“How much longer Jeff?” AJ called to the bus driver.
“About four hours” came the gruff answer.
The Boys, collected temporarily at the front of the bus for information, began to groan, grumble and whine, before slowly dispersing and returning to various activities in order to pass the time. Kevin was the exception. He remained silent, allowing himself a small inward moan. He kept his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the tour bus window as he watched the grey repetitiveness of a Central European January morning pass him by. Howie, remembering their conversation several months earlier, squeezed his shoulder sympathetically as he moved towards the back of the bus, leaving Kevin alone with his thoughts. He was just about to lose himself and wallow in self-pity when the bus brakes were slammed on.
“Sorry boys” yelled Jeff apologetically, “but it looks like this trip is gonna be slightly longer than anticipated. The road’s bumper to bumper for as far as I can see. Nothing I can do.”
Kevin sighed, aware that it was an action he had been repeating excessively recently, and listened to the others curse their luck. A horn interrupted his silent contemplation. He looked down towards the origin of the noise: the traffic that was slowing beside them. The woman in the red Volkswagen next to him caught his eye as she beat the steering wheel in frustration and anger at the traffic jam and the tour bus that was cutting across in front of her. He couldn’t see her face, but her slumped body language was familiar. She looks like I feel, Kevin thought, before turning his head away and shutting his eyes to block out his surroundings.
* * * *
Nikita felt exhilarated. Finally out of Austria, a shiver passed down her spine. She felt a thrill having put another country in between her and her ‘home’. She wound down a window, ignorant of the cold January air, wanting to feel the wind whipping through her hair. The open window was the closest she had to a convertible: it felt fitting. It felt Thelma and Louise.
Passing a road sign, she saw directions for a city roughly four hours away, and made a mental note to aim to for there by nightfall. Feeling the need for road music, she slipped in a tape and cranked up the stereo. Macy Gray’s unique voice filled the car, and Nikita sang along, unable to prevent herself joining in on the infectious number.
“All I ever wanted was some love peace and harmony
I could dance in the raw in the sun underneath the stars
When I walk over to my money tree ain’t nobody there
Trying to take from me
When they ask ‘are you truly free’ I’d say ‘yes, truly’
But down here in reality everybody knows that there ain’t no such thing
And its clear it’s obviously this is not the place I’m supposed to be
On and on I’ve searched
What I’m looking for is not here on Earth
So I know I gotta go
So long everybody
Mama don’t be sad for me
Life was a heartache and now I am finally free
Don’t know where I’m headed
Hope I see you someday soon
So long everybody
I have gone beyond the moon”
Nikita grinned to herself: it felt like her first real smile in months. This album was going to become the soundtrack of this trip, she decided. She couldn’t help but feel affinity with the lyrics, but unlike REM the night before, she felt filled with hope, rather than retrospective sadness. It was a sign, she was sure. She was going to be alright. She was going to find herself somewhere new to settle and she was going to start all over again. Man, am I glad I chose the escape route option, she smiled to herself.
Lost in the music, Nikita initially failed to notice the traffic slowing in front of her. As she reached the end of the tail-back, she swore, slamming on the brakes. Exasperated, her good mood rapidly evaporating, she angrily slapped the steering wheel. Her frustration vented, she slumped back in the seat, resigning herself to a longer journey than she had planned. She crawled along in the jam for a few moments, before becoming riled again, as the enormous black bus to her left indicated briefly and then began to force its way between herself and the car in front. Angrily, she thumped the horn.
(Lyrics: ‘The Letter’ by Macy Gray)
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