Part 6
Barbara spent the next few days carefully spending what little money she had left in thrift shops. At night, she would burn one of the jeans she had bought with the King's money to stay warm. She now had several jean skirts and a couple of dresses, but she had not worn any of them yet. She instead used them to shield the fire she would build at night from the view of anyone who might see it from outside the park.
The day came for Barbara to put on one of her "new" skirts. She wore it over her jeans, which she then tucked into her boots. She walked into town, and was able to pass as a girl, probably a slightly eccentric college student—hardly anything unusual. The next day was a bit warmer, and this time, she wore a skirt without jeans underneath—not even the one pair of shorts she had not yet burned. Again she was able to pass as a girl without incident, except for a couple of wolf whistles near a construction site.
As was her custom, she washed her face every day in a public restroom, and noticed that her dishwater blond hair was now almost shoulder-length—longer than it had been in a long time. Later that day, she bought some cheap shampoo and washed it, hoping that no one would use the particular restroom she was in and get suspicious.
The cops were still looking for a boy. Ace suspected that Bob was a girl, and Innocence knew the truth, but the cops had been unable to find either one.
The plainclothes cop sat in the bus station wearing a jacket and jeans and watched the young woman in a floral-print dress and cowboy boots buy a ticket. She was carrying a backpack, so he figured she was a student at one of the colleges. He thought it was a bit suspicious that she was leaving on a Tuesday morning—until he saw a couple of other kids carrying backpacks get in line behind her. Maybe a family emergency, the cop thought. People are always coming and going. He bought a cup of coffee from a vending machine, then wandered over to one of the departure gates.
Barbara had her ticket in her hand and bought a soda with her remaining change. The bus would not be boarding for another fifteen minutes, so she had time to kill. As she sipped the R.C. (she had been surprised to even find it here), she thought about the last few weeks. She had come into the city as a girl who wanted to be a boy, found some people who seemed sympathetic to her—yet who really tried to use her. She had vowed she would never wear a dress, not even to save her life—at one time. Now, here she was, wearing the most feminine dress she could ever imagine, and wearing it to save her life. Would the cops ever give up looking for Bob? They had pictures of Bob—in jeans, in shorts, practically in nothing at all. But would they recognize Barbara?
The cop, who was looking for Bob, stood next to Barbara. She moved away and stood by a departure door, suspicious of the smelly fellow who looked like a homeless drunk. He moved toward her as a security guard came over and stepped between them. "He bothering you?" the guard asked.
"It's okay," Barbara said. "Is he drunk or something?"
The cop walked away with the security guard, who knew who he really was. "Something make you suspicious?" asked the guard.
"Yeah," the cop said, "but I don't know what. That chick has a past."
"We all do," said the guard.
"That's not what I mean," said the cop. "That gal is very suspicious, very alert."
"Young women should be, especially dressed like that. She probably thinks you're a rapist or something."
"Drunk, actually." The cop decided to buy a ticket on the bus that was leaving from the departure gate where Barbara was standing. As he reached the ticket window, the bus at that gate was called. He got in line, but did not see Barbara, who he figured must already have boarded.
The cop boarded the bus, but could see only one empty seat—at the front, on the right side. He would look for the suspicious-acting young woman later.
Barbara stepped out of the ladies' room as she saw the drunk give a ticket to the bus driver and climb aboard the bus. She saw him reluctantly sit down and look out the windshield. However, he did not look at her.
Barbara then walked to another gate and waited for her own bus to be called. As the bus carrying the cop backed away from its gate, Barbara became the last passenger to board the bus that would take her home.
The bus driver always liked to have a cute passenger aboard, even if only for a little while. This cutie would be getting off in a small town an hour or so out. She was wearing a floral-print dress and boots—an odd combination, but he had seen it all around here. She was still cute.
Barbara's town appeared on the horizon—just a small clump of houses and other buildings. The bus jogged left as it entered, then made a sharp right as it reached the center of town. There was no bus station or specifically delineated bus stop, so the driver pulled over to the shoulder and stopped the bus. "Watch that last step; it can surprise you here."
"Thanks," said Barbara. It would not do to come home and take a tumble off the bus, would it?
"You're welcome, miss." The driver carefully eased the bus back onto the highway as Barbara walked toward her house.
Should I knock? Barbara asked herself. What will everyone think? How will they treat me? What will they say? What will I tell them? A thousand thoughts ran through her mind with each step closer to home that she came.
And then she was home. The house faced the side street. The front door was open. Was anyone inside? Barbara climbed the steps one by one. The TV was on; it was the evening news. Nothing about the murder of "the King." She opened the screen door; it squeaked. She stepped inside.
Barbara's mother had been depressed since the disappearance. Hearing of the unsolved murder on TV every day did nothing to improve her spirits. Now she was fixing supper—a salad and some sandwiches—for herself and Barbara's dad. So many lonely meals, all because of that silly fight over whether Barbara would wear a dress. She would never try to force Barbara to wear anything she didn't want to wear ever again—if only Barbara would come home. She heard the screen door, and went to see if her husband was home. Instead, she saw the silhouetted figure of a woman in a dress, but she could not see the face because of the glare from the bright evening sky in the background.
"Mom?"
"Barbara? BARBARA? Is that you? Oh, my God? Look at you. You—you're beautiful!" Mom almost fainted. Barbara helped her into a chair by the telephone, then brought a glass of lemonade. Soon Mom was calling almost everyone in town with the good news.
"Mom," said Barbara, "As much as you like seeing me dressed this way, I need to change."
"Your jeans are still—"
"No, not my dress! My boots. Are my thongs still in my room?"
"Of course they are." Mom smiled, then made another phone call. Barbara laughed as she heard Mom's voice say, "A dress—would you believe it? . . . But of course, she'd love to see you, and then . . ."
Part 5
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