"That’s me." The driver stopped to look at his wristwatch and the top of his pale head shone through thin strands of reddish hair. His gaunt face was suddenly serious. "It’ll be about twenty minutes. We’ll get you on first," he smiled. "You’re special, aren’t you?"

"Oh, Christ," Mitchell sighed.

Andy carried the seabag to the side of the bus. Mitchell backed off the walk and the wheelchair thudded into the parking lot with a groan in its stainless steel frame. It reminded him of the great parking lots in his life, at the pool hall and the road houses and at Kristina’s bar. Places where he was content to hang out and watch an afternoon and then an evening pass by.

In the hot sun it didn’t take long for his body to overheat, especially on asphalt, so he pushed into the shadow of the bus and waited until the driver opened the station door. He was followed by a young couple, their arms were loaded with books. Then a young woman with a knapsack hung on her shoulder. The driver pulled open the bus door. "Let’s get loaded."

"Quite a crowd," Mitchell said.

"We’ll pick up a few more in Newburyport. It’s an hour and fifteen minutes into Boston. How do we manage this?"

"Lower the lift and I’ll get on."

The driver’s brow wrinkled in confusion. "There is no lift."

"Why’s that?"

"Well." He scratched his head. "I don’t know."

"Can you carry me on?"

"Hell no," he blurted. "I’d never be able to do that."

"Then Andy here will have to give me a lift. Steady him from behind, will you?"

"Sure, I can do that."

"Let’s do this," Andy said and studied the tall steel steps into the bus’s interior.

Mitchell looked at the steepness."What do you think?"

"It’s not bad."

"It looks like the Matterhorn to me. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it’s okay."

Behind them the driver and passengers watched with impotent curiosity. Mitchell had seen it all before. "I’m too old for this shit," he said and hooked an arm around Andy’s neck.

Andy heaved Mitchell’s weight up and the driver quickly placed a hand on the small of Andy’s back. Mitchell reached for the rail inside the bus as Andy placed a foot and slowly raised their combined weight onto the first step. He climbed the second step and then the third. Turning past the steel banister he lowered Mitchell into the first aisle seat.

"That’s quite an operation," the driver said.

"Andy is staying here," Mitchell said. "You’ll have to give me a lift off in Boston."

Terror flashed in the driver’s eyes, he leaned in close to Mitchell. "I’m just the driver," he said, nerves giving way to anger. "There’s no help for you on the other end."

Tolerance, Mitchell reminded himself. Ignorance is part of the game."Someone will be there," he said. The young couple was on the steps, watching.

"Can you help me figure out his wheelchair and I’ll get it loaded? Excuse us folks." The driver backed the passengers down the stairs and out of the bus.

Mitchell positioned his feet for balance then let the seat back, but the height of it kept his shoulders forward of his balance point. He wasn’t looking forward to this.

The driver climbed up behind the passengers and raised himself into his seat. Andy stepped up into the bus. "I’ll see ya."

"Give me a call," Mitchell said. "Let me know what you decide."

"See ya," Andy said.