The Long Way Home

“And that's exactly why we moved away from Pleasanton. Like my mom always says, 'Pleasanton will always be Pleasanton!', and you know what? She's right. When my first husband and I got divorced and I moved back in with her, mother had some grand idea to set me up with Stevie Detweiller who used to live down the street when we were kids. 'Little Stevie Detweiller is all grown up and handsome as can be, according to Ruth Detweiller, and I told her how beautiful you were, and according to the two of us it's just about a match made in heaven!' According to Ruth Detweiller, her son was about as handsome as he could be, and I guess that was right: he certainly wasn't getting any handsomer. Ha! Can you believe that? Short, bald, beer gut, and some seriously iffy hygiene. But Pleasanton would always be Pleasanton, and to be honest, dear, the pickings were slim, so I married him too.”

Jesus Christ, how long has she been talking? Chris had just happened to sit next to her on the bus, he'd just happened to respond when she'd mentioned what a lovely day it was, and even though he didn't particularly agree, he didn't want to be rude and in acknowledging her presence had locked himself in a conversation, nay, a lecture with someone with no apparent ability to read social cues. He also found it rather suspicious that she got off at the same stop, even though she didn't seem in a particular hurry to go anywhere at all. Was this even her stop?

He'd already learned more about this person than he could ever want to know. That threshold was reached at around the five minute mark, but here they were, minute forty-five, and the hits just kept on coming. He now felt himself qualified to write a multiple volume biography on this person, except for the fact that he knew everything about her but her name. She'd given it, sure, but he assumed their interactions would terminate almost immediately, so he hadn't chosen to remember it. Now that they were slowly but surely creeping in to her transition to middle age, it was far too late to ask.

“So Stevie came home one day and just said, 'I quit.' And I said, 'You quit?' He says, 'I quit.' Now I'm thinkin', what'd he quit? Is he quitting us? His job? His gym membership. Ha, gym membership. The man was positively allergic to exercise. Of course he was talking about his job. He used to come home everyday and bitch and moan about this thing and that thing, and I'd just sit there and say, 'Yes, dear.' 'I'm sorry, dear.' 'Maybe you should tell them, dear.' But no, his solution was just to turn heel and run away from it. I said, 'What are we gonna do for money?' and he just said, 'We'll figure it out.' Wouldn't you know, it wasn't more than a week later I find him layin' on the couch, deader than a doornail. Of course he'd die after he quit his job, so there goes the life insurance money, and there go I, movin' back in with mother.”

Chris was starting to panic. Her story was less a survey of her life and more of a re-creation, and he could just tell that they weren't even close to the end yet. He didn't even know what time it was, and though his instincts told him not to look at his watch for fear of being rude, maybe it was time to be rude. He tuned out her story momentarily and mentally prepared himself to lift the watch to his eyes. Maybe this would give her the signal that he'd had his fill of her life, and it was time for them to part ways forever. It had to work, didn't it? He slowly raised his left arm towards his face, giving plenty of time for Chatty Cathy to notice, but as he did she began to stare off into space, waxing philosophical about her life so far.

“I says to mother, 'How did I get here? How did my life come to this?' I've been good to people. I've always tried to be nice to people. I was a good wife. Thrice I was a good wife. Oh, we haven't even gotten to Hank yet. We'll get there, but suffice it to say I've been good to all my husbands. Anyway, mother says we can't always control the things to happen to us, and she says she just gotta believe everything happens for a reason, and I guess I agree with that, but boy...I sure wish life were easier sometimes.”

She'd completely missed the watch gesture. He'd even let it linger there for a few seconds, but after a while it looked pretty inorganic and he just felt stupid, so he lowered it down. Almost on cue her eyes shifted back to him, and he knew she had no intention of slowing down. He became frustrated, and then he became angry, and suddenly he blurted out, “Well, it was really nice talking to you, but I have to go!”

She stared at him, startled. He'd interrupted her mid-sentence. “Well, ok, but aren't you going this way?” She pointed in the direction they'd walked when they first got off the bus.

“Well, yes, but....no, I'm not.” He turned and walked away. He could feel her eyes following him as his pace quickened. He hated taking the long way home.