A Stop at Ravenport

Simon rested his head on the bus window as the rain pelted the outside glass. He had never used public transportation before, and he was relieved to know this would be the only time he ever would. The moist weather made the bus a sauna ridden with body odor as it drove from town to town. Simon was one of the few passengers to have two empty seats next to him, and he hoped it would stay this way until he reached Ravenport.

A bump in the road caused his head to bounce off the glass. This had been the fourth time it had happened in the last twenty minutes. The driver clearly wasn’t good at dodging potholes. Simon wasn’t too bothered by the mild disruption, but it did make him paranoid. Each time there was an erratic movement on the bus, he would find his hand reaching for his pant leg, making sure the handgun was still strapped to his calf. It would be quite the scenario if it were to get loose.

An ear-piercing squeaking from the brakes filled the inside of the bus as it began coming to another stop. From what Simon had counted, six more people got on, further adding to the surrounding body heat. He turned his head back to the window while wearing a scowl, trying to look as unwelcoming as possible.

“Are these seats taken?” a soft voice said, bringing a rush of dread to his body.

He cleared his throat and turned to see a young woman in a soaked, white t-shirt standing next to him. She wiped her wet hair from her hazel eyes as she waited for Simon to respond.

“No, no one is sitting here,” he said. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

He wasn’t happy to have another passenger next to him, but at least she was a petite, beautiful woman. She even brought the scent of citrus perfume with her–something Simon preferred over the smell of fresh sweat.

Simon’s gaze went back to the window, or at least he made it seem like it did. He couldn’t help but sneak glances of the woman two seats down. She had long legs that Simon ogled as she rang out her hair. Strangely, she had no shoes on. How was this possible?

It would have been a good conversation starter, but Simon chose not to speak. She had his interests, but she was just another stranger in the world. Soon she would be any other pretty face that passed by him.

Simon closed his eyes and rested his head once more.

“I like your tattoo,” the woman snapped him back to reality.

He held up his forearm and stared at the design. It was something he decided to get on his eighteenth birthday. Twenty years later, he still regretted it.

“Thank you,” he said. “I had it inked on me years ago. I thought it was cool looking. It’s a music theory thing called–”

“The circle of fifths,” the woman interrupted.

Simon smiled for the first time that day. “Yes, it’s called the circle of fifths. It’s funny you know that. I’ve had to explain that to so many people over the years. And this includes the people who played instruments.”

She laughed. “I’m Emily,” she said, extending her arm for a handshake.

Simon reached over to her. “I’m Simon.” Her hand was a soft icicle.

“What do you think of mine?” Emily turned her body, displaying a bass clef tattooed on her shoulder.

“Oh, that’s cool.” Simon nodded and feigned enthusiasm.

“Yeah, people always ask me what it is. I’m guessing you know.”

“It’s a sign that tells the world you play the bass guitar.”

“Yep. I picked it up when I was thirteen.” She gave an excited nod.

“That’s cool.” Simon turned back to the window, wanting to end the conversation. He never thought he would dislike talking to a gorgeous woman that played the same instrument he did, but now wasn’t a good time. Perhaps if he met her months earlier, he might be more willing to engage.

“So, are you in a band or something?” Emily asked.

Simon turned back to see her leaning toward him. “No.” He shook his head. “I was in a few before, but I haven’t chased that in about a decade. I pick up my instruments every now and then, but that’s about it.”

“I always find it so sad when people say that. Music is so powerful. It can save a life; it can heal the soul; at very least it can bring you a lot of happiness.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” Simon looked to the floor.

Music used to be his primary joy in life. Indeed, it had got him through earlier troubles. However, the magic it once brought faded. He couldn’t remember the last time he wrote a song.

“You should try to get back into it,” Emily said. “My music is what kept me and my friends together for so long. We created a band when we were sixteen. We're a punk metal band called The Wildcats. We rule.” She held both her hands up and gave the sign of the horns; Simon laughed. “Ever since making the band, we’ve always kept in touch.”

Simon flashed back to his early twenties. His social life flourished back then as he played on the stages of several dive bars with his old friends. They never came close to making it big, but they had a lot of fun. His friends in the crowd were the only fans he needed. They were his true joy. One of his fans even ended up becoming his wife in his early thirties. Finding her was the biggest prize his music had brought him. Too bad she decided not to stay.

“So, what concerts have you been to?” Emily asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been to a few.” Simon let out a groan and turned back to the window.

“Tell me what bands you’ve seen.” Emily clapped her hands together and leaned closer.

Simon made eye contact with her again. He wanted to stay silent and disassociate from reality until he reached his stop, but Emily was making it difficult in a fun way. She had a giddy energy that would make him feel guilty if he didn’t continue their talk.

For the next several miles, they went into further detail about their musical journeys. Emily was much more eager to tell her experiences as she rambled on with a gleeful smile. Simon continued to nod and fake being excited. However, after a few minutes of talking, he wondered if it started to become real. Emily had a contagious aura capable of bringing Simon back to better times. He was embarrassed to know this was the longest conversation he had shared with another person in months.

Another loud screech echoed inside of the bus as it came to a halt. Simon had arrived at the boondocks. It had stopped raining outside. The sun broke through the clouds, bringing light to the surrounding cornfields.

“This is where I get off,” Simon said.

“Oh, okay,” Emily said in a depressed tone. “You should come see me sometime.” She scooted her body to the seat next to Simon. “I’d love it if you came to visit me.”

Simon knew what he should do, what any sane, single man should do. Now was the time to take out his disgraceful flip phone and get Emily’s number. She was an attractive woman who seemed to have a heart of gold–a dream of a person. However, Simon knew this was where he should end things.

“I…I don’t know about that, Emily. I just have some things going on in life right now. It’s probably best if–”

“It’s okay.” She gently grabbed his hand. Her flesh was still frigid. “I understand.” She stood up in the aisle and cleared the way for Simon.

He stood up and sidestepped around her. “It was really nice meeting you though,” he said.

She ran her hand down his back. “Just promise me that you’ll try at music again. It’s the one thing you can leave behind in this world so others can remember you.” She leaned closer. “Don’t give up, Simon.”

“Um…okay. I’m thinking I might pick up the bass again when I get home today.” He lied. “Goodbye, Emily.” He let out a regretful sigh after turning away from her.

Simon stepped off the bus. A gust of fresh October air brought relief from the humid hell he escaped. He began heading north on Cedar Street. It would take about twenty minutes to reach his destination on foot. The entire trip would have been much faster if he had driven his jalopy, but he decided to leave that behind. It wasn’t necessary to bring more than the bare minimum along with him.

As he trudged down the country road of Ravenport, Emily remained in his mind. There was something so uplifting about her. It went far beyond her looks. She emitted an energy that was familiar and soothing.

Ever since his divorce a year earlier, Simon had always dreamed of meeting someone like her–a kind woman who wanted to be part of his life. He had convinced himself maybe this was what his life was missing. This was a key to a happier existence. It’s what many lonely men come to believe, but he had his doubts.

Having a woman in his life might make him smile more, but it wouldn’t be a cure. It wouldn't take away the sorrow, the dread that would overcome his body every day. The depression had gotten worse throughout the years. He had always told himself the opposite would happen–one day enough progress would be made to free himself from his curse. But after years of therapy, he knew this wasn’t true.

Simon was welcomed to his destination by an old wooden sign that had seen better days. Ravenport Cemetery, it read. He made his way inside toward the west corner, across the heavily overgrown grass. It had been some time since a caretaker had done their job properly. This wasn’t the type of service the dead deserved.

Simon cleared his throat as he looked down at two graves below him. “How’s it going, guys,” he said to his parents resting spots. “It’s been a while. Some things have changed, but not for the better.”

Simon hadn’t visited the cemetery in two years. His parents requested to be buried in Ravenport before their deaths. Simon’s father passed first from a heart attack a decade earlier. His mother’s death came a year afterwards from cancer. After they were both laid side-by-side, Simon had a routine stop to the cemetery every month, but he grew weary of the twenty-mile trip. It felt pointless; his mom and dad’s graves never talked back when he spoke.

“I miss you guys a lot,” Simon whispered. This was all he could think of saying. There was no speech prepared for his last words. He thought he’d come up with something on the bus ride over, but he was distracted during the drive.

Simon took a long look around, making sure he was alone. He bent down and grabbed the gun from his holster. It was the revolver his father had taught him to shoot when he was young. Dad would have probably never guessed his son would use it the way he planned on right now.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Simon said to the graves. “I’ve always pretended you could, but I don’t know if I ever truly believed. I’ve never been sure if there’s an afterlife, but I guess I’ll know soon.”

Simon turned off the safety of the firearm, but strangely didn’t point it at his head. Something was stopping him, telling him not to leave planet earth. But what? What did he possibly have to live for? He had been in the dark for so long he had forgotten what it was like to be happy. Cutbacks at work had caused him to lose his job a week earlier; financial troubles were coming soon. The stage was set to end his existence; the final act was now.

He squeezed the gun in his hand…and turned the safety back on.

Simon took deep breaths as tears rolled down his cheeks. He sat on the grass, not caring about getting his jeans wet.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked himself. He sat in silence, not able to come up with a solid answer.

As he sat with the revolver still in his hand, something caught his eye next to his parents’ graves. A white headstone stood next to him. It looked cleaner, newer than most of the others surrounding.

He read the words embroidered on it. Emily Mantis: Lover of music; a Wildcat forever. 3/14/95 - 4/15/2024. There was a base clef etched above the name.

The coincidence had diverted his attention and allowed him to get a hold of himself. It was a coincidence, right?

Simon put the revolver back into the holster and stood up. He walked to the headstone and ran his fingers over the smooth marble, doubting it was real.

Emily’s face ran through his head when he was contemplating pointing the gun at it. The mere memory of her eyes gave a resistance he didn’t think he had left. She seemed to have restored some will back to his heart.

Simon had always been interested in supernatural tales. He had read many books detailing the concepts of ghosts, spirits, and visitors from beyond. They were stories that interested him after the death of his parents. But he thought that’s all they were: stories. They were tales that gave hope to the grieving, but they were probably just defense mechanisms. Perhaps his mind had closed too quickly on the subject.

Emily had never told Simon her last name. It would be interesting to see what results the internet would give when searching the name on the marble grave. What if a picture of her face popped up on an obituary? It was a crazy thought, but the curiosity of researching it on his laptop motivated him enough to get moving.

Simon walked back to his parents’ grave in confusion. “Mom, Dad,” he said. “If there’s a ghost you know named Emily, tell her I said thanks. And if you can hear me, I plan on visiting more often in the future.”

Minutes later, Simon began walking back to the bus stop, scolding himself for not driving his car to Ravenport.