Many Mighty Marching Musical Minions

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My father died 6:30, Sunday Morning.

I had my ass in New York still. My mother called me on the phone and there I was, holding the cell phone against my ear, stupefied. It came as no surprise. He was dying slow for quite some time, and that is the sad thing about missing his passing. I should have been there. I was just too slow. I thought I had more time. Obviously I did not.



I got my act together within the next twelve hours and found myself packed and heading downtown in a cab to the Port Authority bus station. I waited for the Greyhound bus to arrive with a mob of other people. It’s strange that some people can’t seem to get the simple things right. Some people are just retarded. I guess that’s the simple speech about the entire thing. There is a single door and people need to exit through it in an orderly fashion, so what do you do? You form a line of people. A simple, single line of people at the door so that everyone can get their turn through the door...right?



WRONG. These mental frycakes make a mob scene right in front of the door and then get into an argument with everyone when it’s time to move on through the door. I stomp a straight line through everyone. I do the New York Oblivious Motherfucker, just pounding through the mob, through the front door and to the bus.



So that I can read a book that Dr. A gave me, I put it on top of my large piece of luggage and carried it through the door, and completely forgot about it when I handed it to the luggage handler who, doing his job and little else, tossed the bag into the luggage compartment of the bus. I, with my stupid assed self, climbed into the bus, sat down and made myself comfortable, staring at people who walked into the bus and down the aisle, looking for a seat. It is my intention to dissuade them, by my menacing stare, to sit somewhere else and not take the seat next to me, giving me ample room for the trip.



Everyone took the hint that I didn’t want company and marched on, either sitting next to someone else or finding a seat alone. This was good, but also bad, because it was during this time that I remembered that the book that I was supposed to be reading was on top of my luggage, now somewhere in the luggage compartment of the bus. Beautiful. A half an hour later, the bus pulls out of the station and heads South. Within the first few minutes of travel, things are fine. Until we get to the Newark, New Jersey stop. I should have guessed that Newark would be the pain in the ass.



Two passengers got onto the bus. A woman and daughter. The daughter sat in the front of her and she sat down in the seat next to mine. Gee, thanks. That was the fun part. I had a riding buddy for the rest of the 8 hour trip from New York to my transfer in Norfolk. I got comfortable for the long ride. We hit the road and off we were gone. I’m thinking to myself: great, I’ve lost Dr. A’s book. That’s going to be a pain in the ass to replace. Like I have the money for all of that. And while my mind churned on the replacing of the literature, something soft landed on my shoulder. I turned and there you have it. My female bus mate had her sleeping head on my shoulder. Then her shoulder, then her entire arm. She seemed to be absorbed into my pudgy body as she fell further and further to sleep.



I fully expected her to droop her head into my lap and begin punching my thigh to soften her ‘pillow’. I was about to shrug her off, but, what the hell. I was tired too. I rested my head against the glass window of the bus as the guy ahead of me did, and closed my eyes. With the first pothole, the window struck me like a two by four against the side of my head, waking me. The guy ahead of me stayed sleep. The shock of the blow only causing his head to waver slightly.



I sat up, rested back and stared out of the window at the passing smudge of the world.

It would be a long trip to Norfolk Virginia.

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