Closure

I started packing a week ahead of time. I bought my bus ticket a month before the day I planned to leave. The first trip I had ever taken by myself turned out to be one of the most enlightening. I knew this trip would close a chapter in my life. I just didn't know how it would happen.

My mother and her husband pulled in the driveway to pick me up and take me to catch my bus to Chicago. We arrived at the pickup spot and as other passengers arrived, I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into. This group of people looked like an accurate sampling of Baskin Robbins ice cream. There were people of every kind. The little blonde college girl in tan pants and a plain white tee-shirt was a vanilla cone. The African American man in his wide ill-fitting pants and black shirt was a chocolate cone. The woman, who appeared to be from India or some other bright foreign place I have never visited, was a blend of all the flavors. Her hair was as black as asphalt, her jewelry gold, turquoise and red, and it sparkled like sugar sprinkles. Her clothes were as colorful as the mouth of a sailor on leave, too many colors to describe, so many colors she looked like a sampling of every flavor of ice cream ever made. She had a red barrette in the crown of her head like a cherry on top of a sundae. The entire bus was a mix of people like this.

It was finally time to board the bus, I said goodbye and got settled in for a nine hour ride. I got lucky and scored a seat in the top of this double-decker bus right by a window. Wouldn't ya know, vanilla ice cream cone came and sat next to me. We chatted while waiting to pull out; she seemed nice enough.

Not long after pulling out everyone shut off their overhead lights and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep for a while. I am not a person who can sleep in a moving vehicle, so I played games on my cell phone, checked Facebook, and just stared out the window at the dark highway rolling out in front of us until we stopped. After about four hours the driver pulled into a truck stop. Everyone on the bus was shaken awake as the air brakes hissed and brought the twenty-foot tall people-mover to a stop. Thankfully, little vanilla ice cream woke up too, and we started chatting again on our way into the truck stop for a potty break and something to eat.

Just as we walked in the door, we were finally introducing ourselves; her name was Casey. She looked as if she had never seen a truck stop before. Casey was amazed at all of the trinkets for sale. The place had that truck stop smell too, that dirty man smell mixed with a just-showered man, diesel fuel and a mix of various air fresheners and whatever fast food joint that happened to be attached to give drivers variety.

Casey found all the knickknacks! She found bells, magnets, spoons and tee-shirts, all with Indiana blazoned across them, as that was the state we were in. She had to buy trinkets for her mom and dad back in Tennessee. She spent so much time shopping, she almost missed the bus when the driver was ready to pull out, but she made it just in time with a bag full oftchotchkes and a bubbly statement, "My parents love knickknacks."

Apparently, after pulling away from the truck stop, the hum of the engine and the vibration of tires against the road must have allowed me drift off to sleep for a couple hours because the next thing I remember was the driver coming across the loudspeaker announcing, "We will be pulling into Chicago's Union Station in approximately thirty- five minutes.

Please gather all of your items and be sure you don't leave anything on the bus. Thank you for traveling with Megabus."

I was there, Chicago, where he lived now, and I just had to come. I retrieved my bag from the cargo area and started looking for the subway. This, I was excited about. I had never been on a subway train and couldn't wait. I asked a police officer where to go, and he told me exactly what train to catch and what stop to get off at for the street I needed to get to my rental car.

Two hours after arriving in this city I was finally at my hotel. After sitting on a bus all night, I wanted nothing more than to take a shower, put on clean clothes, get a bite to eat, and then, I would make the call.

Riiing, Riiing, Riiing...l was praying he wouldn't answer, and I would get his voicemail so I could prolong this. We had so much fun in Tennessee. Then his job moved him to Chicago. I guess I knew it wouldn't work as soon as he told me, but I thought I would try. Rii...hello? It was him.

We talked about my trip and how his job was going. He asked about our friends in Tennessee and about the latest gossip around our building. It came like I knew it would. I asked him if he was going to be able to make it over that night. Surprisingly, he said yes. You can feel it when the conversations aren't the same anymore and a person isn't excited to see you, but this wasn't the case with him. He seemed to be excited to see me.

He arrived around six o'clock that evening smelling as good as ever, like a man, woodsy smelling cologne but a hint of sweat from working hard that day. He asked if I had eaten dinner, and I told him no, so we went next door to Bob Evans and had dinner. After dinner I knew it was going to happen. We would end it or drag this on longer, but I could tell by his half smile and faraway looks during our dinner what was about to happen. We talked more about our families and how our lives were going, skirting around the issue until I finally asked, "So what are we going to do about this?" There it was, the look on his face, like that of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar right before dinner.

He explained he met up with an old flame from when he lived there before and things were going well. While it felt like a hard slap across the face, like when I back talked my parents as a child, at least I wasn't surprised. We stood there another hour talking about the weather up there and in Tennessee and every other subject you can think of. It was ten o'clock. I had had a long bus ride, and now that I knew we were done, I planned to spend the rest of my time in Chicago as a tourist, so we kissed one last time, hugged longer than necessary, and said our good byes.

The next two days I shopped, went to the casinos, visited landmarks, and enjoyed time for me. Monday was another long bus ride home, home to my son, home to my family and home to a man I had met through friends before I left who said he knew my trip was not going to work and that he would be waiting for me to get back.

Closure is an important thing in some folk's lives. It is in mine. I knew Chicago and I were meant to be, but I also knew when he moved, that was the end. I had to go close that door. To close the door on that chapter so I could start the next with the man who waited on me. The man I proudly now call my husband.