June Bug
by Amy Letter
Wildfires raging in Mexico cast their ash and heat into Florida skies, spreading an epidemic cough from which June suffered badly. Chill mists of A/C frosted the bus station pane glass opaque. At her initial push, the door stiffened, jealously guarding its icy treasure. June forced it open enough to squeeze inside.
June still wore her sleeping clothes, thin and heavily sweated through. Flip-flops kept her calloused feet from the floor. In one hand, she carried a bowling bag with her toiletries and a change of clothes. In the other, a small Guatemalan purse she bought in Costa Rica.
In the cold clean air, she coughed and held herself for warmth. Her red-rimmed eyes and tangled hair revealed her unaccustomed to the hour.
The man behind the ticket window seemed supernaturally alert and powerful. His great, round eyes pulled up against the weight of the bags beneath them, and he looked her over quickly, gauging how dangerous was this new, strange animal.
June mustered submissive gratitude, and said, "It took me forever to find this place."
"There's no sign," the man said forcefully.
"I need to get to Naples as soon as possible – I just got a call. My sister's in a bind…" she rolled her eyes and smiled. "You know sisters, always in trouble..."
"I have two sisters," the man said, as if to correct her. Then he checked his schedule. "The five-fifty to Sarasota makes its first stop in Naples, at seven-fifty." She slipped five floppy bills into the steel drawer under his window. In a moment, he slipped back a ticket and three silver coins.
"The bus leaves from outside that door," he gestured with his elephant eyes. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, clicked it, and resumed a crossword puzzle.
June chose a seat and perched there with her bowling bag and purse beside her. She could not see, through the frosted windows, the city bus depot just a block away, where she first searched for a bus to Naples – she did not realize the depot served only in-town buses. She spoke with the drunks and whores there, but no one knew how to get out of town. She finally flagged down a BSO who directed her here, then began a faux-friendly banter with a drunk Scottish couple. He had the two of them in cuffs before June had crossed the street. Cops are like that, June thought. They kill a buzz like cats kill lizards, mean and gleeful.
She was going to Naples to help her sister, Petal, whose son developed normally until his second year, when he stopped using the words he knew, and became more aggressive. "He's de-volving," Petal said, "into a vicious animal. A few months ago he could count to five, but tonight he's – listen – he's chewing the couch!"
"Maybe he's sick," June said, half-asleep. "Take him to the ER."
"His body's never been stronger – he looks like a little pit bull. And when we go out, he sits still and smiles like he's been trained. If I take him to the hospital, they'll put me away!"
"I can't come stay with you, Pet."
"Please, June. I'm exhausted. If I can just sleep for an hour, I know I'll figure something. And if I don't, I know you will."
"I could come for a day, but then I'd have to leave. You're the one who should move back home."
"If you come tonight, I'll move back tomorrow. I mean it. I really mean it. I'm just so tired. I just need you to come, so I can sleep a few hours, and then I swear I'll quit my job, pack my shit, and move back home. I mean it."
The man in the ticket window met his relief, a lean woman with hair relaxed into short red curls. Once he'd disappeared out the back door, the woman announced, "the bus is ready," through a PA system, which June thought strange since aside from her the room was vacant. But then, as June approached the door, a small, frail, white-haired woman emerged from the bathroom carrying a big beachcomber basket decorated with blue straw flowers. She looked antiseptically clean and out of place in her polyester slacks, orthopedic shoes, and flowery print top. She walked very straight, and pretended not to notice June. When it was apparent they were going to the same bus, the woman bristled, then withdrew, then made herself kindly and said, with an ancient sort of accent, "This is the bus, isn't it?"
"Are you going to Naples?"
" Sarasota. All my lovers went to Sarasota," the woman cackled. "I'm going to dig them up."
The old woman sat three rows from the front on the right. June sat two rows behind the driver, on the left. Cozied into the relative comfort of a cloth, padded seat, June prepared herself for a nap.
The woman's strained, too-friendly voice crept over her shoulder and closed like a jaw, "What are you doing in Naples, dear?"
June opened her eyes. "My sister." She turned to make sure of the old woman. "She moved to Naples , to do it on her own, you know, make her own way, without the family. But her son Angel, he's got some kind of problem – she says he's becoming like an animal, out of control, and our family's all here, so I'm going to get her – get them. Bring them home."
The old lady blushed, looked back and forth as though trapped. "Oh my goodness," she said. "You're bringing them back?"
"I hope she doesn't change her mind," June said, settling to nap.
"Oh dear."
The bus driver boarded and took his seat. The engine grew louder, the headlights brighter, and the bus moved through the steamy lot, between darkened trees and buildings, past the city bus depot, past blue flashing lights, onto a series of on-ramps and off-ramps, and finally onto Alligator Alley. Once June saw the lights of Weston disappear behind them, she rested her head on her purse, closed her eyes, and settled in for a long, swampy drive.
A distant squeal and a sound like escaping steam reminded June that she was not in bed. Faint orange track lighting indicated the shape of the inside of the bus, while the hollow glow from the headlights back-washed over the windshield. She sat up, straining to look out the front. "What is it?"
"Ten feet if it's an inch," the driver said. He brought the bus to a stop several feet from a large mud-colored gator, swishing under the headlights.
June was drawn to the glass. "My God," she said. "It's big as the bus!" The gator swung its head toward the lights and opened its jaws to reveal a mouth pink and shiny as the inside of a conch shell. After a few moments posed like this, the animal snapped its mouth shut, and quickly swished off into the dark on the side of the road. The bus began to jerk forward.
"Oh my God did you see that?" June said. The bus driver refused to respond. "Hey, did you see that, lady?" The old woman sat neatly upright in her seat, the beachcomber basket tucked under her arm. The woman smiled, showing long, yellowed teeth.
"That was amazing, huh?" June sat down, still facing the woman.
"Lovely," finally came through the tight smile.
June was quite suddenly disgusted by this old woman, who, she decided, was simply too old, and dull, too simple to appreciate life. "I went to Costa Rica this summer," she admonished the woman. "I went hiking in the jungle for two days, and I never saw a gator like that, no way. It was just amazing – and the experience, being so far from the whole world. You really should visit Central America . It's just beautiful." June turned back into her seat, satisfied.
"I spent some time in Quito, oh, younger than you, I must have been," the old woman said after a moment. It felt to June like teeth closing around the back of her neck. "I had a boyfriend in the foreign service. We were both athletes, oh yes quite fit, and we enjoyed challenging hikes. I mostly remember the climb to Machu Picchu, in Peru . It was a long trip, two weeks at least, and dangerous, I remember, but I'll never forget the different quality of sound up there, and the way the sun fell in a hundred shades of gold over the mountains, like spires, they were so high."
Having failed to seize the greater claim, June gave up on one-uppance altogether, and reminded herself that she should be kind to old ladies, rude or otherwise. For all I know, she thought, the old fish didn't answer because she was busy pooping her diaper! June snickered under her breath, and the old lady, oddly, joined her.
The sun began to rise behind them. The light reflected coolly in the wet glades, and cast long shadows before the cypress islands. June checked her watch and saw their trip was nearly through. She reassured herself of her bowling bag, and then reached for her purse, but it was gone. She stood and looked on her seat, then underneath. "Have you seen my purse?" she asked the old woman. "It's a purple Guatemalan purse—I bought it in Costa Rica this summer."
"I'll let you know if I see it, Dear."
June flashed the woman a dirty look, then crouched to examine the floor for the length of the bus. She moved halfway back, looked again, and then again at the back of the bus. The bus driver's eyes, even larger than life in his mirror, watched her. She came back and sat in her row, legs in the aisle, and stared at the old woman. "You're sure you haven't seen a purple knit purse, this big?" She made a square with her fingers and watched the old woman's face.
"No, Dear, I'm afraid not. Maybe you left it in the bus station?"
"I was using it as a pillow. It's on the bus."
"I can't help you, Dear. An old woman's knees and back don't work like in youth… not even mine, and I was an athlete. Why, I always thought I would be swimming the ocean until I died, but I had to give it up years ago. I used to swim out past the reef from pier to pier, oh yes," she bared her long teeth again, smiling to herself, content.
June's chest began to ache with rage. She searched the bus again just as she had before, and again found nothing. The driver, who watched her go through these motions a second time, finally asked, "You lost something?"
"It's impossible. I had it, now it's gone…" She got up and walked to the front of the bus, her legs tingling and alive. "My purse," she spat, and looked at the old woman. She examined the floor by the driver, and the steps down to the door. Her chest seemed to hold more air than it ever had before. With too much force, she said, "It has to be here."
"I'll help you look in Naples," the driver said.
"No," June said. "No, it's here. You," she turned to the old woman. "You stole my purse. Give it back."
The old woman laughed. "No, Dear, no. I wish I could help you look, but I don't have your purse."
"It didn't jump out a fucking window, old lady, and you're the only other person here, so you have to have it. Open your bag." June stood over the old woman, her arms out menacing wide.
The old woman wrapped her arms tighter around her beachcomber bag, and swore, "You won't get into my bag without a fight, you little wet-skirt, and if you touch me you're liable to break a bone—I've got the osteoporosis, and I'll sue."
"Open the bag."
"Back away! Driver, driver!"
The driver slowed the bus onto the shoulder, and stopped it with a hiss. He stood and turned and said, "both of you sit away from one another, and leave each other alone. I'll call it endangering the bus, and get you both arrested."
"No, driver," the old woman said, and she stood with her bag clutched to her chest. "I'd like to get off the bus, here."
"No!" June shouted.
"Quiet down, please," the driver said. "I can't let you off the bus just anywhere. It breaks our insurance."
"I don't care about your insurance, I want to get off the bus, here." The woman gestured out the window towards the endless wetlands. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." The watery brown and green of the surrounding glades was beginning to shine with the morning sun, a blinding wet white glare, all around them.
"Well that's fine, but I can't let anyone out here, not Ponce de Leon himself, because it breaks the insurance, and I'll lose my job."
"Isn't it obvious she wants to get off so I can't get my purse back? Just give me the purse, and I won't call the cops. I need that purse. It's got all my money in it, and that's only fifty bucks. You're going to take my last fifty bucks?"
"Will you tell that woman I don't have her purse!"
"Both of you, sit. We'll deal with this in Naples." The two women looked stubbornly out the two sides of the bus, and the driver returned to his seat. As he fastened his seatbelt, he heard June yell, "Hey!" and by the time he turned, the old woman was pressing the emergency release, opening the doors. In a second he stood, but she was gone, and June was shoving him nearly off his feet to follow.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed dispatch, then sat and watched from his driver's seat as June accosted the old woman, and he told the man in Naples what happened.
"You, stop there! Give me that!" June grabbed the bag away from the old woman, and as she began to open it, the woman's thick, calloused fingers smacked across her nose. "Ow! You old beast!" She backed up, but the old woman curled her knobby paws and pursued.
"Give me back my bag, thief!"
"I only want my purse back, ow! Stop it!" June flipped the colorful basket and turned its contents onto the asphalt. There were several thin flower-print blouses, and two zippered pouches rattling with pill bottles. She kicked through the blouses with the toe of her flip-flop as the old woman swiped her arm past her face, trying to shoo her away from the pile. Kicking aside blouses and a rolled pair of trousers, she found a can of Campbell's soup and several pairs of stained, square-shaped women's underwear, but no purple Guatemalan purse. "But you've got to have it," June said.
"Do you believe me, now?" the woman spat, as she crouched to gather her things.
"No," June said, fiercely. "I don't."
June saw a black and brown FHP Camaro maneuvering toward them from the Eastbound lane, and knew it was her last chance. She rammed her hand under the woman's shirt and felt all along her flaccid breasts, the whole way around her squishy waistline, and finally, as the old woman roared and a Highway Patrolman ran towards them, she reached down past the her spongy buttocks, felt something like a cloth pad, and wrenched it out of the old woman's pants with all her strength.
The cop grabbed her and restrained her before she could see what she'd retrieved, but when he turned her around, she saw it, fresh off the elderly woman's butt, her purple Guatemalan purse. "That's it!" she shouted, "that's my purse! She had it in her pants!"
"Thank you, dear, I'm fine," the old woman answered the officer. She began to gather her belongings and put them back into her basket.
June turned to the officer, who was holding her arm too hard. "Please, just listen, don't let her take that purple bag. That's my purse, and she stole it. Just look inside, my ID's in there. Just look. The bus driver saw the whole thing."
The cop picked up the bag, unzipped it, pulled out June's ID, and handed the rest to her. He assured her they would get this all sorted out. But as the men barked a chorus of sorting out, getting statements, and filing charges, the old woman finished packing her things, and slithered out due North, down into chest-deep water. She was several yards out before the driver saw her, pointed at her, and howled, "She's lost it! The old lady just lost it!"
The cop demanded she come back, but she continued on. June smiled and yelled, "Get bit, y'old broad!" and the old woman swished around and bared her pointed teeth, hissing.
The cop told June to calm herself. They shouted and gestured from the road, demanding order, sense, and obedience, but the old woman kept on into neck-deep water and disappeared from sight. One of the cops called in the rangers from Big Cypress National Park to pursue her in airboats, but she was never found. The last anyone saw of her, she moved through a stand of sawgrass as smoothly as if she'd been born with scales, wading through the murk with her hands up high to balance her beachcomber basket on her head.