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In lugnet.people.couples, C. L. GunningCook wrote:
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In lugnet.people.couples, Anthony Sava wrote:
(ask me and I’ll tell it anyway ;)
I’ll bite......... and oh yeah, I’m asking for the story. Please.
Janey “Red Brick”
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Christina’s gonna kill me for it, but I think it’s a cute story. She just
thinks it’s embaressing and I tell it only to make fun of her, which honestly
couldn’t be further from the truth.
In any case, it’s kinda long, but you asked for it ;)
Two days after Christmas day I flew up to meet Christina for the first time.
She lived in Ovid, New York, and I in Houston, Texas, so the only choice I had
was to fly. Now, not being made of money, I used a free ticket my father gets
from his Southwest Airlines credit card, which was fine by me. However,
Southwest doesn’t fly into too many airports per city, or even per state, to
keep costs low, so the closest place I could fly into was the Buffalo/Niagra
Airport.
The flight wasn’t too bad, I had to exchange planes once. On the second plane,
which was only about an hour’s flight, I had to sit next two two young college
girls going on vacation from the south. I apologized many times for invading
the girl next to me’s space, since I am not a small man, but this began a
conversation between the three of us about our destinations. Imagine their
surprise when they learned that I was flying out to New York to see someone I
met on the Internet.
After landing, the plan was to take a Taxi to the Greyhound Bus station twenty
minutes away. So I gathered my luggage (which was all there, yay!), dawned my
heavy coat, and walked outside. The Cabbie I found was a nice enough guy,
middle age, a little grizzled, but amused with my southern ways. After getting
in the cab he asked me where I wanted to go, and I told him, and we were off.
This was the first time I had ever seen snow on the ground, so I guess my sense
of awe made him strike up a converstaion. Imagine his surprise when he learned
that I was riding out to the middle of New York State to see someone I had met
on the Internet (notice a theme here?).
So we discussed the weather, the snow, the driving on ice, and the slush.
Fortunately for me it was a fine day, clear sky, 20 something degrees (I like
cold weather). When we got to the bus station he helped me unload my bags, and
I gave him his money and a tip, drug my rolling suitcase out of the slush and
walked inside.
Oh the interesting people one finds in a bus station. I waited in line for
about thirty minutes to get my ticket, waiting for the oriental father and
daughter to get their ticket, and then the extended African-American family to
get all of their tickets, and the modicum of single white people inbetween. I
like watching people, actually. They didn’t speak much english it seemed, but
from what I could tell the oriental father was sending his teenage daughter
somewhere, perhaps school. She didn’t seemed too thrilled to be going, I guess
loathing of school crosses all cultures ;)
Anyway, I had about another hour to wait, so I took the time to call home and
Christina. She was thrilled to know I was so close. We spoke for a bit, but I
didn’t want to waste my meager calling card, so we kept it short. Between
calls, though, I got pan-handled by a fellow. The first thing he said to me was
“You aren’t a racist, are you?”, which should have raised a flag, and it did.
His story was he needed ten bucks so he, his wife, and his kid could all have
tickets on the bus to go whereever they were going. I’m not usually fooled by
con-artists, but you know, it was the Christmas season, and even if the guy was
scamming me, I was in good spirits. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, ten
bucks, and the peace of mind that he’d probably leave me alone. Did I get
conned? Probably. But if there was that 1% chance he was genuine, I’m glad I
did it.
So finally I get onto the bus. From Buffalo to Rochester, I had to sit by this
poor Indian (from India) woman. I say poor because she was this tiny little
thing and I’m this giant man who takes up most of two seats anyway, and
Greyhound busses have REALLY tiny seats. But we got to talking, and when she
learned I was from Texas she was surprised. Apparently I don’t have that much
of an accent, and I wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat (though I do own one). Ok, she
was smart enough not to assume people from Texas where a hat, but other people
elsewhere on my trip weren’t. We then got to the point in the conversation when
I mentioned why I was there, to go to the middle of New York State to see
someone I had met on the Internet. Imagine her surprise.
The Bus Driver was surprised too. He and I had already spoken to each other,
simply because I was a bus driver in college and I was absolutely impressed with
how those Greyhound Busses could maneuver around the city streets. My Thomas
Built bus couldn’t have ever done the things those Greyhounds can. Anyway,
after Rochester I got to ride by myself (apparently not many people go past
Rochester going south on a Greyhound), so I got to sleep some.
Finally we got to my stop. Now where Christina had told me to get off the bus
was a legal bus stop, but it wasn’t a regular one, so when I boarded the bus I
had to tell the bus driver that’s where I wanted to go. So there we were, 5
hours out of Buffalo.
Where?
At the Willard Correctional Institute (not sure on the exact name), it’s a Drug
rehab center, but I had known this going in.
Well, what I didn’t know is that it’s a Drug Rehab cetner that used to be a
normal prison, with two 20 foot perimeter chainlink fences topped with razor
wire, guard towers and patrolling German Shephards. It was about 5 pm, but
since it was winter, the sun had already gone down, and the only light was
coming from the yellow flood lights around the prison.
I walked off the bus and stared at the fences. The bus driver leaned out a
little and said “You sure this is where you want to go?”
Sure of myself, knowing full well this is where I needed to be to meet my love,
the only place in New York I knew she would be, I said “...umm... yeah...”
“Cause you know I can take you somewhere else, maybe someplace with a Greyhound
station.”
“...no... I’ll... I’ll be alright, thanks.”
And with that he helped me unload my luggage from beneath the bus. And into the
slush. Again.
So the bus drove off with twenty people scratching their heads as to why I would
want to get off here. Determined, I pressed onward. I looked around the poorly
lit road I was on, there wasn’t anything around me. The road went on, with the
large fence parallel. Across from me there was a side street that went up a
large hill with town houses on one side. Hoping for the best, I began hauling
my luggage up the hill. I saw a few lights on in the town houses.
But no cars.
I walked onward to the top of the hill. I found a credit union and a parking
lot with a few cars in it. At last! I would finally meet my love.
No one in the cars.
The road with the townhouses turned, and went back down the hill. At the bottom
of the hill I saw a small little pagoda. It turns out that it was the official
Willard Greyhound Bus Stop, which was great, NOW I was getting somewhere. I
guess the driver just didn’t want to tackle that steep hill. In a bus, I
wouldn’t want to either.
So I walked down to the little covered bus stop and sat. No cars. No people.
Nothing.
Since the temperature was dropping, as night had already fallen, I was beginning
to get pretty cold. So I decided to walk back up the hill and down it to where
the bus had dropped me off. Perhaps Christina would have known where the bus
drops people off and was waiting there, and she had just been a little late.
So I climbed the hill once more. No new cars. No people. Very little light.
I walked back down to where the bus had dropped me off. It was at this point I
stared at my luggage. Here I was, a city boy, 1200 miles away from home, in the
middle of nowhere, next to a prison, and I knew no one. I began to think that
maybe she wasn’t coming, that maybe I had been fooled.
The thought even crossed my mind that I would be mugged and killed, but that
thought quickly passed since I doubted anyone who would do that would do it so
close to a prison.
But I was determined. I would find my love. She hadn’t left me, she was going
to come through. She wasn’t an axe murderer like my parents hypothosized. They
were wrong, and I knew it.
I needed to find a phone. If I could find a phone, I could call Christina and
find out where she was. So I trudged back up the hill to the Credit Union.
Credit Union’s have phones!
Not when they’re closed.
There was another building, some sort of museum by the look of it, back down the
other side of the hill near the official bus stop. And a phone! I saw a phone!
Through the glass door I saw a phone! Through the locked glass door with
electronic security and security cameras I saw a phone!
Drat.
Ok, contingency plan: weather the cold till daybreak and then call when the
buildings opened. I had enough clothes to keep me warm, I thought, and I still
had a few snacks from the plane to keep my body temperature up.
But that was my last resort. I needed to find a phone now.
I had seen some lights in those town houses. Maybe I could impose upon those
people. But there weren’t too many lights...
So I trudged back up the hill. As I crested the hill once more, a car pulled
into the parking lot across from the town houses and a man emerged. He was a
thin man, unshaven, and looked very cross. I stired up my courage, swallowed
hard and addressed him.
“Excuse me, do you have a phone I could use?”
“Sure, come on in,” he said. He was actually quite a nice fellow who had just
had a hard day at work. His wife and little girl were nice too. I really
regretted not writing down their address to thank them, though I think I spread
the thank yous around pretty thick while I was there. Heck, I was grateful just
to get out of the cold.
Using my calling card, I called Christina’s house. Sue answered.
She was disappointed Christina has somehow now been there to pick me up, and she
was going to send Ken (her husband) over right away to pick me up. I thanked
her, told here where I’d wait, hung up, thanked my rescuers, and proceeded back
down the hill to the official Bus Stop.
I sat there for awhile, alone with my thoughts. The cold wind blowing through
the trees, howling softly. The snow glowing oddly, reflecting the dim lights
from the prison and the Credit Union’s parking lot. It was rather surreal. It
was actually quite a pretty night, I could see more stars than I could in the
city, and that was something I always appreciated.
So finally about fifteen minutes after I had called, a car pulled up in front of
the bus stop. Ken, I thought. I could finally get to where I needed to be.
But to my surprise, the back door of the car opened up and a girl ran out of the
car, before it had even stopped moveing. She ran up to me and hugged me
tightly, burying her face in my chest. It was Christina alright. Apparently
she had been with her Aunt and Grandmother, and they had been waiting at the old
Willard Bus Stop on the other side of the Prison. They had been there for an
hour, since 5. We had both been on time, we just weren’t at the same place.
I told her that Ken was on his way, so she sent her Aunt and Grandmother off.
We stood there in the little pagoda smiling at each other, Christina apologizing
to no end for not being there. I didn’t care about that anymore. She was here,
I was there, we were finally together. She had even wore a red bow in her hair,
since I had told her all I wanted for Christmas was her. She had made herself
my Christmas present, complete with bow.
So finally Ken showed up, and we began our way to her home. Ken laughed at what
had happened, but we didn’t really care, we were too busy just being happy to be
together.
And what happened the rest of that week? Well, that’s just another story.
--Anthony
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Message has 1 Reply:
 | | Re: Fig Couples
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| (...) (Snipped a great story) (...) Oh Anthony, thanks, what a great story. For a minute I was worried you were stood up! I'm not sure why she would be embarrassed at all, it's a great story, with a wonderful ending. I think you were both lucky to (...) (20 years ago, 22-Sep-04, to lugnet.people.couples, FTX)
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