Stephen Dixon: Letters to Kevin

“Well, you have changed.” “She’s gotten heavier,” the driver said. “I’d say lighter,” the man said. “I’m the same weight I was thirty years ago,” she said. “Maybe a little heavier here and lighter there, but pound for pound, the same.” “I’ve never seen my Aunt Tilly till now,” the boy said, “so I can’t say what she looked like before.”

“By the way,” the driver said, after he stopped at several bus stops and then drove past them and broke the same law several more times. “Didn’t you forget something?”

“You still mean me?” I said. “You can be sure I’m not talking about our Aunt Tilly again.” “She’s looking very well,” I said. “I still think she’s gotten heavier.” “Lighter,” the man sitting beside her said. “I do wish you people would stop throwing my weight around,” Aunt Tilly said. “And I’m still saying you forgot something when you got on,” the driver said to me. I felt my clothes and looked in my typewriter case. Everything I had on me when I stepped into the bus was still here that I could tell. “Why didn’t you let me know when I got on that I forgot something?” I said. “Now I’ll have to walk back to the stop you picked me up at if what I forgot there is important.” “You won’t have to walk back anywhere if you never had a wallet on you or sufficient fare.” He stopped the bus and opened the door. “Out.” “If I find the wallet I never had, can I stay on?” “If you can fit that wallet through the coin box slots and it’s got the right fare in it, you got a deal.” I stepped out. Everyone waved goodbye to me. Aunt Tilly slid open her window and said as the bus pulled away “Hope to see you in California, nephew dear. And give my love to my brother.” It was the first bus I rode on where the driver and all the passengers were related. The next bus that stopped had no passengers. “The driver of the last bus said that this one goes to Palo Alto,” I said. “Somebody’s been pulling your leg,” the driver said. “Yeah, I can see from here — one leg’s much longer than the other. That must have been the one that was pulled.”

“My right leg seems longer than the left because it’s standing on the top step while the left leg is on the bottom. But when I stand straight they’re the same size.” “You’re right. Now I can see. Though you’re still wrong, as this bus doesn’t go to Palo Alto, but went, I just came back and am returning to the bus barn.” “Is the barn in the direction of Kennedy Airport?” “It is,” but he pointed to the route sign above the front window which said NO PASSENGERS. I should have quickly written and held up a sign which said THAT’S RIGHT: YOU HAVE HO PASSENGERS. Or another that read WHY DON’T YOU CHANGE YOUR ROUTE SIGN TO ONE WHICH SAYS “PASSENGERS NOW ALLOWED ALL THE WAY FREE TO PALO ALTO, FOOD AND BEVERAGES INCLUDED”? Another bus stopped. Its route sign said TO AIRPORT. NEXT BUS TO PALO ALTO IN TWO YEARS. I got on this bus and dropped my nickel in the coin box. “The fare to the airport is a dollar-seventy,” the driver said. “How’d you know I was even going to the airport?” “I can read your mind.” He pointed to the door for me to leave. “If you can read my mind so well, what’s on it now?” “First, you’re thinking you just dropped your last nickel in my coin box when you knew all along the fare had to be more. Second, you’re now going to try and con back that nickel somehow. And third, that you know you’ll ultimately have to leave this bus without that nickel, as drivers can’t return any money once it’s inside the coin box.” “I don’t insist on getting that exact same nickel back. You can give me one from your pocket.” “I don’t have a nickel in my pocket, only a dime.” “Then give me a dime and I’ll give you a nickel change.” “If you can give me a nickel change when you have no money on you, I’ll eat your hat.”

“I don’t have a hat. I do have a jacket though. It’s a bit old and dirty and so probably not as tasty and fresh as my new hat at home is. But if my jacket won’t do, I can always take off one of my socks or shoes.” “Just your jacket, if you can make change when you haven’t a single cent on you.” All this talk was going on while the bus was speeding to the airport. So no matter who won the bet, I was at least getting closer to Palo Alto all the time. “Okay,” the driver said, “here’s my dime. Now let me see your change.” “I’m sorry, but I never change in front of anyone I just met. And certainly not in front of all these strangers,” and I pointed to the passengers. “I could be arrested. Besides, I’m quite shy.” “You mean you’re quite broke.” He snatched back his dime, stopped the bus, opened the door and kicked me out. So here I was: in nowhere. That’s what the city limits sign said: WELCOME TO NOWHERE, NEW YORK. I’d never heard of the place or seen it on a map. It was a very gloomy-looking town also. All the lights in the buildings and stores were off. In fact, there weren’t any buildings or stores. There were streetlights though, but no streets. The entire town was one big sidewalk everywhere I looked. “You drove on the sidewalk,” I screamed at the bus, which was now only a moving dot in the distance. Or maybe what I was yelling at was a moving dot very close to my eyes, and the bus had long gone out of sight. “Driving on the sidewalk is against the law,” I continued to yell. “People can be run over that way. They can also get hurt.” Actually there weren’t any people around either. It was the most deserted town I’d ever seen. Nothing but sidewalks, lampposts and sign after sign on top of sign which said SETTLE

IN NOWHERE… NOWHERE IS THE COMING PLACE TO BE… RAISE YOUR CHILDREN IN NOWHERE… SPEND YOUR GOLDEN YEARS IN NOWHERE… YOUR DOLLARS WORK IN NOWHERE… THE BEST SCHOOLS AND CITY SERVICES ARE IN NOWHERE… FIND HEALTH, HAPPINESS AND FRIENDLY NEIGHBORS IN NOWHERE. And smaller signs on the lampposts which said NOWHERE STREET and NOWHERE LANE and NOWHERE BOULEVARD and KEEP NOWHERE BEAUTIFUL and FOR A BETTER NOWHERE: OBEY ITS LAWS AND POLICE.

By this time I was getting hungry and of course there were no food shops. I also had to make a move fast if I was going to beat that last letter to Palo Alto. That might sound childish to you, but a man has his pride. When I enter a race, it’s to win, not to come second-best to a letter which wasn’t even sent special delivery or air mail.

I walked in the direction the bus had gone, thinking I’d eventually get to the airport that way. After a few miles of seeing nothing but sidewalk, I sat down and began writing this letter. I’ll leave the letter on the sidewalk when I get up to walk again. My idea is that maybe the next bus will see the letter and stop to pick it up, even if I don’t leave it at a bus stop.

This letter I won’t race though. I don’t see how I can race two letters in two different places at one time. And maybe the bus that picks up this letter will see me later on and stop for me too. If that happens, I might end up sitting on the seat next to my letter. Or if the bus is crowded, then standing beside my letter while it sits in its seat. Then I’ll ask the driver if I could mail my letter. I don’t see why he should mind. After all, I don’t know of any laws that stop a man from mailing his own letter, unless he’s in prison and he’s only allowed to mail three letters a month, as some prisons do. But this letter would be the third one I mailed in a month, so I’m sure I’m safe within the law.

Anyway, I’ll seal up the letter now, leave it on the sidewalk and start off and hope that a bus picks it up and soon after, picks me up too.