My grandparents lived in Port Arthur, 100 miles away down a two lane coastal highway. For the sake of drainage, it crowned sharply, leaving all the vehicles leaning to the right. There were no seat belts in cars back then. If I sat on the uphill side of the backseat, I had to cling to the door handle for dear life. If sat on the downhill side, I got squashed against the door by a couple of big sisters. But the constant reality was that I never sat next to a door, always in the middle with nothing to hold onto. Between the ages of five and nine, my parents sent me alone on the Greyhound. I will never forget one particular return trip. We were waiting at the stop when a brand new bus rolled up. It had air-conditioning! The man in front of me got the last seat so I had to wait for the next bus. My grandfather was livid and vocal but Greyhound didn’t care that he was a small town JP. The second bus was ancient and like most vehicles had no A/C. I ended up in the middle of the rear bench which sat five across. A body as small as mine left the seat by an inch with every bump. I was between two men smoking green cigars on a hot/humid summer day. The floorboard was loose and rattling. This allowed engine odors, noises, and fumes to enter the seating area. Early on, I refunded half digested candy corn all over myself and the aisle in front of me. In those days, people traveled in suits, ties, dresses, and heels. Everyone scootched and turned away, the ladies covering their noses with handkerchiefs. The men just kept smoking. No one said anything to me and the bus never stopped. I wiped my chin and closed my eyes. At 50 mph, it was going to be a very long trip.
When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on. - Franklin D. Roosevelt
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