Chapter One: Bus Depot

"But that's against the law!" stammered Krystal. Her boyfriend Tedford, a tall half-black 27-year-old man from somewhere in Southern California, looked disappointed and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever - forget I ever mentioned it."

Such was Krystal's life, it seemed: always running with the wrong crowd. In high school, she'd hung with the "rats", the smokers, who would congregate outside behind the cafeteria during lunch, pulling drags on shared cigarettes, wearing mostly black, and holding up the walls with their poor posture. She'd walk out there each day, slowly, after grabbing a Coke and then spark up, her "friends" acknowledging her presence by nodding slightly, then bumming a cigarette or a light.

During the summer, she could be found on the shores of local beaches, baking herself alongside the boy of the month, skantily clad, as usual, and attracting more than her share of glances from passers by. She was a pretty girl, her parents had always told her, but she'd decided to learn this for herself in a shady, physical fashion from the company she'd kept in her early teens. Smoking since age 11, drinking at 13, and experienced with men since 14, Krystal was the epitomy of adolescent rebellion, confusion, and sadness. Don't try and tell her she's unhappy, though; she'd probably just smile and brush off your well-meaning words, placating you with something like "I'm okay, honestly - besides, I'm off to a party right now!", then run out the door smirking. On rainy days, she'd fall into ruts of unhappiness, sure, but nothing she couldn't pull herself out of - with a few shots of Tequila, some loud, very loud, hip-hop music, and a smoke.

She had met Tedford at a bus depot in downtown Reno five or six weeks ago while taking the Greyhound down to be a bridesmaid at her friend's wedding. The Chapel of the Bells wasn't the most romantic place for a wedding, but they hadn't exactly planned it, and it would do. Krystal had jumped on the bus just hours after the phone call, and actually not cared about the mysterious odors and cramped quarters on the trip. She'd phoned her friend when she arrived, then walked the few blocks to the Sands and met up with them. The ceremony was performed that night, and Krystal was a beautiful bridesmaid in the photos. Afterward, however, she lost a little of her charm as they all drank back in the hotel room, and passed out on the floor after vomiting in a drawer. She said her goodbyes in the morning, gave the newlyweds gentle hugs, then headed back to the bus depot without breakfast or a shower. She had a monster hangover, but nothing she hadn't dealt with before.

Tedford spotted her at once and sat down on the bench opposite the now haggard 23-year-old girl. "What's a fine girl like you doin' here?" he'd eloquently asked. Krystal looked up at him slowly, surveyed him silently for a second, then replied simply, "Bus." Tedford chuckled and persisted, "I can see that. Where you goin'?" Again Krystal looked up at him coolly, paused, then said "Look, I'm not in the mood, okay?" Again Tedford chuckled, and said "Now hold on, baby, I'm just tryin' to be friendly like, alright - but if you don't wanna talk, then that's cool wit me." They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, her icy glare melting with lack of energy, and they just sat and awaited the bus in silence.

Hours into the next stretch of road, Krystal's head cleared a little, and she surmised that she was on the wrong bus, Tedford's bus, and that she was heading South, not North. As she sat next to him and thought about this, she decided that it didn't really matter. Her job was a piece of crap, her car couldn't make it around the block without needing some sort of fluid, and she was living with some friends of hers anyway, and they had probably already rifled through her stuff anyway. As the miles spawned more miles of bleak desert, her mind wandered and she envisioned herself living somewhere else, anywhere else, with the strange man next to her, cruising the warm evening streets in a car she'd never seen before, top down, and tunes blaring. She saw herself laughing and having fun, and that was something she hadn't had for a long time. She dozed off several times over the hours, the low, rhythmic droning of tires on asphalt a powerful catalyst to induce the rejuvenation her body desparately needed. Tedford, of course, didn't seem to mind one bit. When they pulled into his neighborhood, she awoke with a start, and he said "This is it." She rubbed her eyes, gathered her meager belongings, and followed him home without a word.