The Mandela Effect

Ch 45

 Jon made his way out of the laundry room door and back outside. Before closing the door, he makes sure to lock it so that no one else can sneak in. That done, he crosses back out of the gate, being sure to close and lock it behind him; Jon looks for the old janitor but he's nowhere to be seen; so he continues to the street.

Jon turns left in front of the building and heads back the way he came. He hopes that he looks significantly different than when he last came this way. When he gets back to the train, he pulls out his swipe card but thinks twice before he swipes it. Instead, he tosses the card in a nearby trashcan and walks up to one of the machines against the wall. He orders a one way pass and nearly pulls out his credit card to pay for it.

"Jesus, Jon," he says to himself.

Jon unshoulders the book bag and opens the zipper just enough to reach inside. He pulls out a single bill, checking quickly to be sure it wasn't a large denomination, and re-zips the bag. He feeds the bill into the machines and waits for his change and the card. Eventually, both drop down into the bin and he takes them out, stuffing the change into his pants pocket and keep the card out.

He moves back over to the turnstile and gives his surroundings another look before swiping the card and heading up the stairs to the train. Jon gets on the north bound train when it arrives a few minutes later.

Luckily, Jon picks a train car that is nearly empty. He drops the duffel bag at his feet and takes a seat on an empty bench. About 40 minutes later, the train pulls into Jon's stop. He hasn't felt the time pass. He realizes that, for the first time in it feels like he can remember, he just was. He didn't have to worry about being chased or being scared. He could just be, like it was just another day.

But pulling into the station, reality came crashing back into his mind. He stands up and grabbed the duffel from between his feet and walked over to the door. At that moment, another passenger at the other end of the car stands up to. Jon's eyes snap to the man.

The guy seemed innocent enough: probably just a student headed the same place he was. But when he locked eyes with Jon, the paranoia, gone for the entirety of the trip, came rushing back. Jon refused to look away, and their awkward gaze was only held for a moment as the other man looked away. But Jon started scanning the crowd, just as he had been doing all day. His idle mind was once again racing.

The student walked to the doors at the other end of the train, and when it came to a stop, he exited without looking back at Jon again. The guy immediately moved up the platform and down the stairs. Jon takes his time, travelling in the same direction, and gives the guy a wide birth but Jon follows him. He guys doesn't turn back.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jon turns in the same direction as the student, but a few blocks down, the student turns off while Jon continues. When he reaches the point the other man disappeared, Jon cautiously peeks around the corner. The student has maintained the same speed and is mid-way down the block.

Jon continues on the way he was heading. A few blocks more, the low light of the few street lamps gives way to the florescent and neon of the Greyhound bus station. Like an oasis in the desert, just the sight renews his strength. Jon retightens his grip on the duffel bag and presses on against the cold, Chicago wind.

The bus station seemed so close when the lights came into view, but it takes Jon far longer than he would have thinks to reach it. Finally, the sidewalk gave way to the large lot and empty stalls of the bus station. Jon looks both ways and crosses the street, entering the sparsely occupied space.

Luckily, the window was still open when Jon walked through the glass double doors and into the lobby. He heaved the duffel bag onto his shoulder and crossed the big, and mostly empty room.

"Help you?" the surly woman behind the window asks as Jon approaches.

"Yea," Jon answers, crossing the last few feet to the window. He drops the duffel at his feet again.

"What time is the next ride outta here?" Jon continues.

"Bout 40 minutes," the woman answers.

"Headed which way?" Jon asks.

The surly woman eyes Jon up and down, "west. You wanna ticket?"

Jon shakes his head, "Naw. That's the opposite direction I'm heading in."

"Well," she asks, "where do you want a ticket to?"

"Can I get something direct to D.C.," Jon asks.

"Pffffh" the woman guffaws, "this is Greyhound. We don't really do direct, but you can get there."

She goes to work at the computer.

"How long a trip are we talking about?" Jon asks.

"You want the ticket but you don't know what you're getting into?" the woman asks.

"I just gotta get to DC," Jon answers, "the how and when are out of my control."

The woman shakes her head, "Well driving time is about ten hours. But with the stops, it'll probably be double that."

"Shit," Jon mumbles.

"Yea," she says, whispering to him, "it's a bitch. You sure you want the ticket?"

"Give it to me," Jon says.

"Alright," the woman chuckles typing away at the keyboard, "just one ticket?"

"Yes ma'am," Jon sighs.

Jon unshoulders one strap of the bag and opens the zipper slightly again. He fishes inside for some bills. Finding a pack of them, he looks up at her waiting for the total.

"With taxes and such, that'll be one seventeen," she says finally.

"A hundred and seventeen dollars?" Jon asks.

"Walking's free," the woman offers sarcastically.

Jon pulls six bills free of the bundle and, checking them to be sure they are the denomination he intends, pulls the money free of the back pack. He hands the bills over to the woman, through the slot at the bottom of the window. While she counts the twenties, he checks around the lobby to see if anyone is paying attention. They aren't.

The woman pops the twenties into the drawer under her keyboard. The printer under the desk hums and she reaches down to take out the tickets. She slides them back under the window through the slot.

"Thank you," Jon says, taking the tickets.

"You have a couple hours to burn," the woman offers, "there's a couple restaurants north of here a few blocks in either direction. A bar or two mixed in there as well, but we won't allow you to board if you're drunk."

"Alright," Jon laughs, "but I'm not travelling lightly."

The woman points off to the side of the window, "Some lockers available for rent if you wanna leave it."

"I'll think about it," Jon says, "thanks again."

"You got a long trip ahead of you," the woman says, "you probably want to stretch your legs and save the sleeping for the bus."

"I'll try to do that," Jon smiles.

Jon picks up the duffel between his feet and crosses to the lockers. Digging the change from the L out of his pocket, he drops two singles into the locker rental machine and chooses a locker. He shoves the duffel inside and locks it.

He checks his watch and then the ticket. A couple hours, Jon says to himself, what should I do with myself.