Even though it’s a bus station I can try to wrap my head around the idea that maybe it could have been some magical train station. King’s Cross maybe?
The exhaust pipes of the busses make everything look like it is covered in smoke. Cups of coffee from the nearest Starbucks sends steam into the air that makes every second person seem like they might be drinking some warm magic potion. I would have probably stood with my own café mocha or some such in my hands but I’ve never acquired the taste for coffee, or anything hot for that matter. To me a nice cold Dr.Pepper beats the taste of coffee any day. Still I head into the direction of the Starbucks, knowing that if there is any place that I would have to wait for E.J. or he will wait for me it would be there. Find the coffee and you find E.J. weirdly enough. He said he got a taste for it when he wanted to stay awake as much as possible because of all the nightmares. Now he struggles with insomnia, which means the coffee needs to keep him active during the day. He’s always been interesting, but after he settled after his move he changed quite a bit. He’s not the same person he was in the hospital. He seems braver. Maybe even stronger in a way. He also seems a bit more serious. Last week when we met up he was way more serious than what he was the first few months after we met. He used to be the one to start the jokes. Lately I have been the one initiating them.
I spot him as I make my way through the caffeine driven addicts on my way to the Starbucks, seeing him stand in line, looking around him every so often. Probably looking for me.
“Hey! Over here E.J.!” I shout, drawing his eyes to me.
Our eyes meet and he smiles. He’s good at smiling. He makes the world want to smile with him when he does, so I smile without effort, knowing very well that half my smile is concealed behind the mask, but still wanting to show him that I am happy to see him.
I half run toward him where he is standing in line. Part of me wants to be sure that he would’ve ran to me as well if he wasn’t waiting for his coffee.
When I reach him I ask; “What made you decide to come?”
“You didn’t really give me a choice, did you?” he says with a smile and then leans into me for a hug.
I allow him to hold on for a few seconds before I drop my bag and hug him back. I haven’t quite gotten used to hugs, and I’ve never been one to touch E.J. first. Gosh, after what he has been through in his life you could have tipped me over with a feather the very first time he gave me a hug. I don’t know how he does it. If I was in his shoes I would probably not want anyone to touch me ever again.
“Well… I missed you,” I whisper near his ear. For some reason this is not the type of moment I want other people to overhear. “And I couldn’t think of anyone who deserves to live more than what you do.”
“You’re sweet,” E.J. answers back as he pulls himself from my embrace. “Some coffee?”
“Don’t you know me yet? I’m all sorted,” I say pointing to the bag at my feet where I packed enough cola for my trip. It might not be icy cold, but too cold might not be such a good idea at the moment in any case.
“So where are we going?” he asks, moving a step forward, getting closer to the front of the line.
“I really don’t know. I think let’s get your coffee and then we see which bus leaves first,” I answer, watching the attendant in front who is taking his sweet bloody time to make a coffee, trying his best to flirt with the girl in front of him. I want to tell him to keep it in his pants, but with E.J. around I am always kinda weary using any type of wording that might have a sexual connotation to it.
“And if the bus takes us to Jersey?” E.J. asks, a sly smile running over his face. He knows it’s the place I hate least in this world after I was with a foster family there for four months. It was terrible to say the least.
Just after I got out of the hospital the social worker decided that at almost seventeen there was no way that I would be going off on my own. That I needed to finish school. So I was placed in New Jersey. Sounds good hey? Single child of an elderly man and woman… Well, not really elderly, but they sure acted like it. Walking into that house was the most terrifying experience of my life. Everywhere I looked there was eyes looking back at me. Every possible surface in the house was stacked with porcelain dolls. I felt like I was stepping into a horror movie. Sure, the foster parents were nice enough. I even got a doll as a present as I walked in the door. One with half its face mutilated. I would later be explained that the wife makes these bloody dolls and that she has one in the house for every friend and family member so that she can always hold them close. Everything went fine, and they even allowed me to pack away some of the dolls in my room so that there would be less eyes staring at me. The Me doll I kept out where I could see him. Every time I looked at him I was again reminded that this is the way that people will forever look at me. Broken. Having only half a face. I got really angry that night, which was in itself a pity since I really liked the school I was going to and even made a friend in a way. It was just that one night I was looking at the dolls and all their perfect faces and I just lost it. My face would never be that smooth or perfect ever again. I would forever be a monster and it wouldn’t mind how much acid I threw on their faces, their faces would always remain smooth. So I did the next best thing. I broke ones face. Then two. Before I knew it I was standing on a mountain of broken dolls and my foster mom was crying at my feet because I killed her children. Needless to say I was sent back from where I came two days later. Reason for me being kicked out? We just weren’t a match.
“If we land in Jersey we just grab a bus to the big apple from there. Or better yet, the train. I have never been on a train. Have you?” I say thinking about how wonderful trains always look in movies. Maybe it would be like being on the Hogwarts Express, buying sweets from a trolley and just admiring the nature outside as you pass it by. Who knows? Maybe I will even meet the girl of my dreams on a train?
“I don’t think trains are all that glamorous. It will take forever to get from point A to point B,” E.J. says and then turns toward the guy behind the counter. “Double espresso, a café late, and a pumpkin Frappuccino.”
“Name?” the boy behind the counter asks before I can even tell E.J. that time does not matter anymore. That whether this trip takes seven days or seven years it really does not matter. As long as we want it to last is how long it will last in the end.
“Elliot,” E.J. answers as he pulls out a bank note and hands it over to the guy, stepping aside to let the next customer through.
“Since when have you been using your real name?” I ask shocked.
“A while now. I needed to break away from the past. It seemed like a good decision to be called something different as well. Something he never called me,” E.J. says as his cups are handed to him.
“You’re not seriously gonna drink all of that?” I ask, my eyes widening. There’s enough caffeine in his hands to keep a cow awake for a few good days.
“I don’t plan on sleeping on the bus. Someone needs to keep a look out and you are always the first one to fall asleep,” he says with a bit of a chuckle, punching me on the arm. The seriousness from less than a minute ago already put away in his pocket.
“Have you heard from Chris lately? Weren’t you supposed to see him while you’re here?” I ask. I remember E.J. texting me that he might be seeing Chris tomorrow.
“Maybe it’s better if I don’t,” he answers, walking a little bit ahead of me to the ticket office.
“He’s still sweet on you, isn’t he?” I ask. Every time I think of Chris I want to punch his face in, and at the same time I want to be there for E.J. and Chris has always been such a huge part of his life that I can’t do something terrible to Chris either.
“He still thinks he’s in love with me, yes,” E.J. answers lugging his bag from one shoulder to the other. It seems like he packed rocks in his bag. Mine is almost as light as it looks. His looks like it might weight a hundred pounds.
“Did you tell him you’re straight?” I ask for the umpteenth time. I’ve had gay friends in the past. I even had one that fell desperately in love with me. Sending me love letters. I mean, who still writes letters? When I told him I was definitely straight he actually respected it and he stopped writing the letters. He did break off our friendship a while later. I could understand that and I respected him for that as well.
“I have answered you that question almost as many times as I have told Chris I am straight. So where are we going?” E.J. asks and points up to the board showing the different busses and where they are heading, giving the time for each and every one.
“I see Jersey is the next one to leave. You called it,” I say punching him in the arm, but immediately regret doing so as I see the open espresso he is holding spilling a little bit. “Sorry, I mutter and try to wipe the coffee running over his hand off with my sleeve.
“’ts okay,” he answers, but I can see he is a bit annoyed that he spilled a bit.
“There’s a bus to New York about ten minutes after that one leaves. You pick,” I say. I could not care less where I’m going to be honest. As long as it’s away from here I really don’t care.
“New York it is,” E.J. chooses with a smile the choice I knew he would make. “And we have to go and see a show while we’re there.”
“A strip show?” I ask with a gasp in my best British accent. “Why E.J… I’d never!”
“Oh god. Not that type,” he says and I can see the smile lining his face. “The kind where they sing and perform. I hear Cher has an actual show going on at the moment.”
“Kill me now,” I whisper loud enough for him to hear. It’s not that I have anything against Cher. It’s just that I love to tease E.J. about things he feels strongly enough.
“What?” he says in immediate defence. “What’s wrong with Cher?”
“It’s just that we will probably be the only straight guys in the audience. I wouldn’t want those pretty gay guys falling head over heels for me only for me to tell them that I’m straight,” I say clasping my hands over my heart, acting as if my heart would be completely shattered for the poor blokes wanting me so badly.
“God! Maybe you are gay Brody! I’ve never even seen a gay guy be as much as a drama queen as what you are!” E.J. shouts with a laugh, almost sitting down on the greasy ground.
“Well my good sir. At least I have made you laugh, and if that is what my lord needed then I am happy to oblige,” I pull out another one of my British accents. I have no idea where I actually picked them up. I want to blame Downtown Abbey, but that would mean admitting that I was kinda addicted to it at a time, which I swear to anybody who asks I wasn’t.
E.J. laughs so much that by the time I am asking the old man behind the counter for two tickets to New York it feels like only a few seconds has passed. Throwing my duffle bag over my shoulder like Jack in Titanic I start running for the bus. I know E.J. can’t follow as fast because of all the coffee he needs to carry without spilling, but I feel good when I hear him laugh and shout; “Run Forest, run!” behind me.