Chris was seventeen years old and strikingly handsome with long, waving blond hair that just touched his shoulders, then curled upward. Oh! The relief to be gone from that state of our imprisonment! For the first time in years, I began to relax - a little. Just as she was finally seated, we passed over the state line between Virginia and North Carolina. It took her forever to pull herself onto the bus, then lug inside the many bundles she carried with her. It stopped for rest breaks, for breakfast, then to pick up a single huge black lady who stood alone where a dirt road met the concrete interstate. Our nerves grew frazzled because the bus stopped often to pick up and let off passengers. At some time in our life we had to believe in someone. Was ever a word more wonderful than that one? No, even though the cold and bony hands of death would reach out and drag us back, if God wasn't up there somewhere, or maybe down here on the bus, riding with us and looking out for us. We sat, all three, pale, silent, staring out the windows, very frightened by all we saw.įree. How pitifully delighted we should have been to be riding on a bus that rumbled slowly southward. How exuberantly alive we should have felt to be freed, at last, from such a grim, lonely and stifling place.
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