Descriptive Essay of a Bus Ride

The crisp late-September air bit my throat as I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders. The bus station wasn’t crowded, but wasn’t quite empty either. A woman with a dark blue shawl over her head and face scolded her toddler in a strange language. He giggled and scurried away, with her right on his heels. A man sat against the wall with an un-lit cigarette in his mouth. A large orange suitcase with more zippers and pockets than I’d ever seen sat to his left, and a guitar case covered in bumper stickers and sharpie drawings sat to his right. He had a distant look in his eyes as he scratched the grey stubble on his chin and lit his cigarette with a match struck on the cement. A few more less interesting people were scattered around the station, but before I could observe them closely the intercom screeched and a woman’s voice announced that bus number 217 to Des Moines, Iowa would be leaving in five minutes.

As the bus door opened, a gust of cold air hit me. I stepped up in to the isle and looked around. The bus was chilly, a little colder than I found comfortable. A girl with long brown hair sat near the front of the bus. She had her hood up and head phones in her ears. A young man with a sleeping baby girl rocked her gently and cooed baby language at her. The Arab woman, her son, and the man with the orange suitcase boarded the bus right behind me.

I took a seat near the back, close to a window. I put my headphones in my ears and took a deep breath. The bus ride would be a few hours, but I would sleep through most of it. I wondered what Des Moines would be like, and I thought about my future.

Outside, the sun was newly raised and the sky looked as if it was stretching and yawning, preparing to brighten up and start the day. I yawned too, long and slow, and let my eyes droop closed. I thought about how far I’d gone and what lay ahead for me.

I drifted to sleep. I dreamt of a huge snowy mountain, with caves, caverns and a beautiful frozen river sparkling through it. I was slowly climbing the mountain, with no coat and no shoes. My fingers and toes were a violet-blue color. I was worried about falling off the mountain, because no one was with me and I knew I’d be lost in the snow. I didn’t stop. The top of the mountain looked close, but the higher I climbed the farther away it seemed to be.

I woke up to the intercom announcing that we had ten minutes at the next rest stop. It was no wonder I dreamt of snowy mountains, the air conditioner in the bus was on full blast. I pulled my sweater on over my head and got off the bus.

The rest stop wasn’t much to look at. It was a small motel rest stop with a few potted flowers flanking each side of the door. A neon vacancy sign stood outside on a pole, and a hand-painted welcome sign hung in the window. A plump blonde woman stood behind the counter. I opened the door and a bell jingled. The woman looked up from her book and smiled, said hello