The Getaway

Chapter Two: Westbound

At some point, I stopped paying attention to where we were going.

In my defense, I had better things to look at.

The bus had settled into its own little world. Music moved through the speakers, someone near the back had appointed himself DJ without anyone’s permission, and complete strangers were already laughing like they’d known each other for years.

And beside me sat the reason I hadn’t contributed a single useful word to any of it.

The silence between us had lasted long enough.

I cleared my throat.

“So... do you always invite random strangers to sit with you?”

She turned from the window.

“Only the ones who look too shy to ask.”

Okay.

I walked straight into that one.

“Khaleel.”

“Nice name.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m Suzzy.”

For the next hour, conversation came surprisingly easily.

Nothing profound. Nothing I’d write home about.

We talked about music, places we’d been, things we wanted to do, and eventually why she’d signed up for the trip in the first place.

“To escape all the city noise,” she said.

I looked around at thirty-something people attempting to murder a perfectly good song.

“Clearly.”

She laughed.

I liked her laugh.

Not in the “ I knew immediately she was the one ” kind of way.

I just wanted to hear it again.

So I kept talking.

And somewhere between trying to make Suzzy laugh and Saleem occasionally shouting nonsense from behind us, I stopped noticing the city disappear.

By the time I looked outside again, I couldn’t recognise anything.

I checked the map on my phone.

We were much farther west than I’d expected.

“Looks like we’re heading toward Nzema.”

Suzzy leaned toward my screen.

“You know the area?”

“Not really.”

I put my phone away.

Outside, the highway continued beneath a grey sky, with vegetation growing thicker on either side. Every now and then we’d pass a settlement, a roadside stall, someone on a motorbike.

Then the bus turned.

I barely noticed at first.

The asphalt became red earth.

The ride became rougher.

Conversations bounced with every pothole.

After one particularly violent jolt, Someone shouted in Twi ,

“Driver, yɛpawo kyɛw!”

Driver, we beg you!

The whole bus erupted in laughter.

The driver didn’t respond.

We kept going.

Trees crowded closer to the road now, their wet leaves darkened by the rain. Small houses appeared occasionally between them.

Then less occasionally.

Then hardly at all.

I checked my phone.

One bar.

Then two.

Then one.

Another pothole reminded my bladder that I’d made several poor beverage decisions that morning.

“I’ll be right back.”

Suzzy looked at me.

“Where are you going?”

“To negotiate with the driver.”

“For?”

“A bathroom.”

She laughed.

“Good luck.”

I made my way toward the front, grabbing the backs of seats whenever the road became particularly rough.

That was when I noticed the glass.

I’d seen it when I boarded.

I must have.

But noticing something and actually looking at it are two different things.

The driver’s compartment was completely separated from us by a thick transparent partition.

I stopped.

Tapped it once with my knuckle.

Solid.

Thicker than any partition I’d seen on a bus before.

I looked for a sliding panel, an opening, anything I could use to speak to him.

Nothing obvious.

So I moved closer.

The driver stared ahead.

Both hands on the wheel.

I raised my hand to knock.

Then something in the rear-view mirror caught my attention.

His eyes.

For a second, I thought the glass was distorting them.

I leaned slightly closer.

It wasn’t the glass.

His eyes were red.

Then I noticed something moving down his cheek.

A tear.

I lowered my hand.

Another followed it.

Then another.

His breathing was uneven, his lips pressed tightly together as though he were trying desperately not to make a sound.

But he never wiped his face.

Never slowed down.

Never looked away from the road.

The man was crying.

Behind me, everyone was still singing.

Laughing.

I looked through the windscreen.

The red road stretched ahead of us, disappearing between the trees.

Then back at the mirror.

Both hands on the wheel.

Eyes forward.

Tears running freely down his face.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain,

I suddenly didn’t want him to notice me standing there.