One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,14
After the morning I've had, that suits me just fine.
And since some alcoholic snorer prevented me from getting any sleep last night, I'm going to close my eyes and attempt to get some shut-eye now.
* * *
When I wake up, my cheek is numb and squished. I blink a few times, trying to figure out why this might be, when I realize I've fallen asleep on Jess's shoulder. I jerk upright, and he looks at me, amused.
“I was just about to wake you up.” Jess gestures out the window. “We're here.”
I look out the window and blink, confused. This doesn't look like a bus terminal. It has a McDonald's and a gas station and a Starbucks. It looks like a rest stop.
“We're in San Jose?” I mumble, my voice scratchy from sleep. “Already? What time is it?”
Jess laughs. “No, we're halfway. And don't ask me where that is, because I have no clue. But we're stopping for fifteen minutes so everybody can pee and get something to eat.” He frowns as he remembers that we are not two of those people. That is, he can get a burger or whatever with his remaining five dollars, but I'm stuck. My stomach rumbles.
Ugh, it's not like I would ever eat McDonald's anyway. I stand up and stretch. My knees are killing me. Everybody is filing off the bus and pouring into the rest stop. I frown. I'd better hurry, or there will be a long line for the bathroom. Jess grabs his duffel and I grab my bag—no sense taking the risk leaving our stuff here, given the kinds of people riding this bus, I guess—and we walk together across the parking lot. Jess slings his bag over his shoulder and holds the door open for me as we walk into the rest stop.
The smell of McDonald's wafts over me.
It's gross, I tell myself. It's fake food. You've never touched the stuff in your whole life, and you're not going to start now. Which is easy, because you have no money.
I can't believe I just left the rest of that pizza in the motel. I could be eating that right now.
Jess reaches for his wallet and looks mournfully at his five dollars. “You sure there's no chance of money until Chicago?” he asks.
I bite my lip, and shake my head. I just can't do it.
He sighs. “Okay. Well, this ought to get us two little cheeseburgers, anyway, and still have enough leftover for something for dinner. Peanuts, maybe. I'll meet you back here?”
I stare at him. Cheeseburgers for us? He's going to get me a cheeseburger, after I took all his money?
“Bee?” Jess says, looking at me funny. “You going to go to the bathroom or what?”
“Um, yeah,” I mumble. “I'll meet you back here. Thanks.”
I rush over to the bathroom, my face flushed. And there is indeed a line. A long line. Is this what people do, just stand in line all the time?
I settle in for the wait, my foot tapping. I have no idea how long I've been standing here. Long. But when it's finally my turn, I look in the stall, and I just can't possibly use it. There's pee on the seat, and the last person—possibly the last couple of people—who used the toilet didn't flush it. It's too gross for words, and I step aside to let the woman behind me go. I'll just use the next one that opens up.
Only that one is gross too, and the next one, and I really have to pee, but I don't want to catch something doing it. How are all these women comfortable with this situation? It's unsanitary! And there are totally not enough stalls.
I finally give up. I end up settling for a toilet with only minimal pee, and I distinctly heard the woman coming out of it flush before she left. I keep my butt elevated so as not to touch anything (which is not that easy—I thought my thighs were toned, but this is a challenge) and when I finish I realize I've peed on the seat. Just like everybody else. Well, that explains things. I kind of wipe the seat down with toilet paper—it doesn't disinfect anything, but it makes me feel a little better—and wash my hands really, really well. I check myself out in the mirror, and immediately regret it. My hair is flat from the cheap motel shampoo, my eyes are all baggy and shadowed from not getting enough sleep, and