text: The bus door slammed closed and the hiss of hydraulics signaled the raising of the hydraulic step assistance. Hank had been driving public buses for forty three years as of yesterday and those sounds had become the music of his life. The door opening, the door closing, hydraulics hissing, the human-sounding voice announcing the route number and next stop, and repeat. Pulling away from the stop, he waved a half-hearted thanks despite the frustrated gesture and clipped honk from the driver he had cut off. They would get over it. Sometimes the music was joined by the sound of a car horn and the occasional shout but those were more like dramatic interludes to the longer, less exciting overture. &#x200B; Hank used to worry about the feelings of the other drivers on the road but years of driving and waving had calloused his sentiment. Now he waved to drivers partly out of gratitude for dealing with his dominance of the road and partly out of habit. No, that was not right. He waved mostly out of habit. His wave turned into a scratching of his beard before the hand returned to the steering wheel. Hank used to shave out of habit too but that had stopped years ago. He wasn’t exactly sure when but one morning he reached for his razor and hesitated. From that point forward, he paid his barber to trim his beard once or twice a month. &#x200B; The door opened, two women got off, a man stepped on, the door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; Driving had become second nature to him and the bus he drove was as much a part of his body as his left kidney. At least, that’s what he told the other regulars at The Grey Fox, a tavern half a block from his apartment. It was ironic because Hank never owned a car. He applied for the commercial driver’s license and the bus driver job after high school because he had seen a flyer somewhere. It seemed interesting enough to occupy his free time until he figured something else out and it paid better than some of the jobs his friends worked. He always took public transportation or walked everywhere after he accepted the job. It just did not feel right to avoid the system that put food on his table. Plus, cars are expensive. &#x200B; The door opened, a handful of people got off. It was cold so one woman stopped at the door to put on her hat. Another handful of people stepped on. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; One of the newcomers requested a transfer pass. He used to love transfer passes because he would chat with the passenger while he filled out the little slip. Then he hated them because he had to sit at the stop longer than he liked, especially if he was running late. Now he absently filled out the form and ripped it out of the book with robotic efficiency. He was early today so the extra time it took did not matter much. &#x200B; He was pulling away from the stop when a young woman asked if his bus stopped close to a certain building. He responded with a nod and a quick glance at her in the mirror. She was pretty. Not like the models who appeared in the advertisements plastered to the side of his bus but a simple pretty. When he was younger he might have tried to strike up a conversation with a witty remark. Now he only smiled briefly before returning his gaze to the road. He used to think he might find love on the bus. After all, he saw dozens of people every day. That meant hundreds per month if you didn’t include the regulars and any one of them could be meant for him. Decades later he still returned to a house empty except for the aging cat that greeted him with a flick of the tail before returning to a nap. &#x200B; The door opened. A handful of people got off and a large crowd flooded on. This was always a busy stop so he waited a few extra seconds to let the stragglers sprint and get on. The door closed. The hydraulics hissed and the music continued. &#x200B; In a way, he had found love on the bus. Fifteen years before he had been pulling into the bus station where he would use the restroom and grab a cup of the cheap coffee the company provided when he saw a cat lying by the side of the road. The poor thing had been clipped by a bus and was mewling pitifully so he scooped it up and placed it into a cardboard box that he pulled out of a nearby dumpster. The cat had received a few odd looks from passengers for the remainder of his shift but nobody had complained. &#x200B; A trip to a nearby vet had informed him that the cat was most likely two to three years old and had some bruising covering a large portion of his right side. Rest and food were the best remedies suggested. Luckily, they were also the cheapest. After a quick stop to the nearby animal shelter and supply store for cat food, he brought the little bundle of fur home. He had made a bed using an old pillow and blanket then filled a bowl with water which he left next to an open can of cat food. &#x200B; The door opened and two men got off. A woman stepped on and the door closed. The hydraulics hissed and the music continued. &#x200B; That was fifteen years ago. Now that same cat, whom Hank had never named, was bigger and lazier but no less appreciative of the cans of cat food left every morning. The cat brought Hank a small amount of joy in the purrs while being scratched. Yet, the cat was no woman and was not capable of loving the way a woman could love but Hank had accepted his life without a human companion. &#x200B; The door opened and a man stepped off. Another large crowd rushed on. This was another busy stop but Hank did not wait because the bus was now full with all seats and standing room occupied. The door closed and he pushed a button activating the human-sounding voice that politely asked passengers to move to the back of the bus in order to make room for those cramped in the front. They hydraulics hissed and the music continued. &#x200B; In a way, the people he transported had become his companions. There were plenty of regulars who would greet him when they stepped on the bus or give him a friendly wave as they left. Beyond them, the flux of people ebbed and flowed in a way that hardly left his bus empty and this never left him lacking in human interaction. &#x200B; Some of the regulars had ridden the bus almost as long as he had driven it. A few retiring from long standing jobs only a few years ago while others had started positions shortly after he began driving the route and had moved up in rank at their respective companies. Some disappeared for a few years only to return as they climbed the corporate ladder between companies and, thus, bus routes. He remembered most of them. He had taken a certain pride in aiding such important men and women through their careers. In a way, he had made their success possible even if his only contribution had been a safe and timely ride to work. &#x200B; The door opened. A few folks stepped off and a woman stepped on. A handful of people stayed at the stop and opted to wait for the next bus. It would be seventeen minutes behind him and significantly less full. There was a shuffling of feet as people adjusted to the slight increase in space. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; The pride was still there but it had subsided somewhat. It was not that he cared less but many of the regulars he had carried for decades had retired and those still remaining were few in number. The new folks had the same level of energy and enthusiasm as the new folks always did but he was less invested in them now because he did not have that same energy and enthusiasm. &#x200B; The door opened and a crowd of people stepped off. Those who had been standing took now vacant seats and breathed a little easier with the extra space-limited though it was. A young boy and his father stepped on, walked to the back, and took seats facing each other. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; In fact, it was the lack of energy and enthusiasm that made today unique among the routine of Hank’s life. Today was his last day as a bus driver. He had submitted his retirement paperwork two weeks ago and had spent the remaining time confirming retirement options and ensuring that his mailing address was up-to-date for the pension checks. It was. His mailing address had not changed in eighteen years but it was good to make sure. &#x200B; The reality of retirement had not quite set in yet because he was still driving a bus. Still listening to the music of his life. Tomorrow that would change. For the first time in forty three years, Hank would not have a routine to follow. Sure, he had taken vacations and every week he was given a day off which he tried to coordinate for Sundays so he could attend his weekly church service. Most of his vacation days were around various holidays or to attend the funerals of his parents but he did not really spend much time away from the bus. He took comfort in the work. &#x200B; The door opened. Two people exited and three stepped on. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; Tomorrow would be different than his occasional vacations because he would not have the assurance of returning to work in a day or two. He would probably get bored but he did not dwell on it long. Perhaps out of disinterest or fear but mostly because not working was too big a concept to wrap his head around. &#x200B; The door opened. Another crowd of people stepped off with only a young-looking couple stepping on. Again, there was a shuffling of feet as people moved to fill the now open space left. Some sat while others stood up in preparation of the next stop. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; If Hank was honest, he was tired. Not physically tired but rather emotionally tired. His job was enjoyable but after forty-three years he could feel himself stretched and worn in ways that he had never considered before. It was an odd feeling and one that he hoped would go away with time because it brought into perspective his mortality. He regularly attended his local Baptist church and believed in the Christian faith but he had never considered how close he was to the end of his life. Perhaps it was because, for many years, he was not actually near the end of his life but retirement marked a milestone that he had not been able to imagine himself passing. Not working was a foreign concept to him but it meant that he was in the last chapter of the book of his life. What would he do with it? He had no idea. &#x200B; The door opened. The young boy took a leap from the bus to the sidewalk followed by his father and most of the remaining passengers. One person stepped on which made three remaining riders. This was not unusual because there was only one more stop before the end of the line and the end of Hank’s final shift as a bus driver. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; Hank, not having a romantic partner, had never really considered children as a missing piece of his life. He appreciated their youthful vigor and occasionally entertaining antics but he did not desire one of his own. Maybe he could volunteer with one of those youth mentorship programs in his retirement-maybe, if he were younger. Children were not something to be introduced in this chapter of his life. &#x200B; He rounded the corner and pushed a button to initiate the human-sounding voice that announced this next stop as the final stop of the route and encouraged all passengers to depart. &#x200B; The door opened. Everyone stepped off the bus. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; Hank pulled into the bus garage parking lot and arranged his bus in the same spot he always did. He completed his shutdown and end of shift checklist and walked into the building. The garage was oddly empty and silent. There was no chatter of people who normally rode the bus to the end of the line, no laughter of the other bus drivers on a break, and no sounds of running engines. No music. &#x200B; He punched his time card and began the four block walk to his apartment and the nearby Grey Fox Tavern. &#x200B; \*\*\*\*\*\* &#x200B; The next morning Hank rose at the same time he always did and made himself his usual eggs with a piece of toast, absently running through his decades old morning routine. He only paused when reaching for his coat on the way out the door. There was no bus to drive today. Technically, he did not have anywhere to be so he sat down to ponder what to do next. &#x200B; An hour later, he stood up and put his coat on. Outside his door was the newspaper that he normally would have saved for his lunch break and he grabbed it as he started down the stairs. Still not quite sure where he was going, Hank meandered down the street outside his building and stopped at the bus stop on a street corner. He waited. &#x200B; The door opened. Hank stepped on the bus and found a seat. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; A few hours later, Hank was still on the bus watching the other passengers and occasionally reading his newspaper when his stomach rumbled. He had lost track of time and it was now around when he would have had a brief break for lunch. The door opened and this time he stepped off the bus. &#x200B; There was nowhere to eat at the immediate stop but he discovered a little diner roughly half a block away and walked in, little door bells chiming on the door behind him. Bustling with the lunch crowd, the diner was a common scene with cheap wooden chairs and fake leather booths on one side and a little diner bar at the other. Hank obeyed the small “seat yourself” sign and wandered over to a bar-stool to wait for a server. &#x200B; A woman rushed up to him with a friendly smile and a cursory greeting. She handed him a menu and listed the few lunch specials in a flurry of obviously memorized words. Then she quickly offered to give him a few minutes to read the menu before bustling off to greet a large group of middle aged men in business suits who had grabbed a table close to Hank’s stool. &#x200B; After ordering his lunch, Hank began to listen to the conversations around him and his focus eventually landed on the boisterous voices from the table of men in suits. They were discussing the boring drudgery of their work-something in sales and finance-and wistfully thinking of what they could do if they had free time. This mostly took the form of time away from their jobs now but occasionally drifted into talk of retirement. One man in particular suggested an interesting idea: buying an RV and driving around the country. &#x200B; The server placed his lunch on the bar in front of him-a sandwich and bowl of soup-and asked if there was anything else he needed before quickly walking into the kitchen door to retrieve another meal. While he ate his mind returned to the man’s idea of buying an RV and traveling the country. It was appealing to him but was a big change from the life he knew here in the city. &#x200B; Hank slid a twenty dollar bill under his plate and left the crowded diner. Walking back to the bus stop, he continued to consider the merits of his newfound wanderlust. He waited briefly. A bus pulled into the stop and he stepped on. The door closed, the hydraulics hissed, and the music continued. &#x200B; Something was different. The familiar sounds of the bus-the music of his life-no longer seemed adequate to him. It was as though the idea of traveling outside the city opened his eyes to the mundane life he had lived and prevented him from continuing to live it. &#x200B; Hank spent the next several hours watching the people around him but not really connecting to their lives like he had in the past. The thought of travel gnawed on the back of his mind, making him restless and uncomfortable. He stepped off the bus several stops from his apartment with the intent of walking the rest of the way home. &#x200B; A few blocks and flights of stairs later he arrived at the front door to his apartment. Turning the key and pushing open the door, he paused. It was wrong. He was not sure what was wrong but Hank just had a feeling in his gut. Pacing through the house he sought the source of his disquiet and found it curled into a ball on his bed where the sunlight streamed into the room at noon. His aged cat lay motionless in a way only death can cause. &#x200B; \*\*\*\*\*\* &#x200B; A few days later Hank closed the latch on the little door marking the entrance to a space where the ashes of his cat now occupied. At first he was unsure what to do with the body of a dead pet but he did what he felt was right regarding the passing of a friend. The cremation service and storage space that the facility curator called a “crypt” were not cheap but Hank did not have many expenses and his pension provided more than enough for him to live comfortably. &#x200B; Perhaps it was odd to cremate a pet and place it in a crypt but Hank figured that is what he would hope a friend would do for him so he did it without complaint. Besides, it did not seem right to simply toss a pet corpse into a dumpster. It was not dignified and certainly not respectful of a friend who had been with him so long. &#x200B; Back on the bus, Hank was faced with the slightly off music of his former life. It was no longer uncomfortable for him but it still was not the music to his life anymore. These past few days had been long and somewhat boring without a regular activity to occupy him so he was glad to have one more stop before heading to the diner for lunch. He stepped off the bus and took a quick glance around, a little unsure of where to go next. He was on the edges of the city and somewhat unfamiliar with the area but he knew the dealership had to be around here somewhere and he was unlikely to miss it so he started walking. &#x200B; The buildings were not as tall here as in other places in the city plus there was more open space for parking. He strolled through a few blocks, admiring the different scenery until he saw what he was looking for. A sign stood on the street corner announcing the location of “Richies Recreation Rentals and Sales.” Below the sign were dozens of RVs in neat rows, shining new in the mid-morning sun. The vehicles on display were enormous. Most roughly the size of a public bus but many were more akin to the large tour buses that Hank had seen throughout the city. &#x200B; Hank walked through the rows, awestruck by the sheer number of vehicles for sale. He wondered how such a place could make money. There were no other customers on the lot as far as he could see and keeping this many vehicles stocked had to cost a fortune. He continued to meander up and down the rows when a saleswoman rounded a corner. &#x200B; She was younger than Hank but most people were nowadays and she wore clean, crisp clothing that was not cheap but not ostentatious either. She was comfortable and confident. Obviously, she knew how to sell. &#x200B; They exchanged brief introductions and a few minutes of small talk before she asked Hank a handful of questions: how many people would be traveling with him, how long he intended to need the vehicle, and a plethora of other things intending on helping her narrow down his needs. After another few minutes of his explanations and her follow up questions the salesperson gave a conspiratorial grin and beckoned him to follow her down another row of RVs. &#x200B; The vehicle she stopped in front of was significantly smaller than the behemoths at the front of the lot, being roughly the size of a fifteen foot moving truck, but no less shiny and new. As if to counter that point, she explained that this was two years old and had been a rental that did not see much use due to its size. The price was reduced compared to its newer counterparts because of its age and prior use but it was, for all intents and purposes, new. &#x200B; She opened the door and gestured him to explore. He stepped on and was amazed at how much was fit into the back. The first thing he saw was a small couch built into the wall followed by a dining booth next to the couch. Across from the booth was a marble-styled kitchen counter with stainless steel sink and single stove top built in. Above the stove was a small microwave and next to both was a mini-fridge followed by a door into what appeared to be a bathroom. Turning around he noticed a loft above the driver and passenger seats that housed a bed. &#x200B; It looked as though it had everything he would need to live on the road. After a few minutes of poking through the drawers and peeking into the shower stall, he finally asked the price and visibly winced at the saleswoman’s response. It was more than he anticipated and certainly more than he felt comfortable paying. &#x200B; Noticing his expression, the saleswoman gave him a thoughtful look. A second later she gestured him to follow her again and began striding down the row for RVs even further away from the front of the lot. &#x200B; At the end of the row was an RV that was clearly older than the rest. It was almost the same size as the one they had just viewed but did not quite have the same shine that the newer models had. The saleswoman informed him that this one was several years old and had only just been discontinued as a rental making it slightly more worn than most RVs they sold. As they approached she provided a price that was more affordable for Hank. &#x200B; When he stepped inside it was clear that this RV had seen years of use but it was still clean and neat even if the appliances were slightly outdated with a few dings. He toured the little RV and glanced into the fridge, bathroom, and various storage areas; it was roughly the same layout as the new model he had first seen. Turning he saw the same loft with a bed over the driver and passenger seats. After a few more moments of poking around he indicated to the saleswoman that he was willing to purchase but needed a few more days to get things in order. &#x200B; \*\*\*\*\*\* &#x200B; Almost a week had passed before Hank stepped off the bus with two suitcases and a medium-sized duffel bag at the bus stop nearest to the RV dealer. He had spent the time selling or donating the furniture from his apartment, negotiating an end to his decades long apartment lease, and setting up a post office box for incoming mail to include his pension checks. Now it was time for him to leave. &#x200B; A short but slightly strenuous walk from the bus stop to the dealer left him feeling slightly winded has he dragged his bags along the sidewalk. A lifetime of sitting while driving did not make the body well suited for walking while carrying heavy objects. The saleswoman was waiting for him when he arrived, the RV he was to purchase was sitting in front of the office. She smiled and shook his hand before grabbing one of his bags. &#x200B; A few minutes later he had signed a stack of pages and completed a check for a down payment. Only then did he carry his bags to the door of the RV and step on. He spent a few minutes unpacking his bags with clothes going into various drawers and cooking items going into cabinets before sitting down in the driver’s seat and turning the key. &#x200B; The engine started and it was a beautiful sound to him. Not the low rumble of the diesel engines used on the buses but a higher pitch but still rumbling sound of a large gas engine. He quickly adjusted his seat and mirrors and pulled out of the parking lot. &#x200B; He was not quite sure where he was going but he figured he would at least get on the highway before stopping to make a plan. First, however, he needed to top off his gas tank so he pulled into a nearby gas station. As he pumped he considered his life and what was about to become the new norm. Something was missing but he could not quite put his finger on what it was but he finished pumping and climbed back into his seat. &#x200B; As he drove he passed a sign for a local animal shelter and he new what he had to do so he changed direction away from the highway and toward the shelter. He pulled in and climbed down out of the RV. As he walked up to the doors he could hear dogs barking as they played in the kennels out back but, while he enjoyed petting dogs when he saw them, he was never a “dog person.” &#x200B; Roughly thirty minutes later he walked out of the shelter carrying a blanket, a box of canned cat food, a few small cat toys, and a fuzzy calico kitten roughly a year old. The cat had been a rescued stray from a nearby park. It had never been given a name. &#x200B; Settling into the driver’s seat, his new cat curled on the passenger seat beside him, Hank turned the key. The door closed, the engine flared as he accelerated, and the music began once again.