final copy! :)

A Bus Ride Through Rhetoric
I awake with a start. It is dark all around me as I slowly twist my body out of its contorted pretzel-like position, and sit up straight. I am on a bus, surrounded by many people. They are talking, laughing, arguing, reminiscing—loudly, that is—and I am surprised I fell asleep to begin with. Cautiously, I look to my left, then right, and after seeing no obstacles, lift myself out of my seat and towards the bathroom. Once inside, I stand in a daze and stare at the mirror, willing my hair to flatten into some semblance of organization.
I am fully awake now, but recall no information as to how I got here. “What am I doing on a bus?” I ask myself, struggling to remember all the little details that would add up to my existence on this moving vehicle. Have I been kidnapped? Should I be alarmed? Frantically, I reach into my pockets and discover my cell phone, fifty dollars, and a bus ticket for San Francisco. As I take a deep breath, I remember where I am headed. California. Visiting family. Sandy beaches. Good Drinks.
“I am so dramatic sometimes,” I say, silently chastising myself as I put the contents of my pockets away. What is this- Speed? If that’s the case, I ask myself, where’s Keanu? Laughing, I exit the bathroom, walking back to my seat feeling considerably less burdened.
As I reach my seat, I rustle through my book bag looking for a snack. I haven’t eaten since a quick stop to McDonald’s on the way to the bus station. All of a sudden, an arm reaches in front of my face, and I smell the distinct odor of home-cooked food. I look up, surprised, and see it is an older woman holding a Tupperware container filled with chocolate chip cookies. My mouth practically waters. “Hungry?” the woman says, in a drawl that reminds me of my grandmother. I hesitate, remembering every rule my mother told me as a child: “Don’t take candy from strangers,” and “Never eat anything that you haven’t made,” and of course, my personal favorite, “We live in a perfect world, and don’t need anything that anyone else made.”
“Yes, but I bet she was never this hungry,” I say to myself. I contemplate for about two more seconds, and then eagerly dive into the snack. The woman smiles at me, and in between bites, we exchange pleasantries. Her name is Ramona, and she is from Virginia. “Why are you traveling to California?” I ask, curious as to what makes this retired housewife want to travel across the country. She looks at me with a wondering question on her face, and asks me something that turns my stomach: “California? This bus isn’t headed to California!”
I have lost my appetite, as it seems I have lost my way. “What do you mean, this bus isn’t going to California?!” I shriek, standing up so fast I hit my head on the overhead light. “Child, you’re simply going to have to calm down and enjoy this ride,” the woman replies, and in her eyes, I see more than kindness- I see a feistiness that makes me think this woman clearly enjoys my panic. “I’m supposed to be going to California! That’s where my ticket says I’m going, that’s where I planned going, and that’s where I need to be going! Where are we going?”
“Well, we are not going to Europe,” she vaguely replies, smiling at me as the rest of the bus gathers around us. “What is that supposed to mean?” I retort, my voice getting significantly higher and higher with each unanswered question being ignored. “We are not going to Australia,” a man’s voice jumps into the conversation, startling me with its frankness.
“We are not going to Hawaii!” someone else says, and the crowd begins to laugh and cheer more loudly. “Enough!” I yell, so angry I expect smoke to be coming out of my ears. “I don’t want to know where we are not going- I want to know where we are going!” Ramona joins the conversation again, wisely looking down at me. “Our destination is not important. The journey- your experiences and memories are! We are not going to tell you where we are going; that is something you must figure out.”
Shocked, I turn my head towards the window, pouting at these strangers’ eccentricities. I decide I will find out where I am going my own way, and proceed to take out my cell phone. The words ‘NO SERVICE’ stare back at me, mocking my frustrations and leaving me with no choice. I pull my blanket back over my head, and scream. How did I meet such frustrating people, I wonder? And how am I going to convince them that my way is right? Or at least, I thought, to tell me where in the world we are going. Either way, I am definitely going to need a drink to get through this “adventure.”
All of a sudden, I feel the blanket that was once at my head being pulled somewhat abruptly away. I look next to me, expecting to see Ramona. Instead, I see a young boy, all of fourteen. He looks up at me, smiles, and I feel my frustrations give way. He reminds me of my younger brother, and I find myself having a hard time staying angry.
“What’s your name?” he asks me. I tell him, and he reveals that his name is John. “You’re pretty stressed out right now, aren’t you,” John says, with a twinkle in his eye that is vaguely familiar to me. I smile wryly back at him, willing myself to be angry but only feeling amused. “I wouldn’t be this upset if I hadn’t spent so much time planning out this trip,” I reply. “I have spent the past three months getting ready for this. I carefully saved my money to pay the exact bus fare, packed one suitcase, and took time off from work. I even packed extra clothes for possible rain, snow, sleet, or hail. I was fully prepared and confident this trip would be perfect, timed to the minute with exact bathroom breaks and rest stops. I’m sure you understand.”
John looks up at me, and laughs quietly. “I haven’t heard of anyone being so fully prepared for a vacation in my entire life! How are you always so organized?” This, I can answer easily. “Simple,” I say, glad for something that I can explain. “Everything in life stays the same. My trip is mapped out in exact detail, because this is just how things are. There is no room for detours, ‘special’ journeys, and I don’t believe in hypothetical situations. A trip is a trip is a trip, I say.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those people,” John says. “What are you talking about?” Embarrassed, I turn my head and start looking in my book bag for my itinerary. “You’re a Serious person!” He smiles, and continues talking, cutting me off before I get the change to respond to his outrageous claims. “And before you even ask, a Serious person does not believe in change. Everything that you just said assures me that you are a Serious person.” He reaches for his backpack, and retrieves a notebook and pen. “And that’s okay,” he continues. “Serious people are people too!”
Absolutely no way this kid is fourteen, I thought. “Just because I don’t like change doesn’t make me a serious person,” I said. “I like to have plenty of fun! I wouldn’t exactly call you a mind reader for guessing that I don’t like change, because I certainly haven’t been acting like I enjoy this experience!”
John laughs out loud this time, clearly at my expense. “No, I’m not John Edwards and I am not a mind reader, you are correct. In terms of what serious means, I mean serious with a capital ‘S’. As in Serious and Rhetorical?” I have no idea what this kid is talking about- he could be speaking Japanese for all I know. So I decide to do what I do best when I’m uncomfortable- deflect and change the subject.
“Where are your parents, John?” I ask, wondering what kind of parent would let their child sit by themselves on a bus. “Where are you traveling to?” I’ve been shutting out the background noise of people talking, but all of a sudden the bus gets quiet, and I hear a familiar woman’s teasing voice: “John’s with me, and if you think he’s going to tell you where we’re going, you’re wrong!” Laughter ensues, and while I’m getting used to this, I’m still as annoyed as I was to begin with. I look over the seat, and it is Ramona who is the ringleader. I look back at John, and am reminded why the twinkle in his eye looked so familiar: it’s because I saw it in Ramona when I first woke up, not so long ago!
This is turning into an episode of The Twilight Zone, I think. John playfully punches me in the arm, and I awake from my realization. “So, would you rather continue to get made fun of by the peanut gallery, or keep talking?” I weigh my options, and quickly decide: anything, but the peanuts.
“So tell me more about this Serious and Rhetoric thing,” I ask, genuinely interested, not for lack of entertainment but talking with John is working to ease my nerves. John begins: “Well I know I sound like an expert, but all that I know is from my grandmother, who learned it from her grandmother, and from her grandmother, and so on. I’m a Rhetorical person- I see the world as continually changing and moving, with nothing being the same things twice.”
“Is that like the glass being half empty or half full?” I ask in confusion. “Not necessarily,” John says. “Being a Serious person or Rhetorical person is not about whose right or wrong. They’re just two different sides to a story. Take now, for example. You don’t know where you’re going, and that’s driving you crazy. But if you would just take a step back and see that it’s not just about the destination, but rather how you got there, you’d begin to understand and think more like a Rhetorical person.”
“I just don’t understand how you can be so nonchalant about this,” I say. “Who cares how we got there? I just want to get to California.”
“Think of the big picture,” John carefully responds with more patience than most of my professors from my undergraduate years. “Take me, for example. This morning, my grandmother woke me up and said we were going on a trip. Did she tell me where we were going? No. She just told me to pack a suitcase, and we were going to see what life had to offer us. My grandmother didn’t know where we were going, she just decided to let someone else do the driving and enjoy the ride. All of these people on this bus? We didn’t know any of them before this morning, and now, it’s almost like we’re family. Some are on here through business, some are running away, but some are also running towards something. We all are able to change our minds at any moment, and when that happens, we’re prepared to change our game plans about this journey.”
I sit, silent and stunned. It seems to be only five minutes, but eventually I look at my watch and see that time has elapsed over an hour. I feel a hand touch my shoulder. Unflinching, I look up, and see Ramona smiling down at me. “John fell asleep half an hour ago,” she said. “Would you like to come join us in the front of the bus for a card game?”
I look up at Ramona, and really smile for the first time on this entire trip. “You taught John about Rhetorical and Serious thought at age fourteen?” I ask, in awe of this patient woman. “What made you want to tell him about this?” I am beginning to understand, but still feel conflicted.
“I wake to sleep and take my waking slow,” she says, and I know that quote from somewhere. “I used to believe in the beginning part of that,” I say. “I find my way by going where I have to go.”
“There’s no right or wrong thought, dear,” Ramona says, and I legitimately believe her. “Rhetoric thought is not made so people cannot understand it. Both Rhetoric and Serious people interact simultaneously. Think about it: if you were completely a Serious thought person, you would be unable to sit on this bus not knowing where you are going. You’d have broken a window and jumped off, and while that might not be the smartest thing to do, you would have been in control. And if I was completely a Rhetorical person, I would have gone on this journey without any prior knowledge. When in fact, I am able to be here with John because while I don’t know that our outcome will be filled with positive things, I know in the past, our journeys have been for the most part pleasant. I am relying on some sense of experience.”
Finally, I get it. “I don’t think I’m turning into a Rhetorical person,” I say. “But I think I’m beginning to understand where you are coming from.”
I hear loud cheering from the front of the bus, and Ramona turns and asks me if I still want to join her. “Sure, why not,” I happily agree. “I’m going to learn to enjoy this journey, no matter where it takes me. I suppose, though, it’s going to take me awhile, so I hope you’re patient with me!”
“I’ll be here with you as long as necessary,” Ramona says. “However, you’re going to have to figure out what it means for yourself. While the basic principles can be passed down from generations—like I did with John—the actual process of Rhetoric is something that once learned, must be practiced or you will fall out of habit.”
“So you won’t tell me where we are going, you won’t tell me exactly what Rhetoric is…is there anything you are going to tell me?”
“I can tell you that my new friends up there are going to be upset with us if we procrastinate any longer,” Ramona chides. As I hurry to join the rowdy crowd in the front seat, I laugh out loud. My friends are never going to believe this story!