“What are you gonna do for money?” said Jerry.
Derek thought about it for a moment and then answered, “I don’t know. I haven’t got it completely figured out.”
“What kind of plan is that?”
“It’s not one.”
“If you’re going some place like that, far away and all, you should have a plan. You got a ticket?”
“Yeah, I bought it last night online.” Derek thought about the night before: running the searches, finding the one way ticket to London Heathrow that had a reasonable price. He thought about paying for it, picturing the moment when he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans, fished out the visa, typed in the numbers and then clicked the button. He kept replaying it. How easy it was. It was scary easy, like the way it feels to be on a roof top and no matter how much you don’t want to you can’t help but think about how easy it would be to jump.
“What did that set you back?”
“Nine hundred.”
“So what are you gonna do for money? What are you gonna do when your savings runs out?”
“I could play guitar. People do it in Central Park all the time. I saw this guy once over at Strawberry Fields with an acoustic guitar playing Beatles songs for hours. You wouldn’t believe the dough he raked in. Fucking tourists ate it up. I could do that. Also I could teach English.”
“Have you ever taught anyone anything before?”
“I did some tutoring in high school; I think I could do it. Either way I’ll get by. There’s always some work.”
“You’re out of your mind…what are you gonna do if you get lost?”
“I plan on it.”
“What?”
“I plan on getting lost. It’s kind of the point.”
The bus rumbled around the corner from West Front Street onto Broad. It pulled up to the grimy glass enclosure of the bus stop. There was a bill board on its side of a massive mud covered sport utility vehicle with a man leaning out of a sun roof displaying masculine scruff and a toothy smile. The morning sun shone off the windows of the New Jersey transit bus and mirrored in them they could see the uneven roof tops of modest Main Street. The two friends, dressed in identical blue coveralls flicked away their cigarettes, boarded the bus and took a double seat.
“Do you even know any languages?”
“Only what I learned in high school. A few years of Spanish and a little French from WAY back in the day when they made us take it in one of those 3 month enrichment classes.”
“So you’re not even gonna be able to talk to people.”
“Well, I mean, again, that’s kind of the point. I don’t want to be able to talk perfectly or always know what’s going on or where I am. I’m not even sure I want to know that I have enough money for awhile.”
“That’s fucking nuts.”
“I guess.”
“You know they’ll never take you back, you know that right.”
“I’ll worry about that when I come back, if…”
“If…?”
“Forget it.”
“No, if what?”
“Never mind, let’s just talk about something else.”
“If…you’ll even come back at all, you mean.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but that’s what you’re thinking. Come on man, don’t give me that shit. I’ve known you since freshman year, 12 years, don’t try and bullshit me. You’re out of your mind.”
“Maybe.”
“How much money do you have saved?”
“Couple grand.”
“Jesus.”
The bus made a stop by a strip mall on the side of the highway. Derek noticed the Chinese fine dining restaurant in the mall nestled between the tanning salon and H&R Block. He remembered how he once took a girl there. An old lady dressed in a Burger King uniform got on followed by three Mexicans dressed in bus boy uniforms. The doors closed behind them with their distinctive hydraulic sounds and the bus pulled back into traffic.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“Cause I got a life here.”
“What life?”
“Fuck off.”
“I mean it, what life?”
“Look, I got about 15 grand saved up since school. I’m close to enough for a down payment on a house. I’m assistant manager. I got the Wrangler. I got a life here. I got friends.”
“You’ve got the makings of a safe boring life. You hang out with a bunch of people who you know because you’ve never left this place. You’ve got a half dead car that doesn’t even work and you’ve got a future in middle management with a retirement plan timed for when you’re 75. Why are you satisfied with all that?”
“I’m plenty satisfied.”
“Whatever, I told you we shouldn’t talk about it.”
