|
No Place Special
|
26 June 2002
|
previous • current • next
When I was growing up, we had this bus. It was an old Greyhound bus that had been revamped and made into a camper bus. I remember the first time that Mom and Dad brought it home. We little chittlins were so excited! Four kids preceded to clamber up into the seemingly large bus and ran through it, exploring each nook and cranny.
The interior upholstery was the best: a white and black tiger striped pattern or something of the like. Or was it gold and black? Anyway, very glamorous, to say the least! Heh! I opened a skinny, little door and what do I find? A bathroom. A bathroom? Oh my! I was too young to even ponder about the workings of such a thing. Thank the good Lord!
It had a little kitchen table that would fold down so that the cushions could be replaced and assemble into a delightful little couch area. It was a lot of fun.
Our family took many little vacations and mini-vacations in that bus. I remember driving down the road and playing games at the table with my sisters and brother or dashing into the back bedroom and taking a comfortable nap. It was completely delightful!
Our family was a close-knit one, and we used to do all those little things that television shows and movies make fun of: singing songs together, cracking jokes, playing games, etc. We were guilty of each and every one of those little family cliches. No matter, we had fun and that was all that mattered at the time.
My favorite part of the whole bus thing was what my dad put in the little "destination" sign. You know the area in the front of the Greyhounds that tell where the bus is going. Dad put in there "No Place Special." Even as a small child I understood irony.
It's not the place that makes what you do special, it's definitely the people with whom you are sharing the experience.
Yeah... yeah... cliche! Heh!
After about five years or so of driving that bus, Dad finally parked it behind the garage. It sat there for a very long time, grass growing up around it. As we kids got older, we used to use the "parked" bus for our secret rendezvous. I used to go in there and page through Tiger Beat magazines, frantically in search of the newest pictures of Billy Hufsey. (This one was always my favorite. Hmmm... I wonder why! Heheh.) That poor bus sure did see its share of pre-teen and teenage angst!
I can't remember exactly what became of the bus. I believe my dad sold it to one of my uncles. After a decade of sitting out there all alone, holding some of the finest memories tightly within its metal embrace, it was gone.
Although the bus is no longer around, the memories remain.
This has been a collaboration for Random Acts of Journaling - A picture prompt, June 2002
|
|
|
|
|
|
![[ Registered ]](/images/registry.gif){kind=small}
