“Port Authority is the most depressing place on Earth.” she says and she may not be wrong. Like so many things in New York, the bus terminal wasn’t built to impress anyone, but simply to serve a very necessary purpose: like helping the two of them, Jamie and Sam, move out of the city.
They sit and wait at the gate, surrounded by all that they now own–nearly two years worth of possessions–on Sunday morning. The place is nearly dead except for the homeless people just waking up and the Port Authority Police trying to get them out. It’s almost silent because the two of them don’t have anything much else to say to one another, don’t really care about one another anymore, but he tries.
“Here’s looking
at
you kid…” “Here’s looking at you kid…” Sam says with a smile, not really referencing an old movie, but an old life; a life of tiny theaters showing classic films, of discussing cinema over 8 dollar beers, of being filmmakers at night and ‘production assistants’ by day. She doesn’t respond, so he adds “If you don’t get on this bus to Jersey now, you’re going to regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow…” Still nothing, he gives up.
“You know, Jersey’s not so bad.” She says, thinking his words were a slight, “I mean, all my friends and family are there and it’s so much easier to get a job.”
“Yeah.” He says, having told himself the same thing for weeks, since doing the math.
“And we’ll come back, of course, once we save up some money. I think I definitely want to raise my kids here.”
A homeless man comes up and begs for change. Sam has none–I mean, really, has none. It temporarily stops the first conversation these ex-lovers have had since deciding to give up, both accusing the other of living on “Mommy and Daddy’s dime”.
“What time does your bus leave?” he asks, once the tired old man has moved on.
“8:22, I think, about. Yours–”
“8:30.”
“I’m actually kind of glad we’re leaving early, so I can hook up with some old friends today before work tomorrow. There’s a bar called ‘The Old Greene’ where all the people from my High School who still live in town usually go on Sunday nights. ”
“What are they going to have you doing–the job, I mean.” He asks.
“Well, the position is ‘assistant producer’ and it’s a creative position, I mean it may not sound like that, and I know it’s just a local station, but it could be really good for me. What about you, you have any jobs lined up?”
“Um, I’m looking at a few things.” He always was. He was looking at a few things while he went broke last month.
“Yeah, Jersey’s not bad at all” she repeats, ignoring him. “My parent’s place is actually pretty nice–”
“Maybe…maybe we could stay another day, just one.” He says, when its gotten silent. “Do something in the city we’ve never done,” he’s getting excited and turns to her sharply, “Like I’ve never seen Grant’s Tom–”
“These are fifty dollar tickets–”
“We could refund them and–”
“You can’t refund bus tickets and…I want to go home!” She insists, angry at the return of irresponsibility that had already cost them so much.
It’s quiet now; they both stare off as the line of people near Gate 121 starts to build. Eventually the bus comes and he helps her throw her things in the storage compartment. She’s about to board.
“You know,” she says, “we should get together in Jersey some time. Maybe at my parent’s place by the shore.”
“Yeah” he says.
They share a cold hug and she heads off to New Jersey for her new life. It’s now 8:25; Sam goes back inside, the once large pile of bags has now become one bag. Everything he owns fits nicely in there. He leaves it; somehow it feels better to start from nothing than a tiny, tiny bit of something. He takes his ticket out and goes downstairs, to Port Authority’s main desk. They don’t give refunds, of course, and he knows this, but the trip to the counter and back may be just enough time for him to miss is bus.
.
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