Olivia, the previous year – day one
The Union Bus Terminal in downtown Elmira is a flurry of activity, even on a weekday morning. It’s exceptionally cold for October, and Olivia shivers beneath her goose down jacket. Global warming, my ass, she thinks.
It was a ten-block walk from the apartment to the bus station on East Church Street, and all along the way, she kept a fierce lookout for anyone she might have known. Thankfully, she feels confident that no one has spotted her. If she can just make it onto the bus that will take her to nearby Binghamton, she should be safe.
She purchases a ticket, and ten minutes later, boards the Greyhound bus, finding a seat in the back, away from any prying eyes. Once outside the city limits, the big bus rumbles along the highway, eastward toward Binghamton, and Olivia settles into the corner, feeling the thrumming vibrations of the big diesel engine propelling her toward her destiny. She can barely contain her excitement. She wants to shout at the top of her lung, “Yes! I’m out of here!” She settles for a smile.
It’s not a far ride from Elmira to Binghamton, and in less than an hour and a half, Olivia feels the bus slow, and hears the familiar hiss of the air brakes, as it pulls to a stop at the rundown station on Front Street. She gathers up her things, and rushes forward up the aisle, nearly doing a somersault down the steps to the curb. Some fashion model I’ll make, she thinks.
By now, it’s nearly eleven AM, and the bagel and coffee she had for breakfast have long since been digested. She’s hungry and thirsty, and needs to find a bathroom. Luckily, she’s midway between periods, so at least she won’t have to contend with that nuisance for a while. As soon as she gets settled in the city, she plans to find a clinic where she can get a prescription for birth control pills. She is living proof that even remote Elmira was not spared the effects of the women’s movement.
The ladies room is a disaster, but she manages to find a stall that’s acceptable and uses it. Once she’s back outside, the air feels crisp, and the sky is clear. What a great day to start her new life. For a brief moment, she is almost overcome by a sense of guilt at leaving her mother and younger brother. But, the feeling quickly passes as she rationalizes that hers will be one less mouth for her mother to feed—and one less body to clothe. Besides, a girl is entitled to follow her dream; it’s her life, after all.
There’s a 7-Eleven about a block away from the terminal, and she covers the short distance in only a couple of minutes.
“Can I have a large Mountain Dew?” she asks the clerk.
“One dollar,” replies the dark-skinned man behind the counter. He’s obviously an Indian or Pakistani immigrant.
Get used to it, girl, she thinks. Olivia knows that the city will be crawling with immigrants. It isn’t that she has anything against people from other countries; she’s just more comfortable with “her own kind,” as her mother refers to their friends and relatives.
Oblivious to Olivia’s thoughts, the clerk smiles at her, as he hands her the drink.
“Lids and straws are over there,” he says in a singsong cadence. “Are you going to the city?”
The question catches the girl off guard.
“Yeah,” she blurts out. Then, remembering that she’s still not that far from home and needs to be careful, she adds, “Well…not really. Actually, I’m going to visit a friend who’s in the hospital. Do you know how to get to Riverside Medical?”
As the man gives Olivia detailed directions to the local hospital, she feigns attention, all the time hoping that if he is questioned, he will only remember the hospital and not her.
It’s an hour and forty-five minutes later, and Olivia has already covered nearly five miles. At first, it was fun, walking along, feeling the sun on her face; occasionally spinning around to face an approaching vehicle or two, with her thumb outstretched, beckoning for a ride. But now, she’s tired of walking. Traffic on Route 17 Eastbound is sparse, and she’s begun to think she’ll never get a ride. She trudges along sullenly, her head down, her shoulders slumping under the increasing burden of her heavy knapsack.
Suddenly, she’s startled by a whoosh of warm air and the loud hiss of a tractor-trailer’s air brakes, as the eighteen-wheeler pulls to a stop just slightly ahead of her. Somewhat hesitantly, she approaches the bright red cab with a decal of a smiling devil on its door, and stands there looking up at the tinted glass window. After fifteen seconds have passed with no sign of activity, she turns away and starts walking again. Screw you, asshole, she thinks.
“Hey! Don’t ya want a ride?”
Olivia spins around and sees that the window to the cab is rolled down. There’s a craggy, bearded face beneath a red ball cap, smiling out at her from the confines of the elevated compartment.
“Well, do ya want a ride or don’t ya?”
She starts for the truck.
“Yeah, sure,” she says. “I just thought you were bustin’ my chops.”
She jumps up on the running board of the cab, grabbing a hold of the bright chrome assist bar to the left of the door, to help keep her balance. The door above opens, and strong, masculine hand extending from an arm encased in a plaid, flannel sleeve reaches toward her, its fingers flexed invitingly. Without a second’s thought, Olivia reaches her right hand upward and accepts the invitation. In an instant, she is lifted through the air like a feather, as the stranger grasps her tiny hand and pulls her up into the cab and onto a tattered leather seat, all in one motion.
“Hey, little lady. Welcome aboard!”
Olivia turns toward the driver and smiles. “Yeah, thanks,” she replies, breathlessly, “I didn’t really think you were gonna give me a ride.”
“Sorry ‘bout that,” says the driver. “It just takes a while for me to slide across and open the window.”
For a second, Olivia doesn’t quite understand.
“It’s my leg,” says the driver. “Operation Desert Shield.”
Only then does Olivia notice the abbreviated, knob-like appendage peeking out from the right leg of a pair of denim shorts, its end a tip of calloused skin.
“Oh,” she says, somewhat embarrassed, “I…uh—
“It’s okay,” says the driver. “I just use my hands. See?” He points to an elaborate set of controls affixed to the steering column of the truck. “Took a while to get used to it, but now it’s just like nothin’s changed.”
Olivia not sure whether he means the hand controls or his “leg,” and mumbles “Yeah, sure,” in response.
“At least the left one works,” he jokes. “Couldn’t work the clutch without it. Wanna see my right one?”
Olivia flashes him a puzzled look.
The driver reaches under the seat and withdraws a shiny, stainless steel prosthesis. “See? Got a shoe on it and everything.”
“Neat,” she replies. What else can she say?
“So, where’re ya headed?” asks the driver.
Olivia can’t help smiling. “Where do ya think?”
“Oh, wait. Let me guess. Um…The Big City?”
“Yep,” she replies. “I’m gonna be the next…oh, shit; you’re just bustin’ me again, aren’t you?”
The driver suppresses a laugh. “No, honest. It’s just that it’s so obvious. All you girls; that’s all you think about—goin’ to New York.”
“Are you goin’ there? To the city?” She likes him, and wouldn’t mind being with him for a while.
“’Fraid not,” he replies. “I’m headin’ in that direction, though. I’ve gotta drop this load over in Roscoe. Still want the ride?”
“Sure. Gotta get there somehow.”
“Well, hang on then. Let me get this thing rollin’.”
Olivia settles back in the seat, dropping her knapsack on the floor between her legs. She’s suddenly very weary, and closes her eyes.
“Better put that seat belt on,” says the driver. “We don’t need any tickets now, do we?”
She reaches over her right shoulder, grabs the retractable belt, and pulls it across her chest, fastening the buckle in the receptacle to her left. “Oh,” she says, “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Olivia.”
“Glad to meet ya. I’m Dave. Dave Hinson.”
The formalities dispensed with, Dave activates the throttle, the big engine roars to life, and the truck slowly lumbers ahead, pulling off the shoulder and onto the highway. In a minute or two, it’s humming along the concrete at a respectable seventy-miles an hour. He turns toward Olivia. “So, tell me all about—”
The girl is fast asleep; her soft breathing the only response she can make. Dave smiles and flips on the radio, adjusting the volume to a level adequate enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to wake his passenger.
Twenty minutes later, the truck exits the highway to the right, and slowly starts down the incline of the off ramp leading to the river below.