Tabitha Martinez settled her rather large rump upon the greyhound bus seat and pushed her hand bag between her legs while emitting a weary sigh. She looked to her right and found a man holding himself as tightly as she herself was, in the window seat beside her. He had large circles under his eyes and a little red scruff on his chin. She noticed his Red Sox hat and sighed. Despite being native Bostonites themselves, Tabitha and her son had always been partial to the Royals. Tabitha thought bitterly about her son now, turning from the man and staring hard at the the seat in front of her. Her son's name was George de Seguvia Martinez, he was twenty seven, weighed one hundred and sixty-two pounds, and was currently awaiting trial on charges of kidnapping and murder. Tabitha was on her way to testify for him right now, with only her worn leather handbag and her bewilderment to comfort her.
George, her little Georgey, he would never do such a thing! Since Tabitha had been notified of his predicament two days ago, she could do nothing but recount his happy upbringing and grounded lifestyle to herself. Whatsmore, the woman he was suspected of murdering was Alia Zohar, his girlfriend of the past three years, and the kid he was accused of napping was the same woman's seven year old son, from a previous attachment! Sometimes Tabitha had worried about Alia's relationship with George, but he always wearily brushed her speculations aside with “No, Ma”s, and “We're just fine”s. But the woman seemed glinty of eye and tight of lip to Tabitha, who had never fully trusted her. She couldn't believe her Georgey had did what they said, and it wasn't just because she was his mother.
Tabitha kept puzzling over this in her mind, until after an hour or so of rolling past grey buildings and highways, she felt warm breath upon her bare shoulder. She slowly, warily, turned so that she could face the breath. She had to lean her neck back so that her nose did not brush upon her intruder. She saw the man next to her slumped over, with his baseball cap now fallen to the floor, fast asleep. He was rocking forwards, forwards, forwards to her and then snapped back up, eyes still closed. Then he relaxed again, and his body swayed closer, closer, closer, until his nose just brushed Tabitha's hair, and then back again towards the window he leaned. Tabitha watched him, entranced. He looked about 30, 35, and a slight stomach spilled out over his belt. Each time he swayed, he swayed closer to Tabitha before snapping back, until finally he came so close that his head came into contact with her shoulder. Tabitha froze, but the man just breathed out a little and settled in. His weight disturbed her. He had never said a word to her in her life, yet his thoughts now rested upon her shoulder. Tabitha didn't know what to do. She certainly didn't want to wake the man, but then there he was, asleep against her side!
She told herself that he would probably lift himself in a couple minutes, or wake on his own, and gingerly, she sat back once more, now with a slight weight to her right.. Another hour passed, and still the man did not move. In about fifteen minutes, Tabitha would have to get off for her stop. It was crucial she be there for her son's trial. But just as she resolved to shake the sleeping man, she found tears begin to slip from his closed eyelids. She saw his thick graying eyebrows press together, and felt a warmness as his salt water wet her skin. Startled, Tabitha did only what she knew as a mother; she pulled the man to her ample lap and murmured reassuringly to him as he wimpered and cried. “Shh, hijo,” she whispered to him. “What could you possibly be dreaming about?” The man groaned but stayed asleep, nestled in Tabitha's thighs. “It will be all right, everything will be ok, don't worry now, I have you,” she soothed, and the man's eyebrows eased and his face softened.
What were his dreams, Tabitha had wondered? He dreamt of a woman named Alia Zohar, and of her child Benji, her child and his. He dreamt of Alia's incessant cursing and of her command to never see her or Benji again, and he dreamt of the bruises and cigarette burns on Benji's arms and the flatness in his dark eyes. He dreamt about a dark room and a window opened from the outside, about a little boy still sleeping as Daddy carried him away in the moonlight and tucked him safely in the tan Buick. Then he dreamt about Alia's scream at an empty bed and an open window with a ladder beneath it, about Alia with a knife glinting with abuse alcohol anger ineptitude danger. He dreamt about the pain from a flying knife that grazed his arm, he dreamt about picking up the knife that now glinted with possibility hope solution justice and walking forwards. He dreamed Alia's second and last scream of the night and forever. Then he dreamed about the short drive to his mother's where Benji would stay with Grandmama, until Daddy was safe. In his dreams floated a greyhound bus ticket, the stub of which sat in his pocket. Now Mommy will never hurt Benji again, he had promised his son as he fled.
Tabitha watched as her stop came and went. She knew she was needed here by this sleeping child in men's clothes, this two hundred-fifty pound child, so she stayed. But an hour later, the man's damp eyelashes fluttered open, and he bolted upright, looking angrily at astonished Tabitha as she jerked back to reality and realized her mistake. She rushed for the closing doors of the current stop and pushed herself out from the dim, fateful greyhound bus. Leather handbag in one hand, grey skirt held up in the other, Tabitha ran desperately backwards, to Georgey and his trial, as rain filled the clouds above. Mistake mistake mistake mistake Tabitha thought shouted, as she rushed and tumbled back, miles away from the law court. Mistake mistake mistake mistake, she went. Or was it? The thought flashed bright pink, scattering the grey mistakes in her mind. Tabitha need to stop and rest and hail a cab.
