Episode 2.4: "Introductions"

There’s something about puking in front of people that makes you feel somehow ashamed…like you don’t want others to see what food looks like after it's been in your particular stomach. I decided to take the initiative and break the awkward silence that had settled in our smelly bathroom sanctuary.

“What exactly happened on the bus?”

“Shee-yit! You didn’t see it?” the twangy voice replied.

“Well, no.” I pointed to my sunglasses.

“Why you wearin’ shades? You can’t see shit wearin’ those when it’s dark out.”

“He’s blind, dumbass.” The black dude replied.

“Oh, damn! Apologies, man. Given the pure, pants-pissing terror of the evening, I’d say bein’ blind is an advantage, if it’s any consolation.” Twangy-Voice sounded skinny and lean, like some kind of wild dog.

“After…I didn’t get your name?” The woman had begun speaking, addressing the black dude.

“Name’s Randall.” He replied.

“After Randall took the wheel and stopped the bus, there was something waiting out there in the dark for us. All I could see where chains made of razor wire slicing people in half when I saw you two take off.” Her syllables came out in short bursts, like a semi-automatic weapon. I pictured her with short hair and pursed lips.

“You told us to run, man,” Randall said to me, his voice painting me a mental picture of a soldier or a cop, “How’d you know something was coming if you can’t see anything?” This was a question that I was still trying to answer myself.

“I dunno," For some reason, I felt compelled to lie about what I 'saw,' "I just…I thought I heard something from that direction and didn’t want to find out what it was.”

“Well, it may have saved our lives, so I guess we should be thankin’ you. What’s your name?”

“Ed. Ed Devlin. I’m traveling to Boston from Toomsboro, Georgia.” I reached out my hand, which Randall enveloped in his. The dude must be huge.

“I guess after sharing a near-death experience, introductions are appropriate.” The woman replied, “I’m Maxine Gunn. I’ve been living in Baton Rouge. What’s your deal, truckstop?” I assumed she was talking to the dude with the twangy voice.

“Name’s Elvis Wickham. Came out from Dodge City, Kansas, and this has been the absolute weirdest day of my entire life.” I heard the sound of water running and quick, slurping gulps as Elvis drank deeply from the faucet. I hoped it wasn’t the one that I puked in.

“How about you Randall?” Maxine asked.

“Yeah, Randall Cobb. I’m from Morristown, New Jersey.”

“Well,” Elvis began as he sat down on the floor, “Now that we know each other’s names and have nearly been flayed alive by sadomasochists, I guess we’re ready enough to spend the night in a filthy bathroom together.” We all murmured some form of agreement.