Chapter One:
Thessaloniki
The metal pole was surprisingly cold underneath my arms as I leant on it. The calmness of the crystallised blue and yet metallic ocean overcame me and I questioned my desire to leave. For it was not the scenery that was forcing me to go, so why leave?
A family had set up camp on the sand below me, bringing enough supplies to last them a week and yet they would still be hungry. A family with five kids running and screaming and laughing and eating and repeating these activities every single day. I leant back off the pole and looked behind me at the town’s tall clock tower.
The bus was going to be here any minute now and I was still unsure as to whether or not I was ready to leave this paradise. But I knew that I had to, I knew that I had no choice in the matter. The bus pulled up and blew out an arid and overly putrid smell of cheap gas and a broken motor. Maybe this was a sign to stay. No, Callia, get on the bus – you know you have to leave now. I hate my inner voice, it was the reason I am caught up in this shit.
I strolled over to the bus and handed my bag to the man who was viciously trying to stuff bags into the base of the bus. He looked at my belly and smiled at me. Another person walked up behind me with their bag and the bus driver winked at me and adjusted his weathered cap before taking the other persons bag. I walked over to the bus doors and took a deep breath. Oh dear god.
I stepped onto the platform and found a seat in the middle of the bus. I sat down and pulled my elephant detailed hand bag onto my lap. The overly sized bump underneath my breasts causing many curious looks from other people on the bus as they walked past. I rested my clasped hands together lightly on top of the bump and closed my eyes slightly. Preparing for hours of daunting travelling and the obvious reminder of the past I believed I had escaped from. But, running was, is and always will be my forte.
***
THE TORN AND STAINED MAP OF GREECE fell to the floor and I leant over to pick it up off the sticky and dirt infused ground. The bus was travelling along a rough road and my elephant printed bag was shifting violently on my lap. The bump in my stomach vibrated and my body jolted as the bus passed over a pothole. I held onto my head and belly to keep up appearances. My hair had frizzed in its messy bun and I patted it down with my hands. The Armenian man in front of me stood and shifted his position on the clingy leather seats.
I pulled the foundation out of my bag and unscrewed the lid – dabbing a bit on my finger. I rubbed it over the forming bruise on my wrist where his finger marks were becoming clearer now. I looked around at the near to empty bus; there were only a couple of Greek locals. The bus jumped and I repositioned the baby bump hidden underneath my shirt. I fixed up my face, covering the seemingly permanent scars with the cheap and dry liquid foundation and a purple scratched hand mirror– five Euros from a dodgy stall that had a banner along the top, it loosely translated to ‘chemist’ in Greek. I stuffed the foundation and mirror back down the bottom of the bag and looked out of the window; Greece’s iconic sea side flicked past.
The Mediterranean was not as clear here, it looked simple; plain. Plain is good. He won’t think I’d go to somewhere plain. So I don’t. I keep going. Trick him twice. Smart bitch knows what she’s doing – she’s done it enough. The bus driver yelled over the buffeting wind screaming through the windows. His accent was hard to understand, and he was switching back and forth between dialects. I leant over the aisle to a Greek woman nursing a baby.
“Excuse me, what did he say?” I asked in Greek. She looked up at me.
“He said twenty minutes until we reach Thessaloniki,” her accent was heavy, but audible.
