The Moonlight Oasis

Chapter 3 - County Highway 50, Near Woodworth, WI

Chapter 3

County Highway 50, Near Woodworth, WI

Gritting her teeth, Abby gripped her shifter and wondered if the lemon law could carry over to buses. Since she had started driving the Bluebird Vision, a new streak of grey had popped up near her right temple. The previous bus, an IC International, had been phased out for its age and size. Her route had increased in distance and number of passengers, and getting the farm kids to nearby Pleasant Prairie required more seats. Her distance was the farthest, and ironically her coworkers didn’t seem to be having the same problems with their new rides.

The oil pressure alarm had lit up again, the third time this month. She knew it couldn’t be the butt connectors -she’d gone through and re-crimped them tightly herself after the mechanic threw his hands up. The alternator had been replaced twice, once by the mechanic and the second time by her. Abby kept skirting around dealing with Cummins - it would mean a day or two off her route and a substitute bus driver couldn’t handle her rowdy passengers.

She was thankful it was Friday. After dropping her 60 passengers at their three different schools, she called Maeve, her dispatcher.

“Flaccid Hoses and Droopy Roses, this is Maeve speaking.”

“Good to know your caller ID is still working, girl.”

“Oh Abby! I had no idea it was you.” Maeve cackled lasciviously and Abby could almost see her sitting at her desk, cowboy boots on the desk and a cigarette in hand.

“Well, the bus is having problems again. Can you call Cummins for me and see about getting in somewhere? It’s the oil pressure alarm again. I’ll pull over and wait.”

“Good enough dear, sorry you’re having the trouble. Stand by.” Abby heard the phone click. If she knew Maeve, which she surely must after nearly 25 years of almost-continuous confidence, Maeve would raise a wind on the ancient Rolodex and dial faster than a machine gun.

Maeve Higgins had always loved her, even when Abby wasn’t deserving of it. She had loved her from the moment they pricked their fingertips at their first sleepover in 5th grade. Maeve was the only one who hadn’t teased Abby for her strange New England accent, and the first to welcome her when Abby’s recently ruined father decided to move his high-maintenance wife and shy daughter back to his hometown. Maeve used to joke she was Abby’s sister from a different mister, although no one looking at them would imagine the diminutively short Abby could possibly be related to the statuesque corn-fed Maeve. But over time, Abby’s accent faded and she settled into her new life, thanks in large part to Maeve.

Abby’s work cell lit up. “Empty Bags and Slow Drags, this is Abby.”

“Well, you want the bad news or the worse news?” Abby swore that Maeve got a kick out of tormenting her.

“May as well give me the bad first.”

“The bad news is you’re invited to my house for dinner.” Maeve chuckled, knowing how much Abby hated her cooking.

“Damn it. If that’s the bad news, I don’t want to hear the worse news.”

“Can’t get you into Cummins at Oak Creek today, you’re gonna have to take the bus down to Hodgkins again.”

“s**t, that’s an hour and a half down the Tollway from here. Someone’s likely gonna have to pick up my kids.”

“Them’s the breaks, sister.”

“It’s not the brakes I’m having trouble with, Maeve.” Abby sighed. “Alright, can Sophia come to your house after school? If it’s anything like last time I was in Hodgkins I’ll be coming home Saturday morning.”

“No problem sis, I’ll grab her, feed her, and keep her ’til you come get her.”

“Alright then.”

“Alright then.”

Abby clicked her phone, one of the few that still had buttons. She put aside Elizabeth Bishop, took a swig of coffee from her thermos, and started the Vision up again. Maybe with hope, a prayer, and just a pinch of luck, Cummins could figure it out and she wouldn’t have to drive the Tollway again.

As she cranked up her modern horsepower, her mind returned to her Grandma Betty’s ragtag herd. Betty had spent the majority of her day outdoors, a small woman who was somehow able to convince these mistreated horses that she was friend, not foe. Abby may have physically taken after her grandma, but she would have killed for Betty’s steely nature. Instead she had inherited her tall willowy mother’s flightiness and romantic sensibilities. High strung, that’s what Betty had said. 

In an effort to wake Abby from her mercurial mental spasms, Betty would insist she needed Abby’s help with the horses. Her parents, glad to be rid of their daughter so as to freely wallow in their own disappointment and misery without distraction, would drop the protesting Abby at the old Nielsen homestead and wave her out without so much as a kiss or goodbye. Betty would stand on the old wraparound porch, arms crossed, cigarette tucked behind her ear. Abby would stand by the mailbox, watching her parents drive away. When they were out of sight she would turn and face off with the stout figure on the porch. Betty would always win, and once on the porch, Abby would be rewarded with a warm embrace. It took a while before she would accept the love.

Betty’s smell was so different from the steel and diesel surrounding her now. If she concentrated, she could almost cast out the fumes that she still hadn’t gotten used to after years of driving a bus. Her grandma had smelled like sweat and manure, grass and mud, salt and the sky. Her blonde hair was shot through with grey, hanging in a long braid straight down her back. It didn’t take too long for them to see eye to eye, so diminutive and stocky as Betty was. Once they could see eye to eye, Abby would search Betty’s brown eyes for answers, reading the lines around and above them, and finding answers in the dark purple circles underneath.

Abby looked up at her own purple circles in the rearview mirror as the miles sped by. Maybe it was just the winter light that made them so pronounced. Or the extra whiskey she’d been shooting since the wave of bad dreams had come back. Betty had given her the first taste of whiskey, age 17 to celebrate her early acceptance to University of Wisconsin. Betty had been the one to drive her down and drop her at her dormitory. Betty had shed tears of joy and hugged her warmly, whispering good luck into her ear. That time, Abby folded like a house of cards into her grandma’s loving embrace.

She shook off the memories before the waves could come and drag her onto a sea of heartbreak again. Seeing the lit-up Cummins logo ahead on the right, she sighed and exited the Tollway. Hopefully the mechanic would cancel out the sensor and she could turn the Bluebird north again.