Winter WonderLove Tales: Blame the Blizzard

Nashville, Tennessee – January, 1988

Everyone in the Greyhound depot groaned in unison as the announcement was made that all routes had been delayed until further notice. It had snowed heavily, from my pickup point in Gary, Indiana all the way to Nashville, Tennessee. My bus was already behind schedule due to all of the delays and jams on the highway from the accidents.

I sat on one of the few openings on the benches with my head tilted back, allowing me to stare at the ceiling in despondence. I had an opportunity to leave 6 hours prior but opted out in order to spend more time with family and enjoy one last tasty meal from momma’s kitchen. I thought about where the bus might have been, had I caught the earlier run, assuming I would have been somewhere in the middle of Alabama by this point in time.

“May I sit here?” the sweet voice asked, interrupting my silent calculations, and encouraging me to open my eyes. Following the source of the sound, my eyes shifted to the right without me moving my head. I couldn’t make out her form underneath that black heavy coat, but her face was enough for me to sit up to get a better peek.

She was not drop-dead gorgeous by my usual standards, but far from a “plain Jane”. Still, I paid closer attention to her. Her calming voice and childlike body language preceded a thankful smile as the person to whom she was talking, slid over, making way.  The more I looked at her in that brief moment, the cuter and sexier she became.

As she sat, she looked over to find my eyes settled on her before shooting me that same smile.

Not thinking, I continued looking at her like some older, homeless person who stares at people at length without reason. In an attempt to break the uncomfortable moment, I raised my right hand, making a mild judo-chop pivoting motion that could easily have been interpreted as me giving driving directions under other circumstances.

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An hour later, she, myself, and several others found ourselves walking aimlessly throughout the station, some of us, having given our bench seats to newly incoming passengers, particularly to the elderly, the small families, and other newcomers going through the anxiety we had already experienced…

The more crowded it became, the more people began to find spaces around the doors and the floor. Having gotten bored with stepping over legs, I found my own spot towards the corner where I could sit back against the wall and watch the snow falling and blowing across the midnight sky.

As time passed, small conversations developed throughout the encampment to help wile away the time.  Having conjured a few laughs, I drew a small crowd of my own followers, which soon included the cute mystery girl in that big heavy coat and red toboggan (my mother called it a “skull cap”).

Our eyes met again and I smiled, which she answered with the mini judo chop gesture I had given earlier, causing me to laugh suddenly.

“You don’t get to use my move,” I scolded mildly.

“You don’t get to use my smile OR wear my coat!” She fired back, implying that they were the same, which they weren’t.

“No, my coat is ugly, and it’s warm.”

“Well, so is mine! Ugly and warm, but I look better in mine.”

The group giggled as an older man added, “She’s gotcha there!”

“Man, shut up and go to sleep before I suffocate you with her grandmother’s old red hat.”

“She half-laughed, mouth wide open in apparent shock and amusement, still brandishing that smile that caused her lips to curve subtly, yet sexily.

Not giving her a chance to fire back, I quickly pulled my headphones from around my neck, depositing them over my hat and onto my ears. In the same motion, I pressed the  “play” button, and closed my eyes, slumping down and letting my music drown out anything she had to say. About two minutes in I felt a hand jerk my right shoulder violently, making me jump.

“Yes, ma’am?” I answered, trying not to appear surprised that she had moved past 3 or 4 people to park next to me.

“My grandmomma GAVE me this hat!”

“See?” I grinned, withholding the laughter, knowing that my guess about the the hat’s point of origin was spot on.

“What’choo playin’?” She asked, leaning in with sincere interest. She was clearly my age, if not one or two years older, but her approach had a childlike innocence that made her even more attractive to me.

“Tomi Jenkins,” I replied as if she would readily recognize the name, though believing she wouldn’t. Only true fans of the group actually knew.

“Who?”

“One of the lead singers of Cameo. It’s his solo debut.

She didn’t respond.

“Remember the song, “Why Have I Lost You?” Todayyyyyy, I’m just lonely mannn, but tomorrow I’ll be a-uh kiiiinnnng…“

“Oooh, nice voice. Can I hear some?”

“Sure, he sings better than I do. You got headphones?”

“What, I can’t use yours? You think I got ear wax or something?”

“Do…you…have…headphones?” I asked again.

Obviously frustrated, she pulled them out from hiding around her neck, under her coat. As she unraveled the cord, I inserted a two-way splitter into my jack input, which allowed me to plug both headsets in. Her eyes brightened as I rewound the tape to the beginning.

“I wanted to hear you sing some more.” She grumbled, closing her eyes to listen.

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Another hour later I was sitting with my back against the wall, with her right next to me, head on my shoulder. To see us, one would believe we were a loving couple, all but snuggled into one another. I didn’t think anything of it. Apparently, neither did she.

The first cassette had long since ended and I had switched it out with my customized “Slow Jams” cassette of songs from 1984-85, my senior year of high school. With each new track, she let out an approving “Ooooohh” while grabbing my wrist and shaking it.

After the 90-minute cassette reached the end of side B, I pulled it out of my Sony Walkman and returned it to its plastic case, tracks handwritten on the index label.

“I really loved that cassette,” she thanked, leaning in closer, as if that was possible.  I made sure not to misinterpret the situation, attributing much of her actions to the environment, the predicament, the calming sight of the falling snow outside, and possibly her personality.

“Here,” I offered, handing her the case, cassette included. “Something to remember me by.”

“Really?” She asked excitedly.

“Really.” I gave her another judo-chopping gesture, which made her giggle again.

“Is it ok if I lay here on your shoulder and close my eyes for a little while? I’ve been up for a long time.”

“Sure! That will give me time to go through some of your pockets for food!”

“Oh, I thought you were gonna say you were gonna take my money.”

“Nope. You have too many pockets in hard to reach places for me to find any money, and your coat is too heavy for me to grope you inappropriately.”

She laughed out loud, as did nearby listeners.

“I want Twinkies,” I continued. “Those would be in your easy to reach pockets.”

“It would be a wasted effort,” she warned through her chuckle.

“Then hush and wedge your purse between us and tuck it under you. I’ll be here, watching the storm.”

“I hate snow. But it does look really pretty tonight.” She admitted gazing out of the terminal windows.

“I love it. It’s the summer I hate. When you wake up later, I’m taking a walk in it.”

“Boy, you crazy. I would never…”

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Less than an hour later, we were just over three blocks away from the Greyhound station. The older woman from my bus route agreed to watch my new companion’s large bag while we ventured out on our expedition.

“Now tell me this ain’t romantic,” I challenged as we walked slowly down the middle of the street, which had much less snow to trudge through than the sidewalks. The city lights helped brighten the hypnotizing effects of the snow drifts as they rose, danced, and curved around us like flocks of birds in patterned flight. We took our time, talking about the buildings and all that Nashville had to offer. Stopping and starting frequently, we had been out for possibly 45-60 minutes. 

“This is so beautiful!” She remarked with the excitement of a little girl attending the Ice Capades for the first time.  “Do you take all the girls out like this?”

“Only the ones I love.”

She stopped, stunned.

“No,” I corrected, turning and laughing. I don’t mean it like that. My girlfriend and someone else that I was fond of. Two different episodes.

“Where are they now?”

“Who knows? Where is your man?”

“Who knows?” She answered, still facing me.

I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Was she giving me an opening? Waiting to see what I would do? Maybe she was going to stab me and leave me out there. God, how my mind tends to wander.

We stood, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. I knew that wherever her ultimate destination was, this moment was all we had. She said nothing as she continued to look up at me with wondering, wandering eyes.

The glow from the side made the moment even more magical as my thoughts to move in for the kill (or kiss) made themselves obvious.

Wait. The GLOW?

Headlights.

We moved to the side as the Greyhound bus crept along.

It took us both a combined millisecond to register that the bus was not inbound, but outbound. Busses were being released!

Our eyes widened to capacity as I grabbed her hand, pulling her like a kid sister and trying to get home before the streetlights came on. Running in the streets wasn’t hard, it was the distance we had to cover, not knowing if that or the next bus that passed us belonged to either.

I felt something yank me backward as I turned in a futile attempt to keep her from falling. Picking her up, I assured her we would make it as she reached to get her red hat from the street.

Dressed as warm as we were, the clothing made it hard to run at full speed. The cold air invaded our lungs, making it harder to breathe and even harder to run, but we didn’t stop. We couldn’t. Who knew how long we’d have to wait for the next bus if either of us missed them?

By the time we reached the terminal, the groups had separated and thinned, as many had loaded the buses, groggy, but happy, knowing they could sleep comfortably when their rides resumed. Thankfully, the lady watching her bag was still there, looking out the window, hoping we’d make it back in time.

Her bus was ready before mine and loading. I escorted her to the door as we laughed about all that had and hadn’t transpired.

“Think of me when you play that tape.” I instructed.

Turning to face me, she smiled, promising that she always would as she reached around my coat to hug me. I returned the gesture, even tighter.

Loading the bus, she walked towards the middle and took a seat on the side near me. She looked out towards me, smiling.

We had exchanged names, but that was it.  No phone numbers, no addresses, no back stories, no hometowns, and no destinations. I held up my hand, imitating a man trying to dial a phone number without knowing what to dial, which made her laugh.

I thought about climbing the bus and getting basic info, but her failure to beckon me told me to leave things as they were.

I stood there, motionless, continuing to smile at her as the bus began to pull off. Adjusting her cap, she smiled back one last time, raising her hand, just enough to bring it into view as she made a judo-chopping gesture.

Epilogue

Back in 2012, I saw the music video for a song by Elle Varner called “Refill”. In it, she plays a member of a high school cheering squad who meets a handsome stranger on a trip to New York. They spend the night sharing several adventures before noticing that she’s about to miss their morning bus ride back to her hometown.

They race to the bus and she sneaks in through the back door, just before it begins to pull off. He realizes that they never exchanged contact information and quickly writes his number on a slip of paper. She reaches to take it, but the paper rips in half, leaving her with only the last 4 digits as the bus pulls away. They painfully look at each other, knowing it was truly over.

When I first saw it, it took me back to that night, laughing at the coincidence. Today, I can’t help but wonder if my short-term companion eventually got into the music and/or video production business and had something to do with the direction of that video.

If she did and they ask her where she got the inspiration, I’ll always know that she can thank, or blame, it on the blizzard.

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