9/28/10

           The rain had continued through the night and I was in no rush to leave the warmth of Katie’s apartment. She’d left early for class, and I took full advantage of the fridge, television, and shower at my disposal. I hadn’t managed to pick up a thank you gift during my adventures the day before, so I figured a note and a kitchen rid of dirty dishes would suffice. By the early afternoon I’d re-folded the futon and was on my way.

            I was to meet Laura at one of her favorite Buffalo diner spots. It was a modest walk from Katie’s apartment, made more dreary (and adventurous) by the drizzle. I hadn’t recognized the name when she’d texted it to me, but as I approached the restaurant I realized it was the same place Dan had taken me three days before. And Laura was siting at the same booth no less. A man of routine, I ordered the same quesadilla.

            Laura was one of those girls I’d noted early in my undergrad tenure, but didn’t get to know till senior year. By the time a mid-ranged flirtation rolled around we were days away from graduation. Too little too late too bad. She was now in year two of a masters in history at UB. I showed her the text messages regarding the potential ride to Cleveland.

            “And you’re still thinking about taking him up on it?”

            “I admit, it’s a little sketchy…”

            “A little?!”
            “Okay. Clearly a total creepster. But how bad could it be?”
            “I mean if you’re into murder and rape and all.”

            “Look, I haven’t even talked to the guy yet. If it doesn’t work out I’ll take a bus is all.”

            She glanced at her watch.

            “I should be heading out in a minute. Let me drive you to north campus. If this dude doesn’t get back to ya you’re crashing by me.”

            “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
            “It’s totally cool. We’ve got a futon in the living room.”

            “Won’t your roommate mind?”

            “I’ll text her, but Sarah will be cool with it.”

            The trip, east of Toledo, could’ve been mistaken for a college tour of the north east: Geneseo under my belt, Case Western and Oberlin on the horizon, and now the larger half of the University at Buffalo. While my brief foray into UB’s south campus the day before had felt college, north campus was definitively university; the scope and movement grander, the buildings more cement and less cloister. I found the student union and watched the students, a stew of ages and races, and was reminded once again how fucking vanilla Geneseo could be. As the clock ran down I meandered my way back to where Laura had class. Finding some hallway benches, I dialed and re-dialed sketchnumber.

            It was six o’clock when my phone rang.

“Hi. I’m interested in the ride to Cleveland you posted on Craigslist. I texted you last night. Do you know when you’re leaving?”

            Three seconds of heavy breathing were followed by a deep, gravelly voice. It sounded as if the person on the other end had his eyes closed, trying to picture me.  “Yeah….I’m not sure…..when I’m leaving………Where are you?”  It was out of a fucking horror flick. Scary Movie XI: RoadTrip USA. You couldn’t cast a more perfect rapist’s voice: ten words over a cellphone and I already felt violated.
            I was so flustered I didn’t know how to handle my shit. I think I squeaked out an “actually I think I’m all set thanks” before hastily ending the call.

            [And there it was; the second time my expectations for the ease of the rideshare were dashed (the first being the severe lack of postings from NYC to ROC the three weeks prior to my departure). In the end, I’d find myself hitch-hiking before successfully finding a ride through craigslist. But when I finally found one (somewhere outside Eureka, California) I’d practically fall in love with the girl behind the wheel.]

            So that was that. One more night in New York State. I texted Neil: “Doesn’t look like that ride’s gonna work out. Think ya can pick me up from a bus station tomorrow afternoon?”

            “Yep” he buzzed back.

            Laura’s apartment was small, and clearly inhabited by two women in grad school. With textbooks on the coffee table and Glee on the television set, an hour of Britney Spears covers was made bearable by beers and banter. The futon was uncomfortable, but at least I was safe.