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Show -224 Dear Buck: You know it wouldn't have worked out with us, so why go all the way to your California to prove it? I don't guess I'll ever see all those places now, but I hope they turn out to be as pretty as you remembered. Take care of yourself, Fancy Back at the terminal in time for the evening bus I hand my suitcase to the baggage-man and look for a seat, ready to mourn, ready to weep all the way to the Coast. Two hours later we hiss to a halt in some small,New Jersey town; the driver turns on the inside lights; I look out the window and see my reflection grinning at me like a fool. That's the human spirit for you-more complicated than anybody knows. That manic high lasts well into Pennsylvania before I begin to pay for it in hard spiritual cash. I am stretched out all the way at the back of the bus with my head resting on my hands, listening to the drone of the motor under me, the whine of the big dual tires, the click and clack of the toilet door as we rock from side to side. Everyone is asleep except me and the driver, who perches on his seat at the far end of our rushing bubble world. We shoot around corners, drift at terrific speed along a narrow, high-crowned country road; our progress is at once feverish and dreamy; depending on the measure it is lightning-quick or dead slow. I think of the rotation of some giant sun in black space, the surface shooting along at thousands of feet every second, |
