The bus swayed on an uneven hill. The worn brown seats moaned deeply and let the riders lean in unison. A pink summer dress fluttered. A delicate, long hand pressed a golden straw hat firmly down onto the owner's head. A stern blow of air fluttered in through the window. The scent of corn growing, clover flowers, and rich, moist soil filled the inside with a certain summer ease.
The mood of the passengers was giddy with fresh summer clothing that barely had the tag cut off. There was a certain sleepiness from the long ride and ample moments of suspension in the air, bounced up by ancient bus springs, and caught by a soft and deep catch of the ancient seats. The Tennessee summer was in full swing and provided a comfortably warm air and delightful sun - just peachy perfect for a stroll twirling a frivolous parasol.
"Hi, I'm Nancy from New York," said my seat neighbor. She held out her pale, white hand. I instantly noticed that the hand was perfectly moisturized. The skin was exquisitely soft with every blemish carefully manicured away. Her nail polish was a five layer work, definitely nothing you can get at an average nail salon. The shine, reflection, and wetness of the clear coating was breathtaking. There was a very simple and understated ring with a circle and arrow. Considering the rest of her hand, the ring must have been a sign of feigned modesty to pick a simple design at Tiffany that still cost in the young six figures. "I love those yoga pants," she added.
I blushed. Coming from Los Angeles, I couldn't resist wearing yoga pants everywhere I went. "I know! I couldn't resist. They told us not to wear anything nice, but I got these Carbon38 fresh in the mail. I'm a platinum member. So I got to buy from the summer collection of yoga pants a week before it is released. It would have been a crime not to enjoy that special week before everyone and their grandma buys them. I'm Lucy from Los Angeles." I reached out my hand as well. The back was covered with brown Henna lines that were left over from a spiritual ceremony to prepare for my summer trip.
"I'm an accountant for KPMG. What do you do?" asked Nancy.
"Oh how wonderful, someone has to count the beans, right! I'm an entertainment lawyer," I replied.
My gaze got stuck on wrist, trying to parse the tattoo. There was a cute angel on a blue background inside of a circle.
"I'm still not fluent in reading these," interjected Nancy to pull me out of my thoughts. "Can I see yours?"
I turned my wrist over. I had a female elf with a bow and long flowing hair on a blue background inside of a hexagon. There was a yellow triangle in the hexagon. I starred at mine sullenly and confused.
Nancy broke out an uneasy laugh that was trying to set me at ease while her eyes watched me carefully. "I guess we both like girls!"
"I don't really know how this works. It's my first time," I blabbered.
"It's my first time as well, but I guess they are all clean," Nancy nodded in the direction of the rest of the bus with a specific focus on the elbow grease. All the women in the bus had a little piece of cotton taped to the inside crease of their right elbow. Before getting on the bus, a nurse had drawn my blood and put the vial into one of those instant read machines. Another nurse had held a black tattoo gun in her blue-gloved hands before she unleashed a storm of needles on my wrist to give me the temporary tattoo, guaranteed not to wash off and guaranteed to be gone in about three weeks when the layer of skin renews.
"How did you hear about the summer camp," I asked Nancy.
"My gynecologist told me about it. She is this dark brown Indian woman in a blue sari. She sings while she does the exam and moves around my lady parts. It's some Hindu chanting about a monkey god. I believe Hanuman is his name. One day, she stopped singing. I thought she was going to tell me that I have cervical cancer. But wouldn't you believe it? She told me about this place. I ran out of her office as fast as I could. But about a year later, I was getting to my second bottle of red wine in the tub, I called her number. It was around midnight on a Friday. She was on the on-call rotation and picked up. I asked her to give me the phone number to call," narrated Nancy.
The bus kludge complained as the driver downshifted to turn onto a dirt road and drive through a classical farm gate. Two gentleman with assault rifles stood next to a red Bronco pickup. They were boots, Jeans, and plaid shirts to appear like cowboys. But their stoic faces and upright posture screamed high-end private security.
A little forest engulfed them. Leaves were occasionally hitting the roof of the bus. The bus started bouncing harder as the tires ran over tree roots running across the dirt road. The native trees of Eastern cottonwood, scarlet oak, and black oak gave way to a leafier and lower vegetation - something that felt more exotic, more like a country near the equator, perhaps even with a daily tropical downpour. She could feel the energy shift in the bus. Curiosity and an inner traveler diva rose in the sullen, sleepy, long overland trip faces piquing up to take a look at those unfamiliar leafs that increasingly got closer to the bus until they were smearing along the window. An overpoweringly vigorous growth energy nourished the plants to seemingly grow faster than the caretakers could beat back the jungle. A small river about three elephants long cut through the thick foliage. A flat, wooden bridge crossed the river. No railing, barely an inch wider than the bus, it felt like it was makeshift - primitive.
"I haven't had a boyfriend for eight years," Nancy spurted out. There was a sharp pause at the end. I looked at her face to get a hint of where it was going. Her eyes had an anguished look and rigidity like her mind was racing to find a follow-up. I looked at her shocked. I felt terrorized about my own secret lack of man that somewhere must be prove about my lack of attractiveness, yet I always try to tell myself that it's the man in tinsel town who suck.
