Dean reclined uncomfortably in the stiff bus seat. He was taking the Mustang bus services the rest of the way back to the city. He was close enough now that he didn’t think the agents would catch him, and had purposely called his mother with misinformation about where he would be heading. The woman had wisely played along, even giving him an address for some cousins who were in the neighborhood who could help him with a place to stay and nice southern hospitality. He had bought a large pair of glasses and a scarf, hoping to conceal his identity. He had covered the outside of his suitcase with newspaper and traded coats with a homeless man so that nobody would recognize him if they saw him. He wasn’t sure how long it would be until FaceSpace knew where he was, but he had to act fast. Hopefully the false lead would give him the time he needed to reach Zina.
He stared in anticipation at the message he had sent to her, and soon received a notification that she had read the message. Sometimes it took her an hour to dictate a long and detailed response, and these letters were the highlight of his life. He cherished every word, reading them slowly again and again, memorizing every tidbit about herself that she had revealed only to him. Because she felt he could understand her. Because he did, of course. He knew everything about her. The proof of that was in his suitcase.
It was taking her a long time to reply to his message, so he glanced slowly around the bus at the people around him. Normally, they were the types he wouldn’t give a second glance to, but now they fascinated him. The man in front of him was disheveled and smelled terrible, but D. wouldn’t risk moving his seat. Besides, he wanted to fit in with the riff-raff. It would make it harder to spot him. FaceSpace was used to him being crisp and tidy, punctual and even a little bit germophobic. They would have him profiled, just as they had most of their users profiled, and a seedy man sitting near a drifter would not be Dean’s profile.
Dean began to fidget. He could clearly see that she was online, but the little pencil indicating that she was typing to him wasn’t wiggling. What in the world was she doing that was so important that she couldn’t take two seconds out of her day to respond to him? He was getting anxious. Of course, he also admired her for having such creativity. Maybe she was in the middle of a project, working with Gwen was it? And simply couldn’t wait to hear from him and had chosen to read his message for her daily fix. That would be fine. But still, he hated waiting more than anything. And here he was, on a disgusting, germ-filled bus, ready to throw his entire life down the toilet. And all for her. The least she could do was write him back promptly. It was all he had to keep him going.
With a heavy sigh, he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. It wasn’t until he did so that he realized just how tired he was. He let the quiet hum of the bus lull him into a light sleep, and dreamt of the day that he and Zina would be together at last. He couldn’t wait to tell her the truth about himself. All the things that he had been through for her. And in his dreams, she was there, ready to share his every trial and tribulation. There was never a more perfect woman.