"PAUL WESTERBERG"
"THE BUS" (second section)
"THE BUS" (second section)
For a
person who rarely uttered a word as a small child, I have to reiterate to you
just how gifted of a storyteller Heather Harrison actually is. The longer she
spoke, sharing one story after another about her life, the more elastic time
seemed to be. It was not lost on either of us as to how long we were riding
that bus to Illinois yet inexplicably, time seemed not to either speed up or
slow down. There was only…NOW. Only the
moments during which she spoke and I listened. Certainly, I said something to her
but none of it mattered as I just wanted to happily remain her enraptured
audience.
Heather Harrison loved music but not in any
predictable fashion or sense. She held no allegiance to any particular band or
genre only grasping tightly to individual songs or only one album from an
artist’s discography. For instance, she adored Paul McCartney and Wings’ “Back
To The Egg” album and as for all of the others, they just did not earn a spot
in her musical heart. She told me how she fell in love with only Side Three of Electric Light Orchestra’s
“Out Of The Blue” album. She explained that she stumbled across the album in
her school library while waiting for her Mom after school one day. She sat at
the turntable and placed the headphones over her ears. Pulling the record from
the sleeve, she began to listen. What she didn’t realize was that Side Three
and Four was placed into the Side One and Two sleeve, either mistakenly or
hurriedly by the previous and unknown listener. What she ultimately realized
was that this meeting with Side Three was fate. She loved the four songs of the
side’s self-described “Concerto For A Rainy Day” so much that she checked the
album out of the library as often as possible, listening to Side Three as
constantly as she listened to “American Pie.” Since at that time she could not
tape the album, she committed it to memory, most often recalling every note and
vocal during long morning school bus rides. And when she did listen to it in the
library, so lost she was in this musical world that she would sing along out
loud, forgetting that even when you are wearing headphones, the outside world
can still hear you, something she discovered by the repeated yet gentle shushing
from the librarians.
Heather Harrison once wanted to be an
astronomer. She became fascinated with the sights of the stars at the age of
seven when she and her family spent a few summer nights at her Grandparents in
northern Wisconsin. Being thrilled with the rare chance to stay up long past
her bedtime, she sat quietly on the porch, listening to the sounds of the
country night as she felt herself growing hypnotized by the glow of the
fireflies. After fixing her sights upon one firefly in particular, she followed
the light upwards and upwards until she found herself surprised by one
spectacularly bright light sitting proudly in the night sky. She was soon
joined on the porch by her Dad who explained that she was entranced by the
North Star. As the night sky was crystal clear, Heather’s Dad began to
introduce her to the constellations and even more dramatically, the stories
behind each one. The mythologies surroundings the constellations filled her
ravenous brain so powerfully that she kept her Dad awake deeply into that
night, as he weaved one tale effortlessly into the next.
Upon
returning to Chicago and returning to school in the fall, Heather was
astonished to discover that she could locate the constellations (mostly) on her
own—a feat which surprised her as she nearly thought those stars only existed
in dark, nighttime country skies. Around that same time, her school held the
annual Science fair and Heather felt compelled to be a part of it. Enlisting
the help of her Mom, the two created a large display made onto three oversized
and connected poster boards. Using black construction paper cut into circles to
simulate pieces of a night sky, and small silver stickers for stars, Heather
created a series of constellations complete with the correct identifying name
plus accompanying mythology. The project was a great success as she won 1st
prize for her age group. This was the spark that ignited her desire to one day
become an astronomer.
When she eventually realized that astronomy
had more to do with Science and Math (her worst subjects) and considerably less
to do with star shapes, names and the fanciful backstories, Heather allowed
that dream to fade. Although she still loves to gaze at the stars and concoct
possible stories for them.
Heather Harrison is not a writer but has
housed fantasies of one day publishing only one book. She told me that she has
no idea of what it would or could be about (most likely not constellations) but
she did already have a title for it. Taking merely four words from the final
paragraph of The Great Gatsby,
Heather imagined what would be the perfect moniker: Boats Against The Current. Now, if only she could think of a story
that was able to fit a title like that.
Heather Harrison does not know how to
drive. Like most high schoolers, Heather took Driver’s Ed at the age of sixteen
and for the bulk of that summer, she learned the rules of the road and
practiced her driving in the school parking lot as well as on a few vacant
areas alongside her brother Paul. When it came time for the actual driving
exam, Heather’s building confidence behind the wheel hit a severe roadblock
(please excuse the clumsy metaphor).
On her day to embark upon her driving test,
Heather nearly leapt into the small four door with two classmates and a
humorless driving instructor in tow, anxious to get the car onto the road.
Although nervous, and more than a little confused initially when it came to
backing up and swiveling to the right out of a car stall, Heather managed
fairly well as she drove down residential streets and busy thoroughfares. All
was going well, but before she even realized what had happened, Heather was
instructed to drive onto the Dan Ryan expressway on ramp, a reality that she
could not have possibly fathomed for her first trip in control of the wheel
until the very moment when she saw the cars that flew past her windows like
X-Wing Fighters en route to destroy
the Death Star.
Instead of quickly merging into traffic,
Heather pulled up to the lip of the on ramp and hesitated as she watched the
cars on the expressway zip by. While her backseat passengers remained silent,
the instructor became immediately irritated. Looking at Heather sideways and
somehow possessed with the ability to speak seemingly without opening his mouth
at even more than a sliver, he stated coldly and in a tensely, quiet, clipped
tone, “There is no invitation to wait for, Miss Harrison. The Dan Ryan waits
for no one.”
She told me that she really does not even
remember how she merged into the traffic which Chicago news radio stations had
reported that the average speed limit on this expressway was 95 miles per hour.
Furthermore, she cannot remember how she ended up in the far left lane. What
she can remember is gripping the wheel at 10 and 2 so tightly that she could
witness the blood draining from her knuckles. She remembered how fast her heart
was beating and how she increasingly took long exhales through her mouth to try
and calm her nerves.
At the point the instructor directed her to
move over to the far right lane, Heather felt herself beginning to panic. The
right lane looked to be at least eight lanes away instead of two. Cars appeared
in front of Heather as if they just returned from making the jump to light
speed and so, Heather could not find the gumption to switch lanes. “Anytime,
Miss Harrison,” informed the instructor crisply. And still, Heather Harrison
continued in the left lane with the lightning speed flow of traffic. Her
backseat passengers remained deathly silent. Her driving instructor continued
to seethe and stew. And at the moment she felt determined enough to go for the
exit lane, she was engulfed with the sight of a semi truck’s headlights in her
rearview mirror and the horrific vision of becoming nothing more than a
grotesque Hollywood money shot of blood, gore, bone and twisted metal
splattered all over the expressway. Understandably, Heather stayed put.
“Miss Harrison!” spoke the instructor with
an increased volume that bordered on shrill. “I really have no idea why you are
not moving to the right lane but I suggest that you DO IT before we end up in
Michigan!! Do you want to go to
Michigan?! I don’t want to go to
Michigan!!”
“But…” Heather began innocently. “Isn’t
Michigan sort of in the opposite direction since we’re heading south?”
“THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING POINT!!” shrieked
the instructor.
The
way Heather described it, the driving instructor’s outburst felt akin to a
smart bomb being detonated inside the car. If the car hadn’t felt uncomfortably
silent before, it most certainly did by this point. Yet, just as suddenly as
the driving instructor’s explosion occurred, Heather burst out into an
uncontrollable laughing fit. Not that anything was remotely funny. It was a
means to release the air from the balloon, as she explained the story to me.
Her passengers remained as silent as a tomb for fear that Heather would snap,
trapping them in an endlessly moving car head for points unknown.
Eventually, Heather made it to the exit
ramp, the driving students switched places and everyone rode in silence for the
remainder of the road tests. Heather never even bothered to discover if she
passed her exam as the experience spooked her enough to severely wane any
interest she did have with driving. It all worked out as Heather lived a few
short blocks from a bus line and a Metra station and she was not about to let
her fear of driving stop her from exploring Chicago—the Adler Planetarium being
a personal favorite, of course.
Heather Harrison loved her bicycle. Through
the summers of her high school years, for reasons she simply cannot place,
Heather habitually awoke in the early morning hours simply itching to get her
hands upon her 10 speed Schwinn and hit the road. It became a ritual for her
from the moment that school let out for the summer and it was unbreakable until
she arrived at college. She would rise from her bed, throw on some simple
clothes, brush her teeth and quietly creep from her home so as to not rouse her
slumbering family. She would just ride around and around her neighborhood in a
near meditative state, thinking but not really thinking about anything in
particular other than the flow and rhythm of the bike ride. It felt cleansing,
almost spiritual. It was a time where the road ahead for the day was rampant
with the blessing of possibility.
Heather brought her bicycle to college with
her with the hopes that she would continue her regimen. But, after a close call
with a Madison Metro bus rattled her, she returned the bike to Chicago and
began to enjoy herself with the act of walking, which she surprisingly found
herself enjoying even more than the bike riding. Of course, with our campus,
waking is unavoidable but Heather took to the journey wholeheartedly. It was as
rejuvenating and as cleansing as her early summer morning bike rides.
Heather Harrison was once terrified of
dragonflies. It was all due to the extremely heightened words of an especially
cruel older girl in her neighborhood. Heather, around 7 years old, was informed
t never allow a dragonfly near her or else she would become immobilized if
stung! And then, it only got worse. While you were frozen stiff, the dragonfly
would then eject a strong silken thread from its tail and proceed to sew its
victim’s mouth shut!
Sadly, it was years before Heather realized
with absolute certainty that dragonflies would never hurt her or anyone for
that matter. But, the sight of her cowering in fright and ducking downwards as
low as she was physically able, as if she were being hunted by a pterodactyl,
brought absolute hilarity to her nasty neighbor. If that person ever received
any justified payback, Heather does not know. Oh but how she continues to hope!
Heather Harrison had only one boyfriend in
high school. It was not a long term relationship by any means, she was quick to
assure me. So quick that I began to silently wish that was a good sign.
While she
didn’t mention his name, whether by honest omission or not, she began by
stating that it ended as abruptly as it began-so abruptly that she sometimes
questions if it really happened at all. But her feelings always confirmed this
reality from her past.
Aside from this person, Heather Harrison
told me that she did not date in high school. Not by choice. It just was the
way it was. Until a fateful day near the end of her Junior year. It turns out
that she had built a strong friendship with a college Freshman who was employed
in her high school library. On one of the last days of school, Heather walked
to the parents’ home of her college friend to obtain his mailing address for
his out of state summer break internship while during her free periods. Heather
received the address and was ready to return to school for her afternoon
English class when her friend offered to walk her back to school part way.
Heather obliged. At the halfway point, the two said their “goodbyes” for the
summer and exchanged well wishes and declarations of their shared intentions to
remain in contact.
And then, the Earth shifted…
One warm, seemingly innocuous hug
transformed into a kiss that felt spontaneously romantic and sensually
enthralling. It was a kiss unlike any other she had experienced. Everything
feel into its proper place—hands, lips, tongues—everything! The kiss was mind
blowing. Time itself seemed to stop as she was unaware of how long they kissed
and Heather was also unaware of the amount of passerbys with rubber necks. When
they finally finished kissing, they stared at each other for a few suspended
moments and they each eventually coughed up a simple “See ya,” and they went
their separate ways with Heather practically floating to her English class as
she was lost in a state of supreme bliss.
Unfortunately (at that time) but ultimately
for the better, this romance did not last much further than early in the Autumn
following each of their respective returns back to school. Over the summer,
letters were written and exchanged. Phone calls were made. Admissions of
affection were said. But, by the time school began again in the fall, the
relationship grew suddenly chilly and by the time Heather re-took her S.A.T.
test, she was quickly dumped and she never heard from him ever again. Going
back to her astronomical interests, she said that she felt it was all like a
comet—sudden, intensely bright and blazing, then here and gone. While she was
wounded initially, she recovered quickly and moved on. To whom and how many she
neglected to mention.
Heather Harrison has been touched by death.
While she remains ever grateful that she hasn’t lost anyone of importance
herself, she remains shaken.
His name was Bryan Wendt, the older brother
of one of Heather’s best friends, Lilly Wendt. Bryan died at the age of 18 from
a rare brain tumor. He would never go to college. He wouldn’t even graduate
from high school. He never drove a car. He never had a girlfriend and so, he
never kissed anyone and certainly, he never had sex either. As far as Heather
was concerned, Bryan was cheated so you can only imagine what his family was
experiencing during this time. Heather and Lilly were Sophomores at the time
when Bryan’s life suddenly descended into a tailspin, never to recover. Bryan
passed away in the summer before Heather and Lilly’s Junior year. She heard the
awful news through the high school grapevine and feeling terribly unsure of
what to do or how to respond, especially as death had not touched her life
before this point, Heather eventually decided to write Lilly a letter, allowing
Lilly to have whatever space she needed. As heather tried to construct her letter,
one memory, a specific and perhaps prophetic one at that, leapfrogged to the
front of the line of memories she had about Bryan Wendt. Heather was visiting
Lilly for a spell after school one day in the early portion of the summer when
Bryan suddenly appeared, looking emaciated and gaunt compared to the
athletically wiry frame he held just one year before. He walked from the
kitchen swing door and slowly went upstairs to his bedroom offering only the
smallest trace of a smile as acknowledgement of their presence. While Lilly
instinctively ran to Bryan’s side to administer any help, Heather watched
silently and instantly thought of the sad possibility that she would never see
Bryan Wendt alive again. Not terribly long after that visit, Bryan Wend died on
a very sunny yet unseasonably cool summer’s day surrounded by family in Hospice
Care. Shortly after that was the funeral and the letter Heather sent.
A few weeks after having received Heather’s
letter, Lilly Wendt phoned to thank her for writing and not calling, as the
written communication was felt to have been the best at that time that she
could handle. Lilly then asked if Heather was not too busy, would she please
come over for a visit, a request that Heather was more than happy to oblige.
Heather spent the entire day at Lilly’s house, just like she had thousands of
times before, but this time, with a new almost impenetrable heaviness. While
she completely understood, the day was nonetheless awkward. Conversations
sprouted and wilted without notice, with Heather feeling unsure of whether to
speak or not and Lilly feeling as if she couldn’t. So, the day was mostly spent
in verbal silence as they listened to Lilly’s Beatles albums and watching the
world slowly spin from day to night.
By the point it seemed that there was
nothing else for Heather to do but go home, she gathered her things, softly
touched the shoulder of her dear friend in consolation and headed out of
Lilly’s room and through the front door.
“Thank you again for the letter,” sad Lilly
quietly. “I think it was best that way.”
Without warning, Lilly reached outwards,
grabbed Heather and kissed her so fully and forcefully on the lips that the
suddenness forced their teeth to clack together. The next sensation Heather
experienced was the softening of Lilly’s lips upon her own which then mingled
with the salty taste of Lilly’s falling tears. For friendship, solidarity and
the art of allowing her friend to grieve in the way she wished, Heather
Harrison accepted Lilly Wendt’s kiss which soon dissolved into quiet sobs and
finally, into a feeble embrace. Lilly silently withdrew into the house as
Heather, bewildered, connected thoughts about the transformative power of
death.
Heather stood upon Lilly’s front porch and
gazed all around herself, perplexed at hoe death alters everything, including
how she perceived everything that, at one time, felt to be so normal. Lilly’s
house, of course, was transformed due to Bryan’s premature absence. The
finality was almost oppressive. But, standing outside, with the warm, late
summer’s breeze stroking her face, Heather became aware of how much death had
changed the way she looked at the world. How could she ever experience summer
again knowing all the while that it was now a season of final goodbyes? Heather
walked home alone with the thought of how strange life felt when someone you
could physically see and touch just vanished as if they had never existed in
the first place. That realization frightened her terribly and for a time,
Heather felt herself more fearful with her new awareness and she also had
difficulty sleeping as she was afraid of waking up to potential nothingness.
Then school began again and Heather became busy again, especially so as A.C.T.
and S.A.T. exams were approaching rapidly. She rejoined her friends. She
remained as close to her family as she had always been. Life moved onwards but
she now always felt an…awareness…something that made the rainbow colors of life
dilute into new hues and shadings.
Heather and Lilly never spoke about their
intimate moment, partially out of embarrassment and partially from an unspoken
understanding. They remain close friends to this day.
For nearly four hours, Heather Harrison and
I talked, shared and confessed and I’m telling you, I could have sat on that
bus for four more hours as I didn’t want the moment to end. By the fifth hour
of the Greyhound trudging and sludging through the snow, heather was beginning
to show some real signs of her fatigue as this day fully redefined what a ”long
day” could actually be. Heather’s voice had grown raspier, filled with a seductive,
sultry sleepiness that I wish that I could wrap around me or maybe even bottle
up so I could have it whenever I wanted to hear it. This really is not like me
at all. Falling so fast. But, I’m telling you, as transparently as I am able,
when Heather finally decided to take a short cat nap by closing her eyes and
resting her head upon the bus window, I felt this…rush…of warmth flow through me when she explained, “This is
absolutely no reflection on you as I could not have asked for a better
travelling companion, and through a blizzard no less, than you, Tracey Wolf!
But I am afraid that if I don’t voluntarily shut my eyes for a little bit, I
just might develop a severe and instantaneous bout of narcolepsy. And how
offended you would be if I dropped off as you were in mid sentence. So, if
you’ll excuse me…” And with that, Heather Harrison went to sleep.
I walked into my house, at last, shortly
after midnight, completely wrung out! By the time I dropped my bag on the
floor, ate a quick snack and climbed into bed, I was so bleary eyed, my head
swimming with that over-tired seasick feeling that I almost wondered if I was
drunk—even though I obviously did not touch a drop. Before I drifted off
however, I forced myself to recall and review everything that had enlivened me
fearing that if I did not lock it inside of my memory banks I would forget it
all and then, would it have mattered if it happened at all? Hell, it’s not like
anything is really going to come of this anyway, so there’s no real reason to
get hopeful. But, then again…
I just know that Heather Harrison got to
me. Completely. And I would be a fool if I didn’t try to find her once I get
back to school. But, only if I hear from her though. Why waste my time and risk
humiliation if I overplay my hand. And why does it always have to feel like a game
anyway? Why can’t I just tell her how much she truly affected me? How much I
loved each and every thing she said to me. Probably because she’d think that I
was some lonesome loser, entirely inept socially and romantically—which, in
actuality, may carry some truth. Even so, she did talk to me an donly me for
hours. She even said that she’d write to me! That she would send me a postcard
over Spring Break. It’s the moment that I have replayed the most.
We finally pulled into O’Hare, which we
could barely see through the snow plastered bus windows. I nudged Heather
gently—while having a flash of us as an official couple—waking her up to tell
her that she’d made it. She opened her eyes slowly, in a way that almost looked
seductive but I am certain it was as more of a wish than actuality.
“You’re here,” I said.
“It appears that I am,” she said in a voice
that sounded like a sleepy purr.
“So…it’s off to Colorado, huh?” I asked
lamely. What I really wanted to do was to ask if I could maybe call her once we
got back to school but I, for the life of me, could not get the words to flow
from my brain to my voice. And then, as if she had read my mind, she asked me
something I never thought I’d hear.
“I’ll send you a postcard!” she announced,
eyes beaming. “May I have your address?”
“At school?”
“Well…only if you want to wait until after
we get back to see it. But I was thinking about your home address,” she said as
she scrounged for a piece of paper from her back pack.
“Oh!” I began, feeling my face become
flushed and almost uncontrollably into a smile, which I couldn’t stop even if I
tried.
I gave her my address, she gathered her
belongings and she gave me a little grin and a wave as she looked over her
shoulder while she exited the bus. In turn, I waved back, feeling a rapid sense
of sadness inside of me. It was like you had been at the best party. No wait!
Say it was your birthday party and it was the BEST birthday party you’ve ever
had in your life. Everybody that you could ever hope to be there was there and
every moment made you feel so alive, so special, so…valued that all of these
people would be here--their only
reason to be here--is to celebrate you. And then, everyone leaves and they go
home and the party’s over and instead of being in an afterglow, you feel sad and
so lonely that it feels as if this event never happened. That’s what it felt like
when I saw Heather Harrison leave the bus and disappear into the snow to find
her Dad. It felt like I never met her even though I just knew that I did. The
bus pulled away from the “Kiss & Ride”—God, I love the sound of that!—and headed
into Chicago.
Heather Harrison. Heather Harrison. Will I
ever see you again? Well…whatever happens, I thought as I was fading into
sleep, I have got to find myself a
copy of “American Pie.”
P O
S T C A R D
March 22, 1989
Dear Tracey,
I told you I’d write, didn’t I? How’s your Spring Break? My Grandma’s 90th was as big of a bash as you could imagine. Cake and frivolity abound!
Dear Tracey,
I told you I’d write, didn’t I? How’s your Spring Break? My Grandma’s 90th was as big of a bash as you could imagine. Cake and frivolity abound!
Can you believe that I’m actually ready to
get back to school? In a strange way, it would be more relaxing! Ha ha ha!!
We should do something together when we’re back. How’s that sound?
Love,
Heather
We should do something together when we’re back. How’s that sound?
Love,
Heather
Copyright 2014 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.
