Weeds

Weeds - Chapter three

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"That'll be fifty six dollars." Said the lady with a thick Chicago accent behind the counter.

I handed her the money and preceded with Elliott out into the bus terminal, besides a man in a business suit leaning against a wall and an old man sitting on a bench the station was empty.

It was eight am on a Saturday morning; we found our bus and climbed aboard. The man marked our tickets before giving us the nod to continue.  

By the time the bus started to fill, I was seated beside a mom and Elliott beside her daughter.

We had offered to sit together, that way she could sit with her daughter but she denied our offer. I didn't know if she denied because she didn't want to sit with her daughter or if she didn't want to inconvenience us.

The plan for today was to just wonder around the city in hopes of finding something worth doing, or at least for me it was. I guessed that Elliott would be joining me since he didn't know his way around.

An hour into the bus ride I wondered how Elliott was doing, I turned around in my seat to see that his hair was in two ponytails. Since his hair was so short it looked more like to mini volcanoes with pink elastics. He was playing a game with the little girl. It resembled a game of patty cake.

I smiled turning around back in my seat resting my head on the windowsills.

****

"Thanks," Elliott said to the elegant woman after asking for direction. We had taken the wrong bus out of the LA terminal, and instead of going to the bay we ended up in Santa Monica.

"This is just great, we come two hours to get here! The middle of nowhere!" I groaned.

"It's not the middle of nowhere, we're ten minutes away from the pier."

"I don't want to go to the pier!"

He shrugged, continuing his walk. It was mid day and we had gotten nothing done besides ask for directions.

After twenty minutes of walking we had still not arrived.  

"This is all your fault."

"My fault?" He said.

I nodded my head.

"I'm not even from here, unlike you. Which means it is your fault." He empathized the your.

I scoffed, "You're the boy, you're supposed to know directions."

"How sexist of you-"

"Look!" I pointed to the trolley going across the street, "Dipping dots!"

"What-"

I cut him off again, "It's like ice cream only tiny dots of them."

I grabbed his hand running towards the trolley, I was dragging him as if he were a doll and had no control over his limbs.

When I came to an abrupt halt in front of the typical south Cali girl, I was already out of breath and heaving.

I ordered vanilla and the girl scooped me some, she turned to Elliott a smile plastered on her face, "I'll have strawberry."

I hated strawberry ice cream.

"That's my favorite," She drawled out. "I'd love to get some with you sometime."