"PAUL WESTERBERG"-PART TWO "THE BUS" (second section)

"PAUL WESTERBERG"
"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 1^st 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 90^th 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

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