusion of Permanence

Chapter 4

(There are a lot of songs in this chapter! You can skip them if you want.)

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I'd never actually been on a bus like this before. I'd been on school buses and airplanes and trains and of course, in plenty of cars, but I'd never had a reason to take the bus. On any of those long trips, I'd been able to ask, "Are we there yet?" and "How much longer?" This time, I didn't have the answers to those questions. In fact, I had to make them up myself as we went along.

I look out the window and watch the moving landscape as I listen to music through my good headphones. (Luckily, there are outlets on the bus at every seat, so I'm able to keep my phone charged the whole time.) I'd made a playlist of songs titled "Getting Out Of Here" for the ride; right now, I'm listening to Oh, Goodbye by a band called The Colourist. It's the type of song I'd imagine listening to in a convertible with the top down, speeding down the highway on a sunny day on the way to the beach or something. Instead of that, I'm on a Greyhound bus, in a gray and blue colored seat with a matching sky. The late afternoon forecast isn't quite sunny but it's not ready to rain either, leaving us stranded in some kind of weather purgatory. 

In fact, purgatory is just the right word to describe the ride. Not only am I traveling from one place to somewhere better, but it's turned out to be a rather unremarkable—but also relaxing—experience. My head is leaning against the window, which is vibrating ever so slightly in a way that feels like white noise. Of course, I can't hear it because I have my own music on, and listening to the familiar keys and chords and lyrics is making this all feel normal. I watch everything in the world outside my little bus bubble blurs by. If I wanted to, I could focus on all of the trees and shrubbery and farms passing by, but I don't want to see it. I want to watch it pass instead.

After about an hour, the blissfulness of the ride started to fade, and I start getting bored. I'm skipping songs that don't seem appealing, and I find myself picking at a string that's come loose from the fabric of the seat instead of looking out the window. That's when I knew it was about time for me to get off. I looked out the window again, this time focusing on what we were driving past and assessing it to see if it seems like the type of place I'd like to live. For a few miles, I don't see anything but trees and farmland. It seems perfect.

A little while later, the driver announces our next stop. It's something I've never heard of, which is even better. My tired heart starts beating again, excited at the prospect of my next adventure. I put my good headphones away and put my ear-buds in instead. The song that comes on is perfect for starting a new life: It's Time by Imagine Dragons. 

I'm smiling when my foot hits solid ground.

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My first task is to find somewhere I can stay. It's already almost 6:00 p.m., so I'll have to start my job search tomorrow. A motel will do—they've gotta have one of those, right? I pull out my phone and do a quick search on Yelp for motels. I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have my phone, because in a matter of seconds the app brings up information about a motel in town that is not too far away and not too expensive, either. It's the only one in town, so I didn't have much of a choice, but it seems perfect even if I did have options. It's within walking distance—everything in this town is within walking distance, actually—so I head in that direction, grateful to be able to admire the town at my own pace.