I was sitting at a foggy bus stop on the edge of some Michigan town. It was Autumn, so the dry leaves glowed in a palette of yellows, oranges, and browns. Cold frost had settled on the landscape overnight, icicles clinging to branches and frozen mucus covering my nose. One had to appreciate the beauty of the season. It was elegant, with a light, cool breeze lifting my hair here and there. But still, it was freezing. I raised my hand to my lips in order to take a sip of my warm coffee I had bought at a convenient store quite a few yards back. The warm drink flowed down my throat, filling my body all the way to the toes with warmth. I was glad I had some heat, but once the bus came I would have more. Until then, I had to save my drink. I was a drifter, going from town to town in order to try to make a living ever since I left my family in Minnesota. This is where my journey has taken me, to a chilling bus stop in Michigan, carrying nothing but a week's worth of clothes, a notebook, a pen, a box cutter, and seven dollars, twenty-three cents. Now I was probably going to head into town, find a day-job to do, and stay in an Inn. I sighed deeply, letting the cold air fill me up. I always wondered deeply when or if I would ever find something I could settle down with. Hopes for that happening died ages ago. As usual when I felt like this, I drew my box cutter from my backpack. Solemnly, I rolled up my jacket sleeve and proceeded to make three quick, light slashes with the blade on my forearm. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to feel some pain. I don't cut myself because I'm suicidal, or because I'm depressed. I do it because I enjoy the pain. Not necessarily 'enjoy' in that way, but it's an interesting pastime that I engage in for self expression, I call it. I put the box cutter back and rolled down my sleeve, rubbing my hands together for warmth. I take another sip of coffee, relishing in the warmth as another person sits beside me. I don't think much of him, probably just a town's goer. However, he seems to be a cheery one. Good grief.
"M-mornin', partner. Chilly out today, huh?" he greeted with the atmosphere of someone with no troubles and a thick Michigan accent.
Reluctantly, I nodded and hummed my agreement.
"Name's Max, what's yours?" he asked with good intentions.
Max. I had heard that name a lot recently. Changing my thoughts to his question, I quietly replied,
"Call me Dawn, or D for short. Whatever you prefer."
"Alrighty, nice name, Dawn," was his unexpected response.
We sat in silence for the next few minutes, keeping to our own thoughts. Throughout these minutes, I had finished my coffee, tossing the empty dixie cup onto the ground close by. Max then questioned,
"Why, aren't ya goin' to pick that up, sir?"
I flinched at being called sir, and then sighed, replying quietly with,
"Nature's got it."
Max just quieted down. In another minute, the bus pulled up next to the stop. The steam from the brakes rose up, phasing into the Autumn fog as the double-doors swung open. I pushed myself up off of the bench, walking with my hands deep in my pockets into the vehicle, Max following. I paid my two dollars, fifty cents, and traversed to the back of the bus, trying to avoid unwanted stares, and taking a seat next to the window and making sure to sit comfortably. Lunar Goddesses forbid that Max sit next to me. And he did. Damn it. I unwillingly hold back a sigh as he gives me a grin, as if he wants to engage in conversation. Regretfully, I oblige.
"So then, where do you live?" I ask Max, with no real interest.
"Why, I live right where this bus is taking us. Good ol' Vamshord." was his reply.
Okay, great. He lives where i'm goin'. Oh well.
"Is there work there?" I ask, hoping for a yes.
"Why, of course! We got gardening jobs, work in a cafe, and housekeeping at my Inn. Were ya looking for a job?" he asks.
"Yeah, something good. How does the cafe pay?" I wonder aloud, wishing it paid the most.
"Not much, I wreckon. Probs pays nine dollars an hour. I recommend the housekeeping. We desperately need it, and you'll be paid sixteen dollars an hour. Ya'll even be housed and fed for free!" he explains, a kind grin on that yellow face.
Although I really don't want the job, I realize I need it desperately.
"Alright then, when do I start?" I ask, accepting his offer.
"Tomorrow." he replies.
"Alright," I say without enthusiasm. 'Wonderful', I think.
...
I slept in an actual bed for the first time in months. I hug the soft pillows close to my face and neck, taking in all of the plush comfort until I realize i'm sleeping in Max's bed. I roll over, grunting in fatigue as I flutter my eyes, attempting to wake up. After a few moments of bleary eyed focus, I realize there is a plate full of pancakes and eggs at the bedside table. It takes a minute to rack my disrupted brain, until I realize it's a meal... for me.
...
It was so delicious. I attempt to lick the last dribbles of syrup off of the plate, making sure I let as much of that sweet substance hit my tongue as possible.
"Enjoyin' that, partner?" I hear from the doorway.
I see a man standing there, grinning at my patched-hair and wide-eyed expression.
"Oh uh, yeh. Did you make that?" I ask Max. He responds with a beaming nod.
"Thank you.." I whisper.
"No problem, Dawn." he says.
That guy was something else. He was kind. Annoying, but kind.
His name was Max.
