Note sull'episodio
Chapter 6: The Driver’s Apprentice
The engine was silent when I woke up, but I could feel the bus swaying slightly as passengers moved around below. I felt well-rested despite the bumpy roads and being kept awake by British Sue’s wind-blown hair touching my face. The dinette table had been converted to a bed on which Michelle and Josh were now sleeping. I peeked over the edge of the bunk, trying to get a look out the windshield. Driver Brian was asleep in the driver’s seat. Sometime in the night, the Miracle Conversion had transformed the couches on the front platform into a sleeping area. I observed the row of bodies in sleeping bags, trying to figure out who was who.
The South American guy was awake. He had his arm around the Canadian girl with the bright red lipstick. She was sleeping soundly with her head on his chest. He made eye contact with me, looked at the girl sleeping on his chest and his cheeks dimpled into a grin. I gave him a wide-eyed nod of admiration. His eyes closed blissfully.
An attractive couple in their late twenties sat-upright with their backs against the windows reading the Tortoise brochure. The young woman waved to me with a bent wrist and I smiled. She was quite pretty with upturned corners of her mouth and sculpted cheekbones that gave her a pleasant appearance. She wore a tan headscarf with a green tribal pattern over shoulder length brown hair tied up in a bun.
The guy next to her, who I presumed to be her boyfriend, lifted his chin to say hello and I did the same. A pair of sunglasses rested on top of his short, curly, black hair, and he wore a yellow soccer jersey with a green emblem on the front reading, South Africa. I could tell from his smile and body language that he was both educated and congenial. The way he affectionately leaned in reading over his partner’s shoulder spoke to a deep connection.
I felt the bus shift as Driver Chris came up the steps. After some deliberation, he selected a cassette tape from the case on the dashboard. He put his hand on his sleeping partner’s shoulder. It could not have been comfortable sleeping in the driver’s seat, but the big blond driver awoke in a pleasant mood seeming rested. “Hey brother,” he said to his friend. “I got us here.”
“Great job,” said the red-bearded driver. “I’ve already got breakfast started. It’s time to wake the troops.” He handed him the cassette.
He read the label and said, “Nice!” He pushed a cassette into the stereo and raised the volume slowly as a song began to play. The Latin sounds of wooden claves, shakers and tambourines rose to a crescendo as The Who’s Magic Bus played on every speaker. Roger Daltrey sang the lyrics, “Thank you, driver, for getting me here.”
Driver Chris looked at me with a knowing look. He smiled, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. I wondered if his brother was still alive. He stood there for a while with one knee on the buddy seat, holding the support bar, waiting for passengers to show signs of life. Eventually, he persuaded the sleeping passengers to wake up in a creeping deep voice. “It’s time to wake up,” he urged. “It’s time for breakfast. We need to start cooking now, or else we will not have time to swim in Lake Erie after breakfast. If you do not want to get up now, you can help clean up. Everyone needs to either cook or clean. Especially the guys. Don’t you dare let the ladies do all the work.”
This left me feeling somewhat offended because I have always done my share in the kitchen. I consider myself a feminist, so I was glad when someone spoke up.
“Hey now!” Jewels objected with attitude. “You’re just reinforcing the stereotype. I hope you don’t think cooking and cleaning is ‘women’s work, because I won’t lift a finger.”