| TED SPEAKS...ABOUT THE DAY HE MET JANN |
| THE BUS AND US |
| Published
in The Monterey County Herald,
April 20, 1997 ..................The San Jose Mercury News, October 22, 1998 |
This traveler’s last solo odyssey began on April 12, 1979, with the purchase of a Trailways bus pass. Never could I have anticipated the sort of transforming adventure I was in for.
I was living in my dirty little hometown of New York City at the time, and the old wanderlust was upon me. One Thursday evening, as I was leaving work, my boss informed me that I could have the following week off if I wanted it. Certainly, I wanted it. But what sort of vacation could I plan on such short notice?
A bus trip! I had one friend in Nashville, another in Detroit, both single like me. I figured they might like some company. That night, I made some quick calls, then walked to the Port Authority Bus Terminal and bought my pass. The next day, I brought my travel bag to my job with me and, after work, caught the 5:30 bus to Nashville.
The long, companionless trek was not unlike dozens of others I’d taken before. I sat, I slept, I stared, I popped Dramamine, I tried to read. What little I remember of Nashville and Detroit isn’t worth relating. It wasn’t until a week later, when I started back home---April 20, 1979, to be exact---that my real adventure began.
My friend in Detroit had driven me to the Trailways terminal downtown. We walked into the waiting room and took a seat. That’s when I saw HER for the very first time, standing directly across the room from me, at a pay phone---the beautiful lady who would one day be my wife, the queen of all my tomorrows. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Little did I know then that she had already seen me through the large picture window of the terminal as I turned the corner and entered the building. She told me later that she just knew, the moment she saw me, that I was the one for her. Sorta takes your breath away, doesn’t it?
I thought I was so clever stealing glances at her while her back was turned, not realizing that the whole time she was watching me through the reflection of the window. What a sneak! As I was boarding the bus to Cleveland, I saw her getting on behind me. My pulse quickened. We sat across the aisle from one another, but I acted cool (I think) and pretended not to notice her. To this day, my wife contends that had she not uttered the first “hello”, there’d have been no future for us. That, my readers, is not simply true. I’d have said something, eventually. Anyway, from that point on, the conversation gushed.
The lady lived in Maryland, and had flown to Detroit to visit a girlfriend. United Airlines then went on strike, and she had to take a bus back. She was en route to Cleveland to visit her sister in Garrettsville before returning to Maryland. I, too, was headed for Cleveland to catch a bus back to New York. So here we both were. A masterpiece of divine engineering!
The way I remember it, my wife did most of the talking. My wife insists that I did most of the talking. What we both agree on, however, is that magic moment when I first held her hand across the aisle.
Suddenly, we were in Toledo and had to change buses. (How did we get there so soon?) Time was running out, and I knew I had to move fast. The bus to Cleveland was packed. I had to find us two seats together, even if it meant bribing somebody to switch places with me. (Forget being cool.) Finally, I spotted two seats way up front. The driver had draped his jacket over one of them. I politely informed him that I was removing it.
The rest of our time together was a rhapsody of eyes and sighs. I couldn’t bear for it to end. Once in Cleveland, we had to separate. Of course, we knew we’d see each other again. But returning to New York without Jann had to be the longest and loneliest trip I’d ever made. In the space of a few hours, something inside me had changed forever. The flame was lit, and the best years of my life had just begun.
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