Lost Ticket

N.Y.C. 1971.

..........

Chapter One: Stranded in the Big Apple.

Everything had gone so well up to the point when I took out my wallet to get my bus ticket. It was a small grey stub that was going to get me on the bus for my return home to Plattsburgh, New York, and when I didn't find it right away, I didn't panic but merely stepped out of the line to allow the more organized travelers to get on the bus.

The minor annoyance I felt initially became a feeling of real concern, and by the time I had practically ripped my wallet apart on a bench, I was in a full-fledged panic. How could I be so careless? Of all of the dumb things I had done in my life, this had to be the topper, I thought to myself while emptying my pockets in a last gasp effort that proved fruitless. It was gone.

After finding out that the one-way bus fare would set me back $14.75, I counted out what I had on me, knowing full well that it was nothing close to that much. $3.56 was what I had left from my big day in New York City, and what had started out to be a great 18th birthday had gone very sour in a flash.

My folks had gotten me a ticket to see my beloved Boston Celtics play the Knicks, and I had a great time sitting 5 rows behind the basket watching the Celtics stomp the hapless Knicks. Wandering around the city before the game was a blast as well, and as I struggled to figure out what to do, I knew my options were limited.

There were a lot of people walking around asking for handouts, but there was no way I could ever do that. Not only was I too scared to do that, but I was so quiet and shy that the thought of going up to strangers to beg for money was out of the question.

..

Chapter Two: An idea.

My options were limited. I could walk or hitchhike. I figured it was about 300 miles, and it was also the dead of winter, as the snow flurries swirling in the brisk winds outside could attest to.

The other option was my only real choice. Phone home. I guess that there was a way my folks could send some money to me by Western Union or something. The money would be bad enough, but the embarrassment of having screwed up so royally was even worse. My first day as an adult and I end up begging the folks for help, and it would take me forever to live this down.

The bus I was planning to take had already left, but there was another one heading north in an hour, so I had to make a decision fast, or else I would be spending the night in the bus terminal. Judging by the way that the police would jostle anyone they saw sleeping led me to believe that the authorities took a dim view of that activity, so after a lot of hand wringing and fretting I went into a phone booth and phoned home.

No answer. No nothing. I tried another phone, and when nothing happened after I dialed, I called operator assistance. Great, I thought. Now I'll have to pay extra for that now.

Turns out I didn't have to pay extra after all. I didn't have to pay anything. The operator tried the number, and then informed me that service was down in a lot of areas upstate, on account of the storm.

The storm? There was barely a coating of snow on the ground down here, but then again, Plattsburgh is a whole different world from New York City. Who knows what it was doing up there?

Snowing like hell. That was what the ticket agent told me when I asked him about the weather conditions upstate. The buses were running behind schedule and it was getting worse by the hour.

"Plattsburgh?" the guy said. "Heard they've got almost a foot on the ground, with more to come, they say."

I was screwed, and my anger soon turned into anxiety. As I looked around at the near-empty waiting area inside the cavernous terminal, all I saw were strange faces. Drunks, junkies and homeless people staggering around aimlessly. And then there was me, with a rolled up program from the game in my back pocket and $3.56 to my name.

Some big shot adult, I thought to myself as I bit my lip to try and fight the tears that were welling up in my eyes. Happy birthday.

...

Chapter Three: A friend in need.

"Something wrong, son?"

The voice came from a man who had come up to me while I stood there in a daze. A man, probably my Dad's age or even older, stood before me with a look of concern in his eyes. At least a half foot taller than I was, he had the look of a businessman, and was one of the few normal looking people in the place at this late hour.

I shook my head briskly, but I guess it must have been obvious that something was certainly wrong with me because he pressed me for an answer.

"I was around the ticket window when I heard you ask about Plattsburgh," he said. "Are you expecting somebody?"

"No," I said, my voice trembling. "I live there."

"Oh, going home?" he said cheerfully. "I'm going to Montreal, so I guess we'll be on the same bus."

"No, I... I lost my ticket somehow."

"No money to get one either?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Tried to call my folks but the phone lines are down."

"Yeah, I heard the weather is bad up north," he said. "What are you going to do?"

I started to tell the guy that I had no idea what the hell I was going to do, but my emotions got the best of me, and I started to cry like a baby.

"Son, relax," the man said, putting his hand on my shoulder to comfort me. "We'll figure something out. Wait here."

I had nowhere to go, that was for sure, so I stood there for a few minutes while the man left me. When he returned he put his right hand on my shoulder again, but in his left hand was a bus ticket. One way, to Plattsburgh.

"Here son," the man said, his soothing voice resonating in my ear.

"I can't..." I said, although my hand was reaching out for it despite what I said.

"Sure you can."

"I'll pay you back," I assured him, taking the ticket and looking at it like it was gold, which to me at the time, it was.

"Not necessary," he said. "I would have offered it when I first heard you talking over there, but there are so many people hustling and pulling scams that I was afraid you might be trying to con people out of money or something."

"I'm not," I told him.

"I know that now," he said. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't help you out. You're way too young and innocent to be left down here stranded."

"It a scary place," I admitted. "A lot scarier at night too."

"No place for somebody without money, that's for sure," he agreed. "By the way, my name's Bob. Bob Shepard."

"Aaron Brady," I said, shaking the man's hand, which was so big that it swallowed my sweaty little paw in its grip.

"Pleased to meet you, Aaron," Bob said warmly.

"I really don't know how to thank you enough," I said.

"Maybe someday you'll be able to help somebody in trouble like you were, and that will be thanks enough for me."

"I will," I promised Bob, and I was so happy that I wanted to hug the guy.

"Still almost an hour until our bus gets here," Bob said. "Why don't we got down to the coffee shop and get a bit to eat?"

I wasn't really hungry, but after I thought about it, the thought of sitting on a bus for over six hours made me reconsider, so I walked down to the end of the terminal with my new friend Bob, with the weight of the world off my shoulders.

....

Chapter Four: Getting to know Bob.

Bob was 54 years old, exactly three times my age, and he was married with two kids both older than I was. He lived and worked in New York City and was traveling up to Montreal on business, and was not happy about it.

"Hate traveling in the winter," Bob grumbled before adding, "But you have to pay the rent."

I got a grilled cheese sandwich and fries, and while I had enough money to pay for it, Bob brushed off my attempt to pay, and after we finished eating it was almost time for our bus to start boarding.

"Don't want to miss this one, because the next one doesn't leave until 8 in the morning," Bob told me as the almost inaudible voice on the loudspeaker announced that the 11:15 p.m. bus bound for Albany, Plattsburgh and Montreal, along with a bunch of cities that came out too garbled to understand, was boarding.

"I'll be right there," I said to Bob, hurrying over to the men's room to take a leak before getting on the bus.

Walking into the grubby bathroom, the stench of urine and assorted noxious odors was intense, and I held my breath as I walked to the end of the long room of urinals in the almost deserted men's room and started to pee.

I was startled when out of the corner of my eye I saw someone come down to where I was, and took a urinal right next to mine. I was relieved when my quick sideways glance showed me that it was only Bob.

"Good idea, Aaron," Bob said. "No sense trying to go on a bumpy bus."

I heard the sound of his zipper coming down, and noticed that he stood there with his hands on his hips while he peed. For a second I thought that he was looking over at me, but I kept staring straight ahead at the filthy tiles with the crude messages scrawled all over them.

I was a little taken aback at him standing next to me like that, but he was a married guy and all, so I guessed that I was just being overly nervous about it. Nevertheless, I finished as fast as I could and washed my hands in the grungy sink before getting out of there so I could breathe again.

There was no line waiting to get on the bus, and there were only a few people scattered inside after I climbed aboard. I went to the bus of the bus and grabbed a window seat, wiping the fog off of the glass as I prepared to bid the Port Authority Bus Terminal a less than fond farewell.

"Guess we might as well sit together," Bob said, having come down the aisle and finding me.

Me being little, it wasn't like it was crowded in the seat or anything, but there were so many empty seats that I wished Bob had picked one of the others so we could stretch out. After remembering that if it wasn't for Bob I would be sitting back inside the terminal, bawling like a baby, I settled into the seat and thanked my lucky stars for the company.

So we chatted for awhile, talking about the game I had seen, and since he was a Knick fan there was a lot of good natured bantering that lasted for the first hour. After that, we became quiet, and as the winter howled outside, I eventually dropped off to sleep.

.....

Chapter Five: Not for long.

I woke up with a start, a little disoriented as I lifted my face off of the headrest. The snow was all I could see out the window, as the darkness was almost total, with any signs or lights obliterated by the blizzard we seemed to be driving through.

I quickly realized what had woken me up. Bob's head was resting on my shoulder, and it sounded like he was asleep, as his breathing was slow and steady. His hand, however, led me to believe that he wasn't asleep, because it was on my thigh.

My heart pounding, I looked out the window as I tried to think about what I should do. Maybe he WAS sleeping. Perhaps his hand just fell onto my leg. He was probably used to sleeping with his wife, so maybe it was just a reflex action.

I was wide awake now though, and as I stared out the window I wanted the ride to be over, and didn't have any idea where we were or how far we had to go.

.....

Chapter Six: Kingston.

The bus made its first stop, and as the bus driver announced that we were in Kingston, I did some fast computations. We hadn't even gone 100 miles yet and it had taken over 2 hours. What was worse was that the snow seemed to be falling with greater intensity the farther north be went, and I could only imagine what it would be like home.

One person got off in Kingston while two got on, and despite my wishing that they would come back and sit near us, they opted for seats toward the front, leaving me stuck in the back with Bob.

When the bus began moving again, Bob made a noise and moved around in his seat, but that only brought his face closer to my neck, and his hand moved even higher up my thigh.

Back in the pitch black darkness of the bus, Bob remained in his sleep mode, but his hand soon began moving again, and soon he was kneading my thigh. I squirmed to get out of the way but his hand simply moved along with me. Fifteen minutes later, his hand was right between my legs, and he was squeezing me through the jeans, with my balls getting the action.

My dick was pointing toward the window during this, but Bob was taking his time. It took him about 20 minutes for his hand to work over to my dick, and despite my fear, his rubbing was making me hard. This was not the first time this had happened to me, because I had been picked up hitchhiking a couple of years ago, but that memory didn't make me any less terrified.

Suddenly, Bob's hand moved off of my crotch. My initial feeling of relief didn't last long, however, as he was only reaching up to grab my wrist, which I had resting across my stomach.

Bob pulled my hand over towards him, bringing it down and placing it on his lap. He had his hand over mine, squeezing it against his genitals, although I couldn't really feel anything. He held my hand down there with his left while resuming his exploration with his right.

.......

Chapter Seven: Attention please.

The sound of the bus driver's voice over the intercom was a most welcome relief for me, but what he had to say certainly wasn't.

"Attention please. We'll be stopping in Albany in about five minutes. The State Police are closing I-87 around Saratoga, and I've been told that I can't go any further north tonight after we get to Albany."

The few of us on the bus groaned, but none dreaded this news more than I did. Bob's hands came off of my hand and out of my lap, and he straightened up in his seat before leaning over and whispering in my ear.

"You liked that, didn't you Aaron?"

I shook my head no and went back to looking out the window. When the bus arrived in Albany, the small and unhappy herd piled out of the bus and went into the bus terminal, which was just as miserable a place as Port Authority was, only much, much smaller. In the end, it didn't really matter, because as it turned out, none of us were going to be there that long.

Turns out they were closing the terminal. A snow emergency had been declared, and we were the last bus coming in until who knows when. We were told to make arrangements to stay somewhere, and I really freaked out then.

"There's a City Mission a few blocks north," the guy trying to close up the terminal said, and the thought of spending the night with a bunch of derelicts was too scary to imagine.

Bob wasn't interested in talking to any janitor, and was involved in a heated discussion with the guy I assumed was the manager of the terminal or the bus company. As the rest of us milled around, Bob stood around the desk as the guy made a phone call. After he got off the phone he handed Bob a piece of paper, and Bob seemed satisfied as he picked up his suitcase and headed toward me.

"Come with me," he said as he walked past me and headed out the door.

I stood frozen, not wanting to follow him but not knowing what else to do.

"Where?" I asked.

"I got us someplace to stay," he said. "Coming?"

Without much choice, I trudged out the door and into a howling blizzard, following Bob as we staggered down the snow-covered sidewalk toward who knows where.

........

Chapter Eight: Ramada Inn, Room 412.

Our destination turned out to be a Ramada Inn, which was a couple of blocks from the bus station. The place was a dump, but it had to be better than the City Mission, or so I figured.

As we got into the lobby, Bob had me wait over in the corner as he went up to the front desk and rang the bell. A sleepy eyed guy came out and gave Bob a key before going back to nod off again, and Bob motioned for me to follow him.

"One room?" I asked when I looked at the single chunk of plastic with a key dangling off of it.

"I was lucky to get that from the cheap bastards," Bob informed me, letting me know that he hadn't paid for it, and the room was being provided by the bus company.

The thought occurred to me that I could go back and try to bully them into giving me a room too, but I didn't have the attitude for that kind of thing that Bob seemed to have, and besides, they were probably locked up by now.

"They're going to call us here when they get the buses rolling again," Bob told me as we got off the elevator and walked down the dingy hallway. "They said it might be until mid-day tomorrow, or later today I mean."

We stopped in front of room 412, and when Bob opened it up, he stepped to the side and let me in the room. It was a pretty dreary room, but as I looked around the place, what I noticed first sent a chill down my spine.

There was a TV nailed to a stand, a dresser, a small desk with a chair, and a bed. A bed, as in singular, and while it was a fairly large bed, the fact remained that there was only one.

"I'm going to take a shower," Bob informed me, and began to undress right in the middle of the room in front of me.

I went over to the window and looked out at the most miserable view imaginable, which consisted of a bunch of ramps that wound around in circles, and only a single car creeping around the maze.

In the window I could see the vague image of Bob naked, standing there looking at me, but I forced my eyes away and looked back outside.

"If you want to join me, you're more than welcome," Bob offered in a fatherly tone. "Otherwise, you can take your shower after I get out."

I wasn't taking any shower in this place, especially not with this man, and after I heard the water get turned on, I walked out of the room and down the hall. After riding down the elevator I stepped out into the deserted lobby and looked out into the winter wonderland.

"Nowhere to run," I said to myself, thinking of the song of the same name, and after looking at the empty street I trudged back into the elevator and headed back upstairs.

.........

Chapter Nine: 412 revisited.

I went back down the hall as slowly as I could, dreading going back into the room. As it turned out, I had locked myself out, and had to tap lightly on the door to have Bob let me back in.

"Lock yourself out?" Bob said cheerfully, and when I nodded and walked back in, he closed the door behind me, the loud click of the door sounding like what I imagined a jail cell closing would be like.

"Go take a shower, Aaron," Bob said, brazenly drying himself in front of me.

I protested a little bit, but Bob insisted so I went in, refusing to look at him parading around naked. I had seen enough to suit me, and even if he wanted to show himself off, that didn't mean that I had to look.

After undressing, I hopped into the shower and took as long a shower as I could. Just after I had gotten in and turned on the water, I heard the bathroom door open, and I was afraid that he was coming in to join me, but the door closed again a few seconds later with Bob on the other side.

Climbing out of the shower, I grabbed the lone towel remaining, and as I tried to get myself dry with the pathetic little threadbare cotton towel, I noticed that my clothes were gone. My heart was racing as I looked around to see if they had fallen down under the sink or something, but they were gone. That explained Bob's visit into the bathroom as I was showering.

I put the meager towel in front of me as best I could and opened to door slowly. The room light had dimmed, and Bob was facing me on his side in the bed, the sheets pulled up to his waist.

"Come to bed, Aaron."

"Where are my clothes?"

"They're getting washed," Bob explained calmly.

Covering myself as best I could, I went over and sat on the chair, avoiding eye contact with Bob as I stared at the blank TV screen.

"You can't sit there all night," Bob said. "Come to bed. You know you want to."