“I just got out of Walla Walla.” A deep voice began. “I thought I had another couple of months, but they just came in this morning and said, ‘Get your stuff.’”
“Man, I still feel like I’m in prison.” He was really looking forward to hugging his two children. At first I wondered why his wife didn’t figure in the picture, but after awhile he explained that while he was being processed by the criminal justice system, his wife was keeping company with another man.
The Yakima police were not highly esteemed by the bus riders. Their zealousness in pursuit of their duties was considered suspect. The deep voice mused that he hadn’t had any drugs in two years.
At a later stop, when the bus was fairly crowded, a newlywed couple entered. The bride entered first, calling out that they had just gotten married that day and would really appreciate a seat together. The groom followed, looking authentically bashful and proud and carrying all the luggage. The ex-con volunteered his seat, and once they were seated and reseated they introduced themselves.
On hearing of her traveling companion’s starting point, the bride—like a Victorian spinster who suspects a distant cousinship—started an interrogation to discover mutual acquaintances. “Do you know Larry Smith? He was serving on a weapons charge—they did something with the rape-type charge.” If I heard correctly, her own wedding date was set by the court, being the day she was released from serving 62 days at the city jail.
The ex-con returned to the subject that was troubling him. “Well, my wife’s really burned me out on marriage.”
“Yeah, don’t I know what you mean!” Heartfelt from the groom.
“Hey!” Outrage and the sound of a groom getting punched in the fleshy part of the arm. “Whadderya sayin’?!”
“Oh, not you, honey!” Genuinely distressed at this misconstrual. “I meant my first two wives.”
“Oh, yeah,” completely appeased, “My first two husbands were the same.”
Spirited and good-humored variations on two themes followed: Third time’s the charm and Three strikes you’re out.
The conversation drifted to a comparison of homeless shelters in the region. One received fairly high reviews because of all the classes offered (anger management, basic math skills, etc.), although the shelter showed too little respect for the basic humanity of the sheltees. It was a co-ed facility, which led to meeting interesting people of the opposite sex. And spending time with interesting people of the opposite sex led to wanting to spend more time with them—a natural feeling that the unnatural shelter did its utmost to squelch. One voice called for tolerance, since the shelter was a church facility, and although the others acknowledged the validity of the opinion, they felt that their grievance outweighed this consideration.
The conversation drifted to God. The groom explained that he had been raised Baptist, but as he read the Bible more he discovered that there were only two authentic churches: “the Hebrew Church and the Catholic Church.” So he converted to Catholicism. When he met his bride, she had never read any of the Bible.
“When I heard that, I sat her down and read her Revelations.”
“Yeah, I’d been consecrated to the black arts at age three—you know, the way some people are consecrated to the church. I was the seventh child of the seventh generation, so I was supposed to be the most powerful of all.”
“But after she’d heard the Bible, she didn’t want that anymore.”
“He made me give up my books, my wand, everything. I can’t see my family anymore because I was the seventh child of the seventh generation, and was supposed to be the most powerful.”
The groom and ex-con were smoking together and talking about the Church as I passed them with my luggage.
