This is probably not Pip's bus. Date: 4 May, 2002 Point of Departure: Halifax, Nova Scotia (c. 7:00 a.m.) Destination: Bangor, Maine (c. 5:30 p.m.) Companion: one Bill Wood, en route to study physical theatre with a mime in Casco, Maine. Location: Halifax, NS, bus station; 7:00 a.m. Arrived at the bus station at 6:30 this morning via taxi, accompanied by Amy. I was unaware that said station had moved since the last time I had heard tell of it, but fortunately the taxi cab driver knew where it was. Station was still closed when we arrived, and we lingered with a number of other passengers until the office opened. Ticket gathering and baggage checking went smoothly, Bill arrived, and bus began to load. Amy and I had a tearful goodbye, and my journey had begun. Location: Halifax-Amherst bus, on the road; 9:30 a.m. Have been on bus for approx. two and a half hours now, and am still just spiffy with this. Hooray for dextroamphetamines and good companions. Also hoorays for the fact that I like traveling, have an active imagination, and also have a bladder that operates normally. Bill and I spent first hour and a half catching up, discussing Dramafest, magicians’ auctions, the end of classes, and mimes. It has all been terribly exciting. Have also spent past hour in conversation with Jeremy, a young man who has been traveling around the world while taking a break from studying medicine. I saw him at the station, spoke to him briefly, and thought he seemed interesting. Is nice to be proved correct. Originally hails from Tasmania, and is now en route to Yemen, where he’s going to work in a clinic with Doctors Without Frontiers. I caught him reading a religious book, which sets off red lights, but he is excessively cute, with bonus of sexy accent. Bill is napping. I shall read now. Location: Halifax-Amherst bus, leaving the Amherst, NS, bus station; 10:30 a.m. Have added following people to my bus acquaintance list: • Drew: a trucker who used to make a St. John, NB - Long Beach, CA beer run, but now works locally in Halifax; • Phyllis: a Dartmouth native en route to her father-in-law’s funeral in Moncton; • Angela: Phyllis’ 19-yr.-old daughter. Have now realized that we are also traveling with Sven, a creepy Québécois sailor who I met at Bearly’s last year during Mark Green Band obsession phase. He was hitting on me, I dodged that silver bullet, and now I run into him again here, of all places. Further proof that Fate is a bitch, no matter what the weather. **Bill Quote: “I think that Australia must just breed cute boys, and then send them out into the world. They keep the ugly ones at home, though.” Jeremy let me take his picture. Am sure that this is not something people normally do, this taking pictures of people one has only just met. Others seem tolerant of this quirk, however. Bill is reading Popular Science. I’m going to read, and perhaps think happy thoughts about Jeremy, a ten-minute break in an Irving station restroom, and the devilry I could create there. Will ignore threatening anxiety over seeing Rhys again, when we drop Bill off in Gray. Location: Moncton, NB, bus station; 11:30 a.m. Sadly, must now leave cute Jeremy behind here. Was tempted to ask if he would mind awfully if I kissed him, but impending Rhys encounter has sapped all flirtatious spirit. Phone contact with Rhys attempted by Bill, but the man of the hour appears to be out. Am not quite certain what to do in event connection is not made. Orange pieces from Jeremy proving wonderfully sustaining. Transfer to new bus is smooth, albeit disappointing. Am not so fond of this bus as was of last bus. Linoleum on floor gives impression of being in moving room w/ fixed chairs, as opposed to actual mode of conveyance. Also, fun passengers have all buggered off here. New passengers seem an intimidating bunch. Will attempt to crack them too, soon. Location: Irving Mainway, Sussex, NB; 12:30 p.m. Noticed that young man in front of me was reading Hegel as bus pulled into stop. Could not conceive of why anyone should do as much for fun, so I asked, of course. He said it was for his thesis, maybe. Thought to allay any misgivings about random crazy girls and non sequiturs by mentioning previous study of Hegel in FYP (though the term “study” vastly overstates personal focus re: Hegel). Turns out that studious young man is actually Ben Carter, brother of Dave Carter, a school chum of mine. Am perpetually surprised at fateful meetings of individuals in unusual situations. Ben is working on a degree in religion, and looking to teach at university in the future. Thesis will be on either Hegel or Nietzsche, but remains undetermined as yet. Has come down from Newfoundland, and is currently on way to visit mother in St. John, NB. I bummed a smoke off him, and introduced him to Jeremy, whose bus also pulled into stop for break. Apparently, all progresses well for our Aussie friend. Bill, being asleep, missed out on the intros. Took Ben’s picture for the record books. Will now either return to reading, or take a nap again. Location: Bus terminal, St. John, NB; 1:50 p.m. Another station, another bus transfer. Ben, sadly, leaves us here. Am now, however, quite certain that every bus holds more adventures, and more exciting folk. Have just been informed by Bill that he has been leaving Rhys messages on someone else’s answering machine. This is slightly worrisome, as is important that Rhys be there to meet us when we arrive. Also, cannot shake from head image of poor people with whom previous messages were left, when they go to check their messages and wonder whom Rhys is, and why Bill is calling them. Oh, well. Someone will fetch Bill in Gray, certainly. Everything will work out as planned. Custom forms. So complicated. Took picture of Bill knitting. Knitting is only one of many cute, quirky things done by Bill. Will miss him over summer, I think. Can of pop from Bill is wonderfully reviving. Am glad to have had something with which to brace self for border onslaught, which may well be formidable. Will visa get me through without parental accompaniment? If balked, am determined to raise major-scale ruckus, in best Pip fashion. Am sick of being dicked around by power-hungry sadists. Have been repeatedly reminded of v. loud voice in past, and will prove not afraid to use it if provoked. No immediate plans as yet. Bus transfer was smooth, and newest bus is far more to my liking than previous bus. Our luggage is still with us. Bill is reading. May read, nap, or listen to music. Perhaps shall even stare out into the scenic, barren countryside. Will emphatically NOT think about Rhys, or meeting mother at Bangor. Location: Somewhere between St. George, NB, and St. Stephen, NB; time unknown Woman in front of me has apparently decided that there is nothing my knees would like better than to make an intimate acquaintance with the back of her chair. Am tempted to start beating out rhythm line of “Copa Cabana” on her headrest. Is extra annoying because of wealth of empty seats around us with no one (and no one’s knees) sitting behind them. Must wonder if woman is truly oblivious of plight, or simply selfish enough not to care. Every time she fidgets (and she fidgets v. often), my tray digs into my knees. Eventually will have her head actually resting in my lap, at which point she will probably expect face massage. Am reminded of idiot man on plane to London who moved chair so far back that he deposited my dinner on my lap, and even then did not sit up. Am forced to ponder why those challenged by concept of personal space see fit to plague me thus. Surely do not deserve such persecution. Annoyance does not alleviate need to pee, unfortunately. Refuse to use coffin-sized bathroom on principle that one should spend a v. limited amount of time in 6x2 boxes during one’s corporeal existence. One is, after all, not Sarah Bernhardt. Seems actual trip break (as opposed to a breath break or a stop-and-hop) is rapidly approaching. If not yet crippled by Rude Seat Tilter, will stagger to washroom then. Location: St. Stephens, NB, bus stop; time unknown. Bathroom located and used to advantage. Stop is actually one I have visited before, on a similar trip with my parents and brother. Recall that building contains large convenience store as well as Western-themed restaurant. The booths in said restaurant are upholstered with cow-print vinyl, and the cowboy theme is tres overbearing. Decide to restrict activity to restroom area. Upon return to bus, Bill offers to take seat behind Rude Seat Tilter. Bill is a saint. Bus driver seems excessively rude. Obviously, last leg of trip will prove most annoying, at least companion-wise. Border remains ahead. Perhaps following that and the break I will nap a bit. Have finished “The Importance of Being Earnest;” is still quite funny play, as remembered. The Talented Mr. Ripley seems promising. Must remember not to get snippy with border guards, no matter how fun it appears at first, or how easy they make it. Location: US Customs, Calais, ME; 3:30 p.m. **Bill quote: “It’s weird how interested US Customs is about making sure you’re not bringing any gifts into the country. You know what they are? They’re the Anti-Santa!” I know I’m all customed-out for the day. You? After we pull into the yard, two officers board the bus to interrogate...er...question the passengers about their vital stats. One starts in front, one in back, and they meet at Bill and I in the middle, at the exact same moment. Because we say we’re together, they only listen to Bill’s story. I feel cheated. Officer glares at visa and my state ID as if trying to see where I glued it together. Announces that he has never heard of such a town as Steep Falls. I restrain urge to reply that a passing acquaintance with an atlas would clear that right up. Finally leaves, so we can progress to the next stage of customs: baggage check. One by one, passengers are herded off bus to have belongings rifled through. Did not recall process as being quite so thorough, since last time. Fortunately, my bag checker is quite nice, and amusing, and from (of all places) Portland, near where I live. He’s pretty damn meticulous, but v. polite about it. I mean, he hasn’t even forgotten how to smile yet or anything. He was tres cute, too, and I would have photographed him, too, but customs officials are not so good about such things. He (I think the name on his shirt might have been Ruddall or something) gets points for: • asking about, but not being antsy about, my pills and eyedrops; • not freaking out when I pointed out he almost forgot to check my backpack, or when I made poorly considered jokes about “sneaking things through;” • asking about knives in my bag only because he didn’t want to cut himself; and • having enough of a clue that he didn’t even ask about my vibrator, much less require me to whip it out for a full demo right there. Unfortunately, the rest of our company did not fare so well. Bill and I escaped much hassle, because we’re white, not getting married, speak fluent English, and I, at least, am an American. The rest of our fellow passengers, however, certainly did not fit the last point of that list, and managed to hit one or more of the others, as well. Rude Seat Tilter doesn’t speak good English, so they got sharp and rude, and nearly tore her bag apart while searching. Nearly everybody had to go see Immigration. The woman in front of me, en route to her wedding in California, was actually denied entrance into the country because she didn’t have some retarded scrap of paperwork. Am stuck on the most problematic bus ever to wheel across border. Can only pray that this is not comparable to most experiences, or else will end up crying for what country has become. Even if I did luck out at the border, it sucks to see everyone else treated like so. Just because I was armed with all the tools to crack this mother open from the start does not make this treatment of innocent people acceptable. No wonder someone wanted to blow us up, looking at this arrogance and disrespect. God Bless America. Honey, I’m home. Location: Somewhere vaguely near Holden, ME; time unknown. Have spent last little bit napping by fits and starts. Took picture of Bill sleeping on bus. Am jealous that Bill is small enough that he can almost curl up comfortably on bus seat. Wish fervently that I were so petite of figure. Finally contacted Rhys. Luckily, he knows exactly where the Gray turnpike exit, our chosen rendezvous, is. Nurture hope that whole deal just may fly yet. If road gets much bumpier, will be forced to brave bus toilet. Did remember to go at extended bus stop in Calais, but must go again now. Shit. At stop, also met many other interesting people to commiserate with over heinous Customs experience, including a jade miner heading to Mexico, an Inuit woman visiting her sister in Chicago, and a man named Bill who I think lives in Boston and has a cottage in NB. Bill, however, seems too interested in me, and gives me the creeps. I try to avoid him, if at all possible. He has been with us since Moncton; I have met with limited success. Also, am sure now that most passengers believe Bill (the good one) and I to be dating. Customs officials certainly thought as much, considering interview on bus. Suppose that said conclusion is no more scandalous than that time when a furniture store owner thought Joel Dupuis and I were young married couple, just starting out, or something. Must just possess some weird “settled” vibe that rubs off on companions like pollen. Do not want to think about Rhys. Am not sure how it is possible that this is still bothering me, since he left in March and I have had no contact since. Bill knows nothing of the situation; am resolved to keep it so. Am certain Rhys will act as if there is no reason for awkwardness; am not certain if this warrants my desire to punch him in nose. Also do not want to think about meeting mother and great-aunt in Bangor. Will be nice to see them both again, but they will be unctuous with Bill, and will likely guilt-trip me before car is loaded. Realize that it is important to keep up hope that summer will be nice, but mindful of dread that it will suck ass and be one long conflict, like most of formative years and summer previous. Love them both dearly, but fear them both, as well. Location: Bangor, ME, bus terminal; 6:30 p.m. Have arrived at last, a good hour late, which means mother and great-aunt have been waiting for at least two hours. They still seem in good spirits, however. Car loads smoothly, and Bill is polite, and relatives are actually quite good about it. Sarah/Pip continuum already confusing with this minor violation. Must make sure to limit friends who meet family, if only because is too hard to remember my name. Gray is a good two and a quarter hours away. I am quiet, as is Bill; is too dark to read. Bill seems amused by mother/great-aunt bickering, which is reasonable, since they are putting on regular vaudeville act in front seat. Mother must have understood insistence that Bill was not dating me, as she has not asked for wedding date yet. Rhys still looms large in the future, but for now, all is well. The prodigal daughter has returned to the flock once more.  |