A Night on the Wrong Bus

by Cassandra Reber (Canada)

I didn't expect to find USA

Headlights blinded me as the bus pulled up to the darkened stop, it’s size and shape in stark contrast to the taxis that surrounded it. There was only one individual with me at the bus stop, her suitcase large and more unwieldy than the blue backpack that rested heavily on my shoulders. She entered the bus first, muscles straining in her arms as she lifted the suitcase up the two steps and onto the bus. My backpack almost tipped me backwards as I followed behind her, but a tight grip on the railing kept me steady. The bus was nearly empty, only four people spread throughout the interior. Advertisements plastered every surface, and the blue bus seats and dim interior lighting reminded me eerily of home. It was almost enough to make me forget that I was three thousand kilometers from the country I’d never left on my own. As I watched the GPS move on my phone’s map, the man sitting across from me waved to catch my attention. “Where are you from?” he questioned curiously as the bus stopped and the other two people exited. His appearance was slightly disheveled, like he’d just gotten off work from a labour job or hadn’t yet had the time to change. “I’m Canadian. I live near Vancouver,” I answered politely, my brow furrowing as I glanced back down at the quickly moving blue dot. “I’ve always wanted to see Canada,” this time it was the bus driver who spoke. “It’s a great place to visit in the summer,” I stated. “Sorry, but where exactly is this bus headed?” The man across from me grabbed me a transit guide from their place on the wall. “What area are you headed to?” “The place I’m staying is off of East 7th Street. I was hoping to get off here,” I pointed to the map. “East 7th Street isn’t a great area, Miss,” the bus driver chimed in again from the front. “And this bus isn’t going in that direction.” There was a faint ringing in my ears as I processed that information. In my haze of travel bliss and my ignorance of the Austin bus system, I’d paid little attention to the number glowing on the front of the bus. It seemed silly to me now, that I’d thought there would only be one bus that could come. As I cursed myself for the mistake, the labourer and the bus driver conferred amongst themselves, deciding which stop I should get off at that would get me where I wanted to go. A couple minutes later I was exiting the bus with directions to a stop nearby and warnings to be careful. A bus pulled up across the street some ten minutes later and I stayed put in my place at the bus stop. I didn’t notice that the bus was simply idling there until there was a short honk, my body jerking at the sound. When I looked at the bus, the bus driver was waving me over and I hastily grabbed my backpack, hauling it over my shoulder. “Ma’am, I’m the only bus,” the driver greeted me when I ascended the two steps and paid my fare. This bus didn’t have a single other person on it, so I set my backpack down beside a row of chairs and stood near the front, apologizing to the driver for making him wait. He’d been worried about my safety — he wouldn’t have been back around that way for another twenty to thirty minutes. During his fifteen minute break at one of the stops, we stood outside the bus and chatted about Canada and the huge bugs in Texas and the strangely warm May weather that I was entirely unaccustomed to. At the stop closest to my accommodation, the driver asked me at least three times if I was really going to be OK to get off there. My host, whom I’d never met before, picked me up from the bus stop and I made it safely into a bed for the night. Occasionally, I think about what could have happened that night if it hadn’t been for the kindness of strangers.