Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 5)

Cindy Bradford

chapter 2

East Texas, 1970

The bus ride from Boston to East Texas gave Patrick plenty of time to think. Night had come shortly after he boarded and the darkness left him feeling lonely, empty and a little apprehensive. He had never been away from home for more than a week and now he was going off to college to a place he had never seen, eighteen hundred miles from home. The steady buzz of the air conditioner had lulled many of the passengers into various stages of sleep, but it didn’t come so easy for him. Watching the distant lights of an occasional town, he thought about the big universities in the East and Midwest whose coaches had promised him scholarships. Now those assurances were as limp as his old duffle, wedged beneath his seat.

The bus stopped once around midnight and a young woman, carrying a crumpled sack and a dirty little boy in diapers, climbed on barely grabbing a place to sit before the driver slammed the gears, and waking the few passengers who had managed to sleep through the stop. A baby cried and Patrick wished he could.

Around Washington, D.C., he drifted off, dreaming he was playing in the Final Four Championships for Ohio State. Rain hitting his window woke him, bringing him back to the reality of his situation. No big time coaches were willing to take a chance on him, although his doctor said his knee was healed. Instead he was going to a piddly-assed junior college where his brothers had played. And that was the only reason Cherokee Junior College was even giving him a chance. There had to be more to all this but just his bad luck, yet he wasn’t sure what. Maybe he needed to rethink his future.

Morning turned into midday as Patrick pressed his face against the window to see the Blue Ridge Mountains. He could be, should be, riding the bus to Duke.

Now the bus was stopping more often, making the day seem even longer. An old man got on in Charlotte with a small tattered suitcase. He took the vacant seat next to Patrick and mumbled a soft hello. Patrick returned the greeting as he studied him. His face was weathered by endless summers in the sun and his clothes as worn as his luggage.

“Where you headed, boy?” the man asked.

“To a small college in East Texas. I’m going to play basketball.”

“Look like a ballplayer. You any good?”

Smiling now for the first time since he left the station in Boston, Patrick answered, “I think I am, least I hope so. I thought I was going to get to play for a big school, but I blew out my knee.”

“Yeah, sometimes life just don’t give us what we expect,” he said, glancing down momentarily. “Didn’t think I’d lose the farm either, but between bugs and drought the bad years added up quicker than the good. Just had to let it go. Sometimes that’s easier than holding out hope for something that’s not going to happen. Now, I’m going to live with my daughter in Houston. She’s a school teacher and her husband sells cars. Don’t know how it’ll be for me, living in the city, but I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Patrick found himself feeling sorry for the old man and for the first time in a long time not thinking about his own circumstances.

A bit embarrassed, he pointed to the overhead compartment and asked, “Is that all you’re taking? I mean I noticed you only had one suitcase.”

“All I got left. Sold what few things the bank didn’t take. Never been one for a bunch of extra belongings. Since my wife died five years ago, hadn’t needed much.” He reached in his wallet and pulled out a worn photograph. “She was the prettiest gal in the county.” His eyes brimmed with tears that he struggled to hold back.

“I’m sure she was,” Patrick said quickly, wishing he could think of something to make the old fellow feel better. “Have you been to Houston before?” he added hastily.

“Nope, my daughter usually came to visit me a couple of times a year so I never made the trip. They’ve only been there since ’65. Before that they were in Virginia, lots closer.”

“I’ve never been to Texas,” Patrick said, and I can’t say I’m really excited about it.”

“You a city boy?”

“I guess you could call me that. I’ve lived just outside Boston all my life.”

“Umm, a city boy and a Yankee to boot,” the old man said teasingly. “You’ll be okay. Just relax and be patient with folks. Things run a little slower down here.”

Frowning, Patrick replied, “That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Well, things might be a little different at first, but people, people are all the same if you give them a chance,” he said, looking at his watch. “Bout time for my nap. I’ve taken to dozing about an hour this time of day.” And with that, he leaned his head back and began to snore in rhythm with the droning of the engine.

When he awoke, the sun was beginning to set. He shook his head as if to shake off the sleep. “Where are we, boy?”

“According to my map and route info, I think we’re almost to Montgomery. You slept a lot longer than an hour.”

“I guess all the motion rocked me like a baby. Now I’m hungry.”

“I think we’re supposed to make a stop here to change buses. My mother packed me food, but I finished that before noon, so I hope we have a chance to grab a sandwich. I’m starved”

“Should be plenty of time. Don’t think we connect ‘til 9:00. We should be in Houston by daybreak.”

The old and dingy bus station smelled of sweat and stale newspapers, with people crowded into whatever space they could find, many looking like they had been traveling for days, their rumpled clothing just one clue to the duration. He had been gone only a little more than 24 hours, but it felt like a year. His spirits were as crushed as his shirt was wrinkled. He glanced around for an attendant or an open ticket window, but everything was closed for the night except two vending machines. Eyeing a spot in line, he made his way over to the first one. Rummaging in his pockets he found only enough coins for a sandwich and coke and was thankful when after a pause they dropped into the bottom of the rusty machine. As he turned and stepped away he almost bumped into a light skinned black woman, dark circles under her eyes, with a baby hanging precariously on her hip. The baby was clutching an empty bottle, and a slightly older, grimy little girl held tight to the woman’s hand. Tears streaked the little girl’s face already smudged with a substance Patrick couldn’t make out. He noticed that the woman who couldn’t be much older than him walked with a slight limp, and he couldn’t tell if the pained look in her eyes was from that or something less obvious.

Though she whispered, Patrick overhead her say, “I know you’re hungry sweetheart, but we have to wait ‘til we get to grandma’s. I don’t have no money.”

The little girl seemed not to understand and stood pleading with her mother.

“Here, I’m not hungry. You need this,” Patrick said, handing her his sandwich and drink.

She looked up stunned and stammered a weak but quick “Thank you,” as if she were afraid he would change his mind. Quickly she tore open the cellophane and began breaking small bites off for the child.

Patrick turned and reached down to pick up his belongings, anxious to get outside in the open air.

When he boarded the bus he began looking for the old man, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t asked his name. He eyed him midway to the back already sitting next to a young boy who was munching on a candy bar and talking between bites. Taking the first open seat, he told himself it would be nice to have the extra room to stretch his long legs, but it wasn’t any time until the loneliness took over. He pressed his cheek to the window and felt his stomach growl. A long night lay ahead.