I've been to some sad places, but the Greyhound bus depot in Milwaukee is definitely a contender for the top ten. Screaming kids, check. Cranky workers, check. Transients singing off-key, check. Sad souls who seem to have no place to go but plenty of time to wait, check.
After an especially long flight with passengers on both sides actively typing on their computers (elbows, ouch!) I find myself here, waiting for the last leg of my journey. It's lonely, bus stations. It means we have no cars or independence, no loved ones to meet us at the baggage terminal and get us home. I'm here for my best friend's wedding. It is one of the biggest days of her life, and I am lucky enough to have been invited to be part of it.
I'm a terrible friend. I am simultaneously happy and excited for her, and sad and lonely for myself. I will show up, again, alone and surrounded by happy couples because I couldn't seem to keep what I had intact. It was really good, then it changed without warning, and now it's gone. He will be happy, and I will, too. That's how it works with memories- with enough distance they will hardly seem like they even happened.
I went outside to watch a thunderstorm, something I haven't seen since I left New York almost a year ago. I felt elated for a moment, but it passed as quickly as the lightning bolt in front of me. I will wait for another jolt, an electric shock, a way to defibrillate my heart again. I will wait one more hour for the bus, so I can keep moving.