Elvis and a Curse (9)
Synopsis: Roger Kiser’s adoptive Arkansas family has tormented him for years with their outrageous country behavior. When they decided to move to Montana, an old school bus was used to ferry the family north. The bus eventually broke down and Roger was thrown on a commercial bus to an unknown location so his family could sell his belongings.
He found a lost travel case and a cell phone he uses to call some sort of executive counseling service known only as Nole. After a week on the bus, Roger’s date with Dakota is fast approaching.
Roger was becoming more and more concerned about the number of others on the bus. Upon his latest count, the freak to average Joe ratio was now three to one. Roger shuddered. The last thing he wanted was to engage any of the dirty, despondent passengers in any sort of conversation.
It was sometime around noon when the bus rolled to a halt in one of the countless small, prairie towns that dot the interstate system. Initially, Roger cared so little for what he saw that he neglected to even note of the township’s name. He knew he was somewhere in the far cast, snow-covered wasteland known as western North Dakota.
With a reluctant groan, the bus finally came to a complete stop. The older, mustached woman he was sitting near pulled herself from her seat. She wobbled to the front and slowly descended along with all the other freaks. Kiser also left his seat, and approached the driver.
The rotund man operating the bus wore a stained gray uniform and a cap filled with souvenir pins from various states. At Roger’s approach, the driver turned and flashed his yellowed teeth. “Hi there! Pretty state isn’t it? You know around here they measure distance in hours not miles.”
The statement took Kiser by surprise. “Pretty state? It was like driving on a never-ending tablecloth. Everything was white and flat as far as the eye could see.”
The driver only shrugged so Roger continued. “I’ll bet you call every state a pretty one.”
“Yea, I suppose I do. But wait till you see this next state. Well, at least the western side of it. Man, it’s really something.” Then he smiled again. “Can you guess what state were headed to? I’ll give you a hint, it isn’t in Canada.”
“Uh, are you trying to be funny?” Roger decided to skip the game. “Say, we seem to be losing passengers. Are we getting near the end of your run?”
The driver flipped his arm over the back of his seat. “Well see, it’s just past Christmas and most folks have already arrived at their stop. We usually don’t start picking up with everyone going home until close to New Year’s.”
He removed his hat and scratched his head unknowingly destroying a perfectly good comb-over. “What that means is that this bus’s wheels stop rolling for a few days at our final stop.”
“So, uh, where exactly is this bus headed?”
His reply caused Roger to shiver. “Well, son, from hear the interstate only takes you one place. That’s directly into the heart of beautiful Montana. That was the answer to my question too.”
Stunned and without further reply, Roger turned and staggered back to his seat. His breath started coming in short, violent swallows. Being stranded in a town with no place to stay concerned him, but the possibility of encountering the former family was at least equally disturbing. He fell into his seat and carefully weighed his options.
Minutes later, the bus was preparing to leave and he had yet to decide. Roger’s thoughts were wholly focused on his dilemma, until a noise from the back of the bus distracted him. It sounded as if someone was gently tapping several steel cans together. Roger turned and saw the older man from seat 8-C suddenly beginning to move in his direction.
As the man shuffled sideways between the rows of seats, Kiser hoped he was headed for the door. When the man’s half full garbage bags plopped into the two seats across the isle, Roger was forced to mask his alarm.
The traveler said nothing as he adjusted himself into the nearby seat. Roger couldn’t decide whether the stranger’s clothing was dyed a rich earth tone or covered in filth. The man’s hair was matted flat against his head, and his presence was surrounded with a foul aroma.
A moment later, the gentleman leaned over, and said, “Are you a wanderer too?”
At first Roger rebuffed him with little eye contact, curt replies, and disinterested tones.
The gentleman leaned a little closer. “Hey buddy, what’s your Social Security Number?” His body seemed surrounded by a miasma of almost visible odors.
Roger continued to try ignoring the man by looking out the opposite window.
The stranger only spoke up, “What? Are you hard of hearing? Hey! My name is Elvis, and I’m looking for a friend!”
With a shake the bus stirred to life again. If Roger let the wheels start turning he would be trapped with Elvis and flying straight toward the last state on earth he wanted to be. The scales that had been weighing Kiser’s decision to stay or leave where abruptly tipped toward the latter. Roger snatched his backpack, and excused himself by Elvis.
“After all,” Roger thought, “The local billboards look pleasant enough.”
The driver had just finished fastening his seat belt and adjusting his mirrors. “Whoa, have you decided to get off? I can’t wait for you, time’s up. If you get off you’re staying.”
“Yea, uh, I’ll be getting off here.” Roger’s benediction was received with a nod and a wave from the driver. He reopened the doors.
“Hey!” Elvis was taking the rejection hard. He had stood up in his seat and was pointing in Roger’s direction. “Let me tell you something punk! I’m crazy and I’m not alone!”
Roger abruptly stopped. On the bus’s final step was a small pile of ooze. The disgusting mound was mostly red with streaks of white and a few black clumps. Roger was unable to determine whether it was safe to step on, around, or over.
This pause in his exit encouraged Elvis to continue, “Ha! I thought so! Listen punk, I curse you. Yea, that’s right, I curse you! You’ll never escape strange people!” As he spoke bits of spittle flew in every direction.
Unwilling to risk the soles of his shoes being eaten through, Roger girded himself for a leap over the mystery mound. The pavement looked as though it was sheathed with a slick layer of ice and a dusting of snow. He pulled his backpack tight against his shoulders and hopped with both feet. Roger was hoping traction from both shoes would provide friction enough to steady him. He was wrong. Upon landing, his legs went into a bit of folk dance before landing the rest of Roger’s body squarely on his stomach.
“Hey, are you ok?” The driver’s concern was the first to reach Roger’s ears.
“Ha!” Even Elvis was still audible. “Fool! Maybe you’re unfamiliar with curses! They will take whatever form they please. And yours has been chosen! Now your only hope is to…”
“Enough! Sit down and shut up!” The bus operator’s voice boomed over Elvis’s then took a calmer tone when he addressed Kiser. “Hey, kid see if you can drag yourself away from the bus. I’ve got to keep rolling.”
September 6th, 2008 at 7:00 am
I found your blog on google and read a few of your other posts. I just added you to my Google News Reader. Keep up the good work. Look forward to reading more from you in the future.