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It’s the same as any long-distance bus ride: from the first moment Larry sat down, he was in pain. Right now, he’s feeling it in his lower back and running up and down the outsides of his thighs. Larry can’t remember the last time he ran, but god, he needs to get out of this shit and fucking run. Pump the aches out of his body, leave them in the fucking dust and spit on them.
He knows whatever he’s got, though, Freddy’s got it worse. He doesn’t need to have known the guy for the decades he has to understand this, though that doesn’t hurt. It’s plain in the way Freddy’s legs are jostling up and down in counter rhythm, drilling against the floor as he grips his armrest and stares blankly out the window.
Larry grits his teeth and doesn’t say shit, because then he’ll be the target of Freddy’s barely-contained energy and he doesn’t want that right now, no sir, not under these circumstances.
Instead, it’s Freddy who strikes up a conversation: “If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m gonna fucking explode or something, I swear.”
“Close your eyes,” Larry mutters. “It’ll go faster if you sleep.”
“How’s a fucker supposed to sleep in these conditions?” Freddy bitches, squirming in the upholstery. “My ass is numb.”
“Good. You’re halfway there already.”
“Haw haw.”
“If you ain’t gonna sleep, how ‘bout shutting up so I can get some, huh?”
“Like you could sleep through this. This is untenable.”
Larry snorts. “That’s a five-dollar word if I’ve ever fucking heard one. Where the hell did you pick that up?”
Freddy sniffs and slouches in his chair, jabbing his knees into the backrest in front of him. “Shut the hell up. Some of us are bettering ourselves in our retirement. Ever read a book?”
“That’s kid shit. Entry-level retirement. I’m beyond that.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? What you got that I don’t? You reading, what, scrolls?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Freddy pshaws. “Ain’t you supposed to be sleeping, old man?”
“Ain’t you getting a little old to keep playing that card?”
“Nah. I’m, uh, whatsit.” Freddy snaps his fingers. “I’m reclaiming it.”
“Go the fuck to sleep.” Larry shuts his eyes and listens to Freddy make a show out of doing the same: rolling his shoulders, rutching around, kicking his legs out then pulling them back in when he can’t find the room he needs. Squirming up against the window and setting down.
It doesn’t last long.
“Do you hear that?” Freddy says.
“No. Go to sleep.”
“Listen.”
“Baby, the only fucking thing I’ve been hearing for the last four hours is this bus’s fucking death rattle and that fucker’s goddamn tick-tocks.”
“Nah, listen.”
Larry grunts, shifts in his seat, and listens.
“There.” Freddy tosses his finger triumphantly in the air and turns on Larry. “You fucking hear that shit?”
Larry digs his pinky in his ear and tries again. “Nope.” It’s all wheels beating the hell out of the pavement and looping music.
“I swear to god, it’s a goddamn smoke detector. Someone’s brought a goddamn smoke detector on this bus and it’s running out of batteries. There! You hear that shit?” Freddy’s got a manic tint to his eyes.
“Aren’t you supposed to be trying to sleep?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to sleep when there’s a motherfucking smoke detector on the bus? You really don’t fucking hear that?”
Larry shrugs. “I’m old.”
“Oh, piss off.” Freddy sits up and cranes his neck around, scoping their neighbors.
The bus is packed with the usual slip-shod of people, tucked in for the long haul and tailored to aggravate the ever-living fuck out of each other. It’s never normal people on a bus, Larry thinks to himself. Always some heel who’s dragged himself out of the fucking jungle to give society a try for the first time. He takes a moment to glare at the guy with the smartphone blaring. Some middle-aged fuck who apparently doesn’t have the means to purchase a goddamn pair of headphones. He keeps fucking giggling at the videos, too, the slob.
“Who do you think has it?”
Larry hooks a thumb at TikTok guy. “Money’s on this asshole.”
“Nah, it’s not him, it’s coming from, like—” Freddy gestures vaguely in front of him—“Like, over there, I think.”
“You sure it isn’t just the bus squeaking?”
Freddy levels a look at Larry. “Don’t even start that shit with me right now.”
Larry raises his hands in surrender, then folds them back over his chest. “Well, wake me if you ever figure it out.” And he dozes off to the sound of Freddy’s muttering.
Or, he tries to. He can’t stop listening to looping fucking music and it’s driving him goddamn insane. And someone two rows up is coughing like they got the fucking plague.
“Freddy. Gimme the earplugs.”
“I don’t have them.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have them? You brought them, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. They’re with the toiletries.”
Larry blinks at him. “So fucking get them.”
“They’re under the bus. In my bag.”
“Why the fuck would they be in there?”
“Why the fuck would they be up here?” Freddy shoots back. “That’s bedtime shit. It goes with the toothbrushes.”
Larry claps his hands over his face and groans, high-pitched and long, a teapot whistle. “I’m gonna kill someone, I swear to god.”
“Kill me first, won’t you?” Freddy’s rapping his knuckles against the windowpane and the woman in front of them peers back at him. He sneers. “You don’t have your gun, do you?” he asks once she faces front again.
Larry slumps in his seat. “It’s in the hold.”
“That’s alright. We’ll make do.” Freddy squints and goes quiet.
Larry recognizes that face. “What are you thinking, baby?”
“We could take the driver hostage. Make everyone get off then commandeer the vehicle.”
Larry rubs his upper lip. “Still don’t got weapons, though.”
Freddy looks around the bus. Jiggles the armrest. “Could bludgeon someone with one of these, maybe.” He eyes the dimensions of the space. “Be hard to get a good wind-up, though.”
“We could threaten to drop a match down the shitter. Blow everyone the hell away.”
Freddy snorts. “That shit ain’t real.”
“Fuck it isn’t! I knew a guy, back in, god, I wanna say ’87—”
“Nah. It’s a fucking myth. I saw it on Mythbusters.”
“Mythbusters?” Larry scoffs. “Of fucking course they’re gonna bust the myth on a show called fucking Mythbusters. You wanna see some truth, you gotta go out and fucking live it.”
“You seen it happen?”
“Nah, but a buddy of mine—”
“No fucking way.”
“Listen—”
“No, man, I’m not listening to some bullshit. These guys, they’re real fucking scientists, like, with hypotheses and shit. They know what the fuck they’re doing.”
“Who?”
“The Mythbusters.”
Larry rolls his eyes. “Right.”
Freddy drums his fingers on his thigh. Slouches and props a knee on the seat in front of them. There’s a disgruntled huff from its occupant. “We could bluff,” he says.
“How so?”
“Say we got guns in our bag or something. I dunno.”
“Have to be a convincing fucking bluff. There’s, what, thirty people here? What if one of them’s armed?”
“Okay. I kick out the fucking window on the freeway. How ‘bout that?”
“Then what? You jump out and get flattened by a semi? What about me?”
“You jump out after me.”
“Hm.”
“‘Hm’ what?”
“Kinda boring is all.”
“Nah, think about it. Blood spattering down the highway, up some fucker’s windshield.”
It’s an appealing thought. Larry savors it for a moment. Down the aisle, a baby starts crying. “How’s this,” he says. “You strangle me with your seatbelt.”
“Not very bloody.”
“It’s always blood and guts with you, isn’t it?”
Freddy sharks a grin at Larry.
“Strangling’s nicer,” Larry argues. “More intimate. That’s how I wanna go. Your arms around me, baby.”
Freddy barks out a laugh. “Yeah, choking the shit out of you? Real fucking romantic.”
“You never seem to mind it.”
Freddy snorts and knocks his knee against Larry’s. “That ain’t to death, though.” It’s bony and hurts, but Larry knows it for the loving gesture it is. He grabs the knee and squeezes. “What am I supposed to do after?” Freddy continues. “Can’t goddamn strangle myself.”
“You gotta weep over my corpse a bit. Then poison yourself. Romeo and Juliet shit, you know?”
“Oh, fuck yeah, that’s dope. I got my meds in my bag, that could work, right?”
Neither notices the woman in front of them get up and go to have a hushed conversation with the driver.
“Mmm. Maybe. Better take mine, too, to be safe.” Larry trails a lazy finger over Freddy’s thigh.
Freddy grabs his wrist. “No, you can’t do that or I’m really gonna start crawling up the walls.”
Larry bangs his skull against the headrest. “This is hell, it really is.”
They get put off at the next stop, swearing and shouting they didn’t do anything wrong, they paid for their tickets, goddammit, they’re owed their final destination. It doesn’t matter any. There’s the testimony of four other passengers besides the one snitching woman who all overheard their violent scheming.
One thing they don’t tell you about getting older is that no one wants to fight an old man, no matter how contrary you try to be. Larry tries his damndest to relieve the boredom, shoving the driver hard and balling up his fists, but the man just says, “Sir, please,” and shuts the door in Larry’s face.
Larry punches the door before it pulls away and manages a decent-sized dent. He’s pretty pleased about that but he rattles off a few more curses for good measure. Then he turns to Freddy, who’s already lit up and sitting on their duffle bags. He holds out a cigarette.
Larry takes a long drag, stretches his arms above his head, cracks his back, sighs. The sky is a creamy blue full of whipped clouds, the land a pale gold canvas stretched taut before them. The sun is warm, the air is crisp. Larry pulls his sunglasses from the V of his collar and slips them over his ears.
“That was your fault, you know,” Freddy says mildly.
Larry whirls on him. “Like fuck it was! You’re the one who fucking started it.”
Freddy’s squinting up at him in that fond way he has and Larry can’t help but smile back.
“Alright,” he says. He drops a hand on the kid’s warm head and ruffles his hair. After all these years, Freddy still ducks the gesture even as he grins. “Where to next, kiddo?”