I had the seat next to the window which rather pleased me. As a child I always wanted to sit in one of two places on buses. I’d sulk if I wasn’t on either the back seats on the top deck or on the right hand side on the lower deck. I suppose it’s rather odd the things that are so very important to you as a child. Like not stepping on the cracks because the monsters between the paving slabs will reach up and pull you down.
Still, I’d got the seat by the window and the bus was pulling away from the bus station. It was an odd bus journey to be sure. I’d appeared here just as soon as the raven had finished talking, in this seat on the right hand side of the bus with a tall figure in a long black coat in the seat in front of me. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat and had some kind of gardening or farming tool next to him in the seat in front of me. Through the window I could see in the bus station a variety of character’s from Lewis Carroll’s Alice books chatting to several Narnian animals and creatures.
As the bus got going I looked around it which looked a lot better than most buses I’d travelled in. No stains on the floor, no rips in the seats, which were fairly comfy, and no tickets littering the place. The passengers, unfortunately, were less pleasant looking. Three seats in front was the most shifty looking character I had ever seen, though when I looked hard he could almost have been transparent. Opposite me on the other side of the aisle was a child-sized passenger who looked like some bizarre nightmare of hairless skin stretched far too tight over it’s bones.
On the seat next to it was a small carrycot. I couldn’t see the baby inside but the occasional midnight blue tentacle that flopped over the side and dirtied the seat when it touched it made me glad I couldn’t. On the back seat sat the scariest amalgamation of skin, scales, feathers, fur and fangs I had ever seen. When it bared an impressive set of dentures of various sizes at me I wasn’t sure whether it was a threat or a smile. At least it seemed happy to stay on the back seat.
Outside the window I saw that the bus was passing by some beautiful woods which seemed to glisten in various shades of green with a few leaves showing gold and red. It reminded me of a beautiful piece of woodland near the village of Bird’s Edge, a place that I reckoned was probably one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I stood up and started down the bus towards the front. The driver was an old man with white hair and a long white lab coat. His clothes and hair were so bright he seemed to glow. The face reminded me of Einstein.
“Can I get off here?” I asked him. He shook his head.
“Nope,” he said. “This bus doesn’t stop. We have a long way to go before you get to have a snooze.”
The bus sped past the most gorgeous of beaches. It reminded me of several I had visited in my youth. They were all golden sand and clear blue sea with white surf rolling up the land, looking for all the world as if it was trying to reach the ice cream van that stood on the road overlooking the beautiful cove and buy itself a cone with chocolate flake. Perhaps it was. Then it drove inland through the most breathtaking mountainous country, like all the most jaw-dropping pieces of Ireland and Scotland merged into one. Deep valleys dropped away on one side of the bus, ending in black lakes with purple heather garlands surrounding them, as if they were crowning them king of lakes. On the other side the slope up the hill was steep with sheep and goats springing up them without any hint of a problem. I knew though that I would have been out of breath before I got halfway to the top. Then the bus left the mountains and travelled across an African savannah; a flat plain with stringy grass growing under a baking sun. Graceful animals loped cinematically across the land as the sun set colouring everything with glorious reds, golds and oranges. I was sure the magnificent spectacle would have awed even the most jaded of watchers.
And the bus would not stop. No matter how much I pleaded with the driver he told me I had better things to do than gape at scenery and kept insisting I would be sleeping soon and had to get everything done before then. After the fourth attempt to stop the bus I walked back down the aisle and marvelled at the changes in my fellow travellers. The shifty looking man was definitely more solid than he had been when we started. The stretched-skin thing was the same size as me now and showed no sign of stopping growing. The same went for the blue blob with tentacles that sat beside it and was now too big to fit in the cot anymore. The condition of the bus also seemed to worsen everytime I looked the other way, with rips appearing in furnishings, cigarettes appearing out of nowhere on unoccupied seats, and empty beer cans rolling around on the floor.
The driver hadn’t changed much, though he seemed to be glowing a little less. Nor had the man in black and the strange thing at the back of the bus changed much. The driver still seemed to be desperate to get somewhere but wasn’t telling me where that somewhere was. The man in black had very pale skin and his hair was a whitish-blonde. His eyes I noticed though seemed very sunken and were in a permanent shadow. Still they twinkled away like little stars floating in their dark pools. He smiled and nodded every time I went past. The thing on the back seat was still showing his teeth, which I was now pretty sure was smiling, and waved at me occasionally. I waved back timidly.
As I sat back in my seat a voice by my ear cawed, “How do,” and I turned to see the raven sitting on the head rest of the seat next to me. It pecked down at a small pile of beans next to it. “What do you think of this then?” it asked.
“I thought you said you had a queue?” I asked it, ignoring its question.
“Coffee break,” it answered and ate another bean to prove it. “You didn’t answer my question,” it said after swallowing it.
“I’m a bit unsure what this has to do with Robert Frost,” I admitted. The raven snorted.
“It’s a thingummybob, isn’t it. Metty-for.” It looked around. “The bus, you see, is sort of a representation of life. That’s why things get tattier the longer your trip goes on. Body falling apart and all that. The guy near the front; he’s your paranoia. Bit see-through when you’re young but the older you get the worse he gets. Ol’ stretchy-skin there’s stress which explains why he’s growing so fast.” The raven peered at me intensely.” “Regardless of what you say about how you think your life’s going. Same goes for regret next to it.”
“And the guy in front?” I asked.
“He’s Death,” replied the raven.
I sat there pondering this insight. Not being able to think of anything better I eventually decided to say “Is he? He seemed pleasant enough.”
“Oh, terribly nice chap,” answered the raven, “but he just gets a bad press. You see people confuse death with killing. Not all death is a sad thing. For some it’s a relief.”
“Isn’t that more of a Dylan Thomas-y sort of concept?” I asked, more certain of my position when it came to poetry appreciation.
“S’pose so,” said the raven. “This dream does overtime as a dream for Dylan Thomas readers. Has to cater for them too. That’s why Death rides with you all the way. That is a Thomas concept if ever there was one. Still, the whole point is that Death here, is the sleep that the driver keeps going on about, in case you hadn’t guessed. Oh, and as for the driver. Well, he sort of the personification of twenteth century philosophy. That’s why he goes on about us not having enough time to sit down and enjoy nice scenery. We’ve got far too much to do before we go to sleep forever. Which is what the ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ poem can be interpreted as. See it all works, eh.” He ate another bean. “Mate of mine designed this one. I like it.”
“What about the thing with teeth on the back seat?” I asked.
“That? Oh, that’s the Monster From The Basement. I think it’s just taking time off from haunting children’s nightmares. And it likes to travel. Went to Barbados last year.”
I ignored the last comment knowing that questioning it would lead to things I wasn’t sure I wanted to know about. I settled for “Oh. Well at least I learned something tonight.”
“‘Fraid not,” said the raven. “It’s just a dream, you see, and you’ll forget it when you wake up . Majority of people always do.” It paused. “That’s what you need poets for, you know. To write down the wisdom you get in dreams for those who can’t remember ‘em.” It pecked up the last bean. “Ah well. Back to work. Beak to the grindstone and all that. Enjoy the ride.” It flapped its way to the doors which opened for it and it swooped out and away.
I settled back and looked out the window. As the bus roared past some snow-filled woods I relaxed. As I did I felt the bus slow a little. The seat next to me seemed to have lost a few of its rips. Around me some of the other passengers seemed to be shrinking and fading. I smiled. Sit back, I thought. Relax. Enjoy the ride. Stress disappeared with a pop and paranoia seemed to have gone for good. Death turned and gave me a quick smile before offering me a drink.
I was alone, apart from Death and the Monster From The Basement, but even they didn’t seem that bad now I was beginning to accept them. I was happy. Happy, because I was realising that there was something the raven hadn’t said. That even though we hadn’t stopped it was possible to not get too stressed. Because I’d begun to realise that sometimes the journey can be just as much fun as the destination.
I hoped I’d remember that when I woke up...
