Buses move you forward, then take you back. Back and forth, back, and forth. You get where you’re supposed to go but you never arrive anywhere else. Destination determined. So, it was. Being fifteen and living in Cicero, Illinois after moving from Southern California jolted a person’s system, kind of like a heart attack.
At first Marjorie was happy to have access to a bus. She could go to the library or even shopping at Cermak Plaza without bartering with her father for a ride. She had an after-school job which equaled spending money. With transportation and pocket money, a girl had independence. What a gift. Or so she thought.
Sometimes her mom, who didn’t drive, would come with her. She could still see the two of them walking to the bus, talking. Waiting for the bus, talking. Riding on the bus, talking all the way to Walgreens Drug Store. There they would get a window table in the cafe and talk some more. Her mom would always eat chicken fried steak and she would chow on veal cutlet with mashed potatoes. Coffee, lots of coffee and always dessert. They wanted to make their uninterrupted time together last. Neither of them wanted to go home to the arguing, yelling, or sometimes silent with anger people who lived in the brick bungalow with them. Drama, they needed a respite from the ongoing soap opera.
Then winter arrived. The girl who refused to wear socks because she was accustomed to flip-flops, finally relented. Like everyone else, she bundled up from head to frozen toes. Marjorie went from being the mysterious California girl at school to just another mopey sophomore wearing ugly footwear.
Her poor mother was given a hand-me-down coat making her look like General MacArthur. It was too ugly to be seen in, even at Walgreens. Her mom had to wear it on the El to get downtown to work, but by the time she got home, it was too dark to go anywhere and she wanted to get out of the damn coat. Besides, it was too cold to wait for a bus if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. They abandoned their Walgreens bus trips. Somehow the talking was also abandoned. Winter, Marjorie thought, was like a brutal man, destroying everything beautiful and good.
Since she wasn’t spending money on bus fare and veal cutlets, she saved her tips from her part-time job, squirreling the dough away. Often, she worked overtime just to get out of the house. When spring finally came, even though she believed it never would, she bought her mother a new winter coat and a fine spring coat, so she wouldn’t have to be embarrassed riding the EL ever again.
A few times they resumed the Walgreens bus retreats. But they were out of practice talking. Once you get out of practice talking to someone, it seems easier to stay silent. Besides, Marjorie turned sixteen and had boyfriends who owned cars. For a while those boys took her to new places, but she realized their destinations were different from the one she wanted. Finally, Marjorie got off the bus for good and found her own way to somewhere else.
— Mugsy
At first Marjorie was happy to have access to a bus. She could go to the library or even shopping at Cermak Plaza without bartering with her father for a ride. She had an after-school job which equaled spending money. With transportation and pocket money, a girl had independence. What a gift. Or so she thought.
Sometimes her mom, who didn’t drive, would come with her. She could still see the two of them walking to the bus, talking. Waiting for the bus, talking. Riding on the bus, talking all the way to Walgreens Drug Store. There they would get a window table in the cafe and talk some more. Her mom would always eat chicken fried steak and she would chow on veal cutlet with mashed potatoes. Coffee, lots of coffee and always dessert. They wanted to make their uninterrupted time together last. Neither of them wanted to go home to the arguing, yelling, or sometimes silent with anger people who lived in the brick bungalow with them. Drama, they needed a respite from the ongoing soap opera.
Then winter arrived. The girl who refused to wear socks because she was accustomed to flip-flops, finally relented. Like everyone else, she bundled up from head to frozen toes. Marjorie went from being the mysterious California girl at school to just another mopey sophomore wearing ugly footwear.
Her poor mother was given a hand-me-down coat making her look like General MacArthur. It was too ugly to be seen in, even at Walgreens. Her mom had to wear it on the El to get downtown to work, but by the time she got home, it was too dark to go anywhere and she wanted to get out of the damn coat. Besides, it was too cold to wait for a bus if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. They abandoned their Walgreens bus trips. Somehow the talking was also abandoned. Winter, Marjorie thought, was like a brutal man, destroying everything beautiful and good.
Since she wasn’t spending money on bus fare and veal cutlets, she saved her tips from her part-time job, squirreling the dough away. Often, she worked overtime just to get out of the house. When spring finally came, even though she believed it never would, she bought her mother a new winter coat and a fine spring coat, so she wouldn’t have to be embarrassed riding the EL ever again.
A few times they resumed the Walgreens bus retreats. But they were out of practice talking. Once you get out of practice talking to someone, it seems easier to stay silent. Besides, Marjorie turned sixteen and had boyfriends who owned cars. For a while those boys took her to new places, but she realized their destinations were different from the one she wanted. Finally, Marjorie got off the bus for good and found her own way to somewhere else.
— Mugsy
The mother daughter relationship is so special. Good job. opelikakat
ReplyDeleteIs this piece PRO public transportation? Or not? Cicero was lucky to HAVE a bus system! Why is Marjorie not happier? HAHA. That's a silly question. I'm glad she had those times with her mother. Very important. But Marjorie is a restless soul, as are her TOES. ---Macoff
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