Living on the Edge

By Jesse Knight

Life contains innumerable mysteries, but none is more striking than when two young people begin questioning the possibility of the concept of predestination. How else, they eventually reason, would they, total strangers, find themselves boarding the same bus for a three-day journey, and sitting next to each other during the entire trip while headed to the same destination?

Most young people, in their development, do not begin to consider very many profound mysteries of life, until they have accumulated certain profound life experiences after becoming mature adults. These two young people are forced to deal with these questions while in a state of innocence. In the end, perhaps an answer to certain mysteries will be resolved as a result of their exchanges and conclusions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483663654

Jesse Knight

Jesse Knight, born in Gosport, Alabama, has lived in New York City since he was seven years old. He served in the U.S. Air Force during the Vietnam War and was honorably discharged. He also worked as a computer programmer for seven years. He has traveled extensively. He’s been to the African continent—twice in Ethiopia, several times in Senegal, South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Togo nations. Also, he has visited London, Paris, and Jerusalem. He hopes that the contents of this book will prove to be entertaining to the reader and that certain articles will also promote serious discussions concerning the African-American dilemma. He also hopes that the said discussions be not confined to exchanges between African-Americans but among all races.

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Copyright © 2013 by Jesse Ho Knight.

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4836-6364-7

        Ebook        978-1-4836-6365-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 07/02/2013

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CONTENTS

An Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

AN INTRODUCTION

T HIS NOVEL BY Jesse Knight is based upon many actual events that occurred in the author’s life. It is a love story about the lives of two young people who find they are boarding the same Greyhound bus in New York City. He is in the US Air Force and has decided to take the lengthy three-day bus ride across the country to report to his first duty station instead of taking a flight. The young woman too has decided to take the same bus ride to return home to Sacramento, California, after spending the summer months in New York with some relatives.

They somehow find themselves sitting next to each other and discover they are traveling to the same destination. Simply put, they fall in love during the lengthy journey.

The novel is a depiction of the innocent love that develops between two young people, and of certain complications that eventually arise, which they resolve to somehow overcome. I hope the story will prove to be entertaining to the reader.

Since we are now living in a technologically advanced age, I feel it only fair to alert the reader that the following story takes place before the advent of cell phones or the Internet. In fact, the concepts of tweets and e-mails were still in the developing minds of the eventual creators of such magical tools of convenience. Thus, during certain times when the main characters strive to communicate with each other from a distance, it proves to be other than a simple task. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

E VEN THOUGH IT would be a three-day ride, I decided to take a Greyhound bus from New York City to Sacramento, California. I had a week left before I was to officially report to my first Air Force duty station to begin working as a radar technician. I wore my military uniform, thinking it might prove to be a useful deterrent just in case I met a few unsavory characters during the long ride across the country. It would be a long journey of three thousand miles, so I arrived in line early to get a seat by a window. That way, I would be able to have a clear view of the passing scenery, getting a good look at parts of the country I would be defending as a soldier. It was a hot and humid day in August, so I hoped the air-conditioning on the bus was operating properly.

I took my small flight bag on the bus and placed it on the empty seat next to me. In practically no time at all, the bus had become filled with passengers, and the only empty seat left was the one my flight bag was on. The driver closed the door and began backing up the bus, but then stopped.

We’ll be leaving in a few minutes, folks, he announced. We have a late passenger coming on board.

I looked out to the loading platform and saw a redcap pushing a cart with luggage to the side of the bus. The driver got out and opened the luggage compartment to allow the new passenger’s luggage to be loaded. The angle of my view didn’t allow me to see the late passenger.

As the driver reentered the bus, he began walking down the aisle, followed by a young woman. He stopped next to my seat and asked if I would place my flight bag in the overhead rack. He then eased himself past the young woman and returned to the driver’s seat. I noticed the woman had two bulky bags with her.

Would you like me to put those in the above rack for you, miss? I asked her.

If you don’t mind, she responded, looking at me gratefully.

Not at all, I said, as I took the bags and secured them. She remained in the aisle, allowing me to reclaim the seat by the window. She was just in the act of sitting down when the bus began backing up, and she was thrown back into the seat.

Oh! she exclaimed in a shocked voice, her face flushed in redness. Thanks a lot for helping me because the bags were kind of heavy, weren’t they?

I was happy to help, I responded. We fell silent until the bus was well on its way along the New Jersey Turnpike.

It’s a hot day, isn’t it? I’m sure glad the bus is air-conditioned, the young woman said, breaking our lengthy silence.

I was thinking the same thing. With the many, many miles I’ll be riding, it sure would be a lousy trip without it, I responded.

Oh? How far are you going?

California.

You’re kidding! That’s where I’m going also! I live in Sacramento. What a coincidence! she exclaimed.

And believe it or not, Sacramento is where I make my final connection. Yeah, it really is a strange coincidence, I responded, and then turned in my seat toward her. She looked to be about seventeen years old and was very pretty. She wore shorts and an oversized tee shirt that was emblazoned with a photo of the Grateful Dead rock group. Her blond hair was combed in two long braids, and she had a deep suntan. Her clear blue eyes, mixed with the deep tan and blond hair, appeared to have been a purposeful color blend made by human hands.

At that point in my life, I wasn’t a man of the world, so to speak, as far as it went with women. In fact, I was very shy and rarely looked into a woman’s eyes as boldly as I found myself looking into hers.

Are you in the Army or the Marines? she asked.

Air Force.

Oh! That shows how much I know about the military, doesn’t it, she said with a smile. We again fell into a prolonged silence.

As the bus moved along, I began thinking about this very unusual event. The young woman and I would be riding on the same bus for three entire days together! Should I introduce myself? How should I go about it? How does a man introduce himself without having it appear as though he’s making a pass? Maybe I’ll wait a bit longer before doing that, I decided.

I tried a touch of humor, saying, It looks like everyone on this bus is heading for Sacramento.

Yes, and they are probably all in the Air Force, but not wearing their uniforms like you are, she responded.

Yeah, traveling incognito, I said, and we both laughed. Even though we were having a relaxed conversation, I still felt a bit uncertain when I then said to her, My name is James.

Mine is Brenda.

How do you do, Brenda?

And how do you do? she responded smiling.

Are you also in the military?

Oh, no! she said, pretending to take the question seriously. I’m a student. I’m going to attend UCLA this fall as a freshman.

You seem too young to be traveling such a long distance on a bus by yourself. How did you convince your parents to allow it?

They didn’t want me to do it, but I insisted and finally got them to agree. I’ve been visiting an aunt and uncle over the summer. Are you from New York?

Yep! That is, I’ve been living there since I was very young. How did you enjoy your visit?

It was all right, but I’ll be glad to get back home. I want to spend some time with my friends before going away to school.

Brenda and I had fallen into another lengthy silence. I became amazed at how easily I was able to hold a conversation with her. I didn’t feel the usual discomfort from attempting to have a conversation with a girl; instead, it was a natural flow. Maybe that had been my past problem when talking to girls, I thought. I would try hard to think of something interesting to say, but the words always came out very clumsily; and then I would start to become nervous, and my confidence would quickly disappear, and that would be the end of the ball game.

I had read a lot of romance novels, and perhaps without being aware, it might have been an effort to discover how a guy could win over a girl. I had recently finished John O’Hara’s lengthy novel From the Terrace.

In my present state of immaturity at the age of nineteen—even though I had had no truly intimate relationship with a woman—I made the decision while attending the Air Force’s technical school in Biloxi, Mississippi, to not become seriously involved until I left the service. The decision had been made not very long after I had an experience with a prostitute, and after I had heard of how often guys would lose their women after being stationed many miles away. I figured an occasional visit to a prostitute would be sufficient for my manly needs.

My experience with a prostitute happened after my GI buddies discovered that I was a virgin. It happened by pure accident. As I walked into the recreation room one evening, they were sitting around, relaxing from the rigorous schedule of classes. We were being trained to become radar specialists, and the program consisted of six months of intensive training.

As I entered the recreation room, one of my buddies greeted me by saying, James! You seem to be a pretty smart guy! Why don’t you give us your opinion on the topic we were discussing? Do you believe in mass debate? His name was Charlie. He was viewed as being the class comedian—always making with the jokes. The question seemed to be on a serious level, so I suspected nothing as I gave my response.

Sure! Mass debate is one of the keys that make our nation so great. In Washington, DC, in the halls of Congress, the politicians are constantly holding mass debates on many different issues that concern our nation’s welfare.

I thought I had given my opinion in a reasonable way but was cast totally into puzzled wonderment when they all began to laugh. Some actually began holding their stomachs from the spasms of contractions induced from their uninhibited outbursts of laughter. To say I began to experience a profound level of uneasiness would be an understatement. One of the fellows actually started to become teary-eyed from his laughter! What was happening? What did I say that was so funny? What did I fail to understand?

Finally, my buddy Joe tried to contain his laughter after noticing how puzzled and bewildered I had become over the entire scene. He became merciful and explained the joke to me. But don’t you see, James? The question wasn’t about mass debate. It was about masturbation! he said, and then they all began laughing again uncontrollably.

What’s masturbation? I asked, never having heard the word before.

What! exclaimed the joker, Charlie. Are you telling us that you have never masturbated, man?

What are you talking about, Charlie? What’s the big joke this time? Why don’t you explain masturbation to me! I said, starting to become irritated from being the focus of a big mysterious joke.

You’ve got to be kidding, James! You’ve got to know what it means!

No, Charlie, I’ve never heard about it before, I responded and noticed the others were now attempting to restrain their laughter.

Hey, guys! said Charlie. This guy really seems to be on the level! Why don’t one of you tell him or show him what we’re talking about? He was unable to restrain himself and began laughing again.

No, Charlie, I think you should be the one to explain it to him, said Joe.

Suddenly, Charlie stopped laughing and actually appeared to have become a bit uneasy as he looked around at the others, seemingly asking for someone else to explain it to me, but all eyes were on him.

OK, I’ll tell him. You guys are no help at all! Look, James, when we say masturbation, we are speaking about a guy who is playing his own personal fiddle, a guy that beats his own tom-tom, playing to his own beat, said Charlie, which caused a new outburst of laughter. He then pointed down to his crotch to emphasize his meaning.

As it suddenly occurred to me what they meant, I felt as if a very heavy load of iron weights had suddenly fallen on me, and I became speechless. I looked around at the group feeling totally embarrassed, wanting to flee! Finally, I simply nodded at the group and then left the room under a very dark cloud. How could I have been so stupid!

A week later, those same guys, after realizing that I was a virgin and had never even masturbated, secretly set me up with a prostitute in the nearby town. One of them, George, came to my room at the start of a weekend and asked if I would go into town with him. He said he had heard of a new restaurant that served very good food and wanted to check it out. I agreed to go with him.

After arriving at the restaurant, we ordered beers and sat around relaxing, talking about life in the Air Force. Suddenly, two women approached our table and asked if they could sit with us.

Sure! George responded. Have a seat, ladies, and let us buy you a beer!

We don’t have very much time, said one of the women. She appeared to be a few years older than the other one, but both of them were attractive and seemed to be in their twenties. So what do you guys have in mind? she asked.

Have in mind? I—, I started saying, but George cut me off.

What’s your price, ladies? he asked.

Fifteen each, said the younger woman.

Only then did it hit me: they were prostitutes! How could I have missed noticing that!

That seems a fair price, responded George. Shall we go?

Everyone stood up, and I felt a strange sense of wonderment and dizziness from the suddenness of it all. As we left the restaurant, walking behind the women, I gestured to George that I wanted the younger one. He simply smiled and nodded his head.

I discovered the next day that my buddies had planned the entire thing with the prostitutes. After the mass debate joke they played on me, they thought I needed a helping hand, so the meeting with the prostitutes was arranged during the week.

I began thinking about the incident with the prostitute as the bus continued rolling along the highway. It seemed strange to me how other guys my age had become mature at a much faster pace. I was able to hold a prolonged discussion on many different topics, but when it came to discussing experiences with women, I knew less than less.

The bus made its first stop in Philadelphia, and the driver announced a twenty-minute rest stop.

I’m kind of thirsty. I think I’ll get off and buy something to drink, I said to Brenda.

So will I, she responded. She got out of her seat, and I followed her off the bus. We went to a snack bar and bought sodas and sat at a table.

So did you enjoy yourself in New York? I asked.

Oh, sure! I went to lots of different restaurants and museums. I also went to three plays and two musicals. My aunt loves the water, so I went to the beach at least twice a week when we were in the city. Notice my deep tan? My uncle is a lawyer, and his wife and I went with him to some social events his clients invited him to. But I didn’t have a chance to meet many young people my own age, except for the few weekends we spent at a resort upstate. Did you enjoy visiting your family?

Yeah, it was all right. I spent most of the time with two buddies from high school. The time seemed to fly!

That’s what happens when you’re having fun. But why are you taking such a long bus ride? I thought the Air Force had lots of airplanes. Am I talking to an Air Force guy who is afraid of flying? she asked smiling.

No, I’m not afraid of flying. I haven’t been to a lot of states, so I decided to see some of the country I’ll be laying my life on the line for, I responded. The smile remained on her face as we fell into silence, looking around the snack bar at the other travelers, sipping our sodas.

An announcement was made that our bus was reloading, so we quickly headed for the gate, passing a line of people waiting to board. As the bus pulled out, I noticed there were a few empty seats, but Brenda and I continued to sit together. The fact that we were headed for the same destination seemed to have had created a silent bond between us. By nightfall, the bus had made one other stop and was now well along into Ohio.

Why did you decide to take such a long bus ride, Brenda? Are you afraid of flying? I asked at some point.

Oh! I’m not afraid of flying exactly, but I don’t unless I really have to—like when I flew to Europe with my parents last summer. I always feel nervous until the plane lands. I didn’t take the train because the bus gives better scenery and mixes things up more.

But I bet it’s driving your parents nuts knowing you’re riding alone for three whole days with total strangers.

You bet! But I wouldn’t have visited New York if I had not been allowed to choose my own kind of travel. Dad asked me to call home every chance I get.

Well, I didn’t see you make a call in Philadelphia!

No, but I will call them tomorrow morning, she said.

I pushed the recline button on the armrest, but the back of my seat fell so low that it crumpled the newspaper a woman was reading in the seat behind me. Feeling embarrassed, I quickly straightened the seat up and apologized to her. She said I had no reason to apologize and insisted that I lower the back of my seat again. In the meantime, Brenda was having a difficult time restraining her laughter.

It could have happened to anybody! I whispered to her.

But it didn’t just happen to anybody. It happened to you! she said laughing.

Well, just you wait! I have three days to find a joke on you. Remember that!

The bus was now traveling in total darkness along the highway. The only light was from the traffic headed in the opposite direction. I closed my eyes. The steady hum of the bus engine at such a high speed caused me to doze off.

Welcome back, sleepyhead, said Brenda as I stirred in my seat and opened my eyes. "What are you doing so far up there? Don’t you know you can recline your seat like