The Stop
Choosing to get off the bus.
“This is it,” he said. “This is where I want to stop and get off.”
The Bus Driver turned around. His sole passenger had walked up the center aisle without so much a word. That was unusual. He had always been a talkative creature. Now he stood there at the front of the bus, a dusty suitcase in hand, silently waiting for an answer. He grasped and clenched the handle over and over again. The Bus Driver’s eyebrows raised slightly and he slowly scanned down the man’s body and back up again.
“Here?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“You’re sure?”
The Bus Driver’s face bore a hint of disbelief. It shook the passenger’s nervous confidence enough to look out the window.
The scenery zipping by was unassuming. Farmhouses, grasses, fields and trees. A small town but not too small. Away from it all but not too far away. Yet there was something about this place. It was nothing ordinary. He knew this was it. This was finally it.
“Yes,” he said. He stood a little taller, his voice wobbled a little less.
“When you were just a boy, I said I would take you on a matchless journey. I promised I would take you to spectacular places and teach you extraordinary truths. I said I would show you unbelievable things…
