The Silver Star Read Online Free PDF Page A

for two pretty young gals
to be making on their own.”
    “None of your business,” Liz told him. She sat down. “A total perv,” she whispered to me. “I can’t believe you told that odiosity where we were going.
That’s such a Bean-headed thing to do.”
    The Perv took his seat but kept staring over at us, so Liz decided we needed to move. The only two free seats were at the very back, next to the bathroom. You could smell the chemicals and the
other gross stuff in the toilet, and every time folks squeezed past us to use it, you could hear them running the water, blowing their noses, and hawking, not to mention doing number one or number
two.
    The Perv came back to use the bathroom a couple of times, but we stared straight ahead, pretending not to see him.
    The bus went only as far as New Orleans. Since we were sitting in the back, we were the last ones off. When we went to pick up our luggage, the Perv was gone. Our next bus
didn’t leave for two hours, so we put the luggage in a locker with Fido and went for a walk. Liz and I both had a serious case of what she called rigor buttis.
    It was a hot, hazy day, and the air was so thick and humid that you could barely breathe. Outside the depot, a long-haired guy in an American-flag vest was playing “House of the Rising
Sun” on a saxophone. There were people everywhere, wearing either crazy clothes—tuxedo jackets but no shirts, top hats with feathers—or hardly anything, and they were all eating,
drinking, laughing, and dancing to the music that street performers were playing on just about every corner.
    “You can really feel the voodoo,” Liz said.
    A trolley car came down the street, and we got on for a quick tour of the city. It was less than half full, and we took a seat in the middle. Just before the doors closed, a man shoved his hand
between them, and they opened again. It was the Perv. He took the seat right behind us.
    Liz grabbed my hand, and we moved up to a seat at the front. The Perv followed. We moved to the back. He followed. The other passengers were watching us, but no one said a thing. It was one of
those situations where people knew something wasn’t right, but at the same time, there was no law against a man changing seats.
    At the next stop, Liz and I got off, still holding hands. So did the Perv. Liz led me into the crowd on the sidewalk, the Perv behind us. Then Liz quickly pulled me around, and we jumped back on
the trolley. This time, the doors closed before the Perv could get his hand in. The other passengers all started hooting and cheering, pointing and clapping, shouting things like “Dusted
him!” and “Ditched his ass!” As we pulled away, we could see the Perv through the window. He actually stomped his foot.
    Once we were safely on the bus heading east—the Perv didn’t get on—we had a lot of fun rehashing the whole encounter, the way we not only tricked the Perv but
humiliated him in front of a trolley full of people. It made me feel like we could handle just about anything the world might throw at us. When it got dark, I fell asleep with my head resting on
Liz’s shoulder but I woke up a short while later and could hear her very quietly crying.
    In Atlanta, we changed for the bus to Richmond, and in Richmond, we changed buses for the ride to Byler. For the first time since coming east, we left the freeway for the
smaller back roads. The Virginia countryside rolled and dipped, so we were always either swinging through a curve or climbing up or dropping down a hill. It was all so green. There were shiny green
cornfields, dark green mountains, and golden-green hay fields lined with deep green hedgerows and soft green trees.
    After heading west for three hours, we reached Byler late in the afternoon. It was a small, low-lying town on a bending river with layers of blue mountains rising up behind it. The bridge across
the river clanked under the wheels of the bus. The streets of the town, lined with