Greyhound, St. Louis to Chicago
Through the vertical, arm-width peephole between the seat and the window, the woman in front of the girl stares for a moment before asking, “Would you like something to drink?”
“Um, no, no thank you,” the girl responds, though she has been thinking of nothing but her thirst.
“I have plenty to drink in case you want something,” the woman says, starting to fish through her bag. She makes loud rustling noises, clutching and dropping containers.
During the mental pussyfoot, the girl considers the woman’s offer, and finally says, “Do you have water?” Then she repeats the same question, “Do you have water?” in case the woman hadn’t heard.
She had, and the woman began to dig deeper, and more ferociously through one of several bags.
“I have to see if I still have some water,” the woman said. When she finds it, she hands it to the girl.
The girl says, “Thank you.” She accepts the water and soon becomes obsessed. She’d suddenly concerned about the woman. Should I talk to her now? How can I repay her? How did she know that I was thirsty?
The woman continues to rustle, and the girl continues to worry. She keeps watching the woman through the cracks in the seat. She waits for the right moment to speak to the lady again –but the moment never arrives. When the woman sighs for unsure reasons, the girl finds herself irrationally concerned.