I was going to Brownsville.

It all began when my mom’s friend Jenny was talking with my mom. They had a home in Brownsville. I had said, “Oh, it would be nice to go there with you to spend spring break.”

You see, it was spring break in Houston, and I was looking forward to something a little bit more interesting than sitting at home, which was what was planned. Hooray. Big whoop.

But then Jenny said, “Sure! You could come to Brownsville with us, and you could go bird photographing with Derik.” (Derik is his husband, and that’s just a pen name.)

Of course, I thought this was just another hoax: something to get all excited about until your parents say no. But when my mom said “Yes, sure!”, I knew this was anything but a hoax.

So the next Sunday morning, all worries were set aside. The important Chinese test had been taken (I passed), my parents had agreed, and I had packed.

I was standing in front of the big Greyhound station.

On the building, in a lovely logo, were the words “GREYHOUND Houston” and underneath was a lovely No Trespassing sign.

Inside, I walked into the station. Everyone else was also walking around, bumping around, and not knowing where to go. The seats were lined with people, and there was great confusion.

The loudspeakers kept on going off just like it was in an airport. In fact, there were gates 4 through 14, and I wondered where 1, 2, and 3 were.

Jenny and I lugged our luggage onto the bus, which was late. The bus driver greeted us, speaking in a gruff voice and waddling. His shirt stretched, and he said “Hiya doin’, maim?” as he grabbed our luggage.

We got on the bus.

For the next seven hours, we stopped at a station which seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, and moved. We stopped, and we moved.

We stopped and we drove on. Each station seemed to take so little time, and most of them we weren’t allowed to get off. Only new passengers were allowed on.

Finally, the bus driver let us off the bus. He waddled away and the sunlight glinted off his bald head as he went into the small place to have some iced tea.

I took the chance and gratefully went to the restroom and got a drink. When I got back, however, a man was now sitting across from where Jen and I sat.

Well, that man was stinky. Extremely stinky. The old lady who was sharing a seat with him started wafting the smell with her hand, and the man, who was trying to be kind, said, “Yup, that bus driver’s gotta turn up the fan.”

Brilliant help, mister.

So he sat there while the old lady turned her face away, pretending to read, while fuming. She looked in her purse and took out a bottle of perfume and sprayed it around her, hoping it would give the man a clue.

Nope. The man, out of kindness once again but still not helping, said, “Maim, you ain’t supposed to use that kind of perfume to do that. You spray that on your skin!”

One hour later, the man got off the bus at a stop. Everyone within three seats took a deep breath.

Two hours later from that, we arrived at Brownsville.

To be continued in a series.