So Mike gets me as far as Gilroy. I know if it was up to him, he’d take me on to Santa Cruz at the very least, or for that matter, all the way to Oakland and drink beers at Josh’s apartment until we all pass out. But the wife is the wife is the wife. So we have a frozen beer at the least scary bar we can find and then I go to wait the few hours until the next bus North at the Gilroy Bus Station.

As I walk up to the closed station to throw away some trash, I see the kid out of the corner of my eye. He says “hi” and starts talking to me about waiting for the bus. I make only one attempt to escape – I tell him that I have to get out of the brutal sun and find some shade. He asks if he can come with me and I tell him sure. I wind up spending the next two hours mostly listening to a procession of damaged, homeless, desperate, drug-addicted yet sweet and honest children – seventeen to twenty-two year olds – share their open wounds with another and me. Steve, 22, is heading to Stockton. He’s homeless – he’s disabled. I later find out that Steve gets $818 a month from the state because he’s got ADD. A few hours later, relating this tale to Josh & Pam in the car towards their apartment, Josh informs me that it is actually he and I that are giving Steve his $818 monthly. Uh-huh. Steve has problems receiving and cashing the checks because he rarely has a permanent address. He’s been tweaking since he was eight years old and his best friend, who was thirteen, hanged himself in front of Steve. Steve has no other place to go and is trying to kick drugs. He tells me he loves his military father even though he beat the shit out of him as a kid and made him do endless pushups as punishment. Steve’s got fifty dollars in his pocket that a friend gave him to get to Stockton to hopefully live with his best friend.

Moments later, we are joined by Yvette who sizes us up before approaching with a timid “hi”. She’s cute and she knows it, biting her lip as she approaches. She asks if we know how to get to Hollister. A friend will come pick her up but she doesn’t know where she is nor does she have any money for the phone or the bus. She asks if either of us has a phone. I hand her my cell phone readily. Steve says he knows how to get to Hollister and Yvette asks him to give her friend directions over the phone. Then she wanders off to talk on the phone. Steve rifles through his sock and his pockets and has some folded up bills in his hand. He gives them to Yvette. At first she refuses; you can see that Steve needs this money more badly that she does. Yvette asks Steve how much is there and he tells her four dollars. Is that enough to get to Hollister? Nobody knows. Is her friend coming? Maybe. She sits down in the shade to wait with us.

            We’re joined a little later by heavy, Mexican kid, Danny. He just got off the train and is heading home after a day at school. He’s got a three-thousand dollar laptop in his bag he tells us all and I am left wondering why he would offer up that information. He’s living at a flophouse a little south of here and is trying to get home too. He joins his tale with Steve & Yvette. They are talking amongst themselves when a cute, baby-fatty blonde girl comes towards us. I look at her and she smiles widely – but the smile is not for me – it’s for Steve. Good for him. She steps up in front of us and announces to Steve that’s homeless now, that CPS came that morning and took her brothers and sisters away. She said “fuck no” when asked if she wanted to become a ward of the state. This is Mary.

            Steve invites Mary to come to Stockton. He says his friend will put her up too. He’s known this guy his whole life; it’s his best friend. She asks Steve to walk around the closed ticket office with her. I remain there watching all of Steve’s worldly possessions. This consists of a leather jacket, a Walkman, a small bag, a purple pillow (that Steve told me hugs to keep warm) and a flower still wrapped in plastic. Steve tells me that he bought the flower for himself because no one else loves him enough to have ever bought him one. His words – not mine. He laughs aloud. My heart is breaking for this kid. But still, I think dirty thoughts about what he and Mary are doing alone around the other side of the building. Steve and Mary return in about five minutes. She’s scarfing down a burrito like it’s the first thing she’s eaten all day and drinking an orange soda. I know that Steve bought them for her but that she was probably too embarrassed to ask for them in front of me. Steve bums a cigarette but no light. He mocks slapping Mary’s ass as she goes to find a match for him. Good for him. Mary returns with the lit Winston (that they both complain about) and she tells Steve that she will kill him if she gets all the way to Stockton and she cant’ stay with his friend. I interject that it’s a better chance that staying where she is – at the Gilroy bus station.

A little later, Mary asks me something about the area. I tell her that I have no clue. I tell her that I am from New York, that I now live in Los Angeles. She asks me if I am just travelling around and to simplify things I tell her that I am going to San Francisco to visit a sick friends in the hospital which is both true and untrue. She tells me that she likes cities but that she feels like she loses herself in them. She seems smart and bright-eyed even if she’s only been off drugs for seven days and that it’s “killing her”. Her words – not mine. I tell her about New York when she asks. I can’t tell if Steve is still listening at this point; it looks like his mind has wandered elsewhere. He is quiet. This is a first in the few hours sitting in the shade by the Gilroy bus station. Mary tells me she wants to see New York City before she dies. I am reminded that she is seventeen.

The bus pulls up and the three of us run for it. The driver gets off to let some passengers off. He asks me where I am going and I tell him Oakland. He nods towards the open door and then starts to open the luggage compartment below the Greyhound bus. An older, Mexican woman steps down off the bus wearily and rushes over to hug Mary. Steve looks more and more lost. The Mexican woman makes Mary write down a telephone number and makes her swear she will not lose it. The driver finishes with the luggage and asks if we are all going to Oakland. I tell him no, just me, that Steve and Mary are going to Stockton. After waiting two hours, they are told that this bus doesn’t even go there. The driver tells them that they can take it to Sacramento, arriving at 2am, switch busses at 3am, and arrive at 4am in Stockton. This doesn’t sound like much of a plan. It is now only 7:45pm.

I have to get on the bus. I bump fists with Steve and shake Mary’s cold, little hand. She wishes me luck. I get on the bus and  take the first open seat – five rows back on the left side. I plop down into my seat and look out the window. Steve and Mary are right below me still discussing options with the driver. They cannot see me through the darkened glass but I can tell from their slumped shoulders that they haven’t figured out and alternate route. The driver leaves them there and he continues discussing options for them with a passenger in the front row of the bus as we pull away. I am listening in, hoping that they have come up with something. But the bus drives off and makes its way towards the 101 Freeway and I bet that Steve and Mary went back to sitting in the shade, although the sun was no setting on the Gilroy Bus Station.

I sit back in my somewhat comfortable Greyhound seat and begin to rifle though my bag for some contact lens solution to drip into my eyes. I know I must write this but I also know that surprisingly there is no pen in my bag. As I search for the saline (that I don’t have either) the Indian man across the aisle taps me on the arm. He points out a pen in the aisle and I pick it up. I thank him and pull out a previous draft of an early chapter of the book and start to write. I don’t look up until the bus is pulling into a dark San Jose. I just finish the previous paragraph before having to get off the bus to buy my ticket for the ride to Oakland.

(c) Brian Mazo