From Bowling Green to New York by Bus (Cont.)
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At the dingy station in Cincinnati where I changed buses, I had a delightful surprise, one which made the remainder of the trip an unexpected pleasure. I had just taken a window seat on the bus soon to leave for Wheeling and was looking out at the drab surroundings when I felt someone sit down gently next to me. Turning to speak, I saw there beside me on the undivided seat a beautiful young woman about my own age. I was awestruck for a moment, but she was already smiling when, after a slight gulp I managed a weak hello.

After graciously asking if I was saving that seat for someone -- a rhetorical question to which I quickly shook my head in response -- she started to lift her suitcase up to the rack overhead. Reacting instinctively, I immediately began to help with her luggage -- not so much because she was pretty, even though I was not unaware of that fact, but more I expect because of my strict upbringing which had always stressed unsolicited aid to girls, women, and the elderly. To my surprise, the suitcase was not light (later I learned it was almost half full of books), and as I tried much too hurriedly and perhaps dramatically to swing it up to the rack, I slipped and fell across the back of the seat ahead -- an embarrassing development which brought a restrained but delightful smile from the young lady. I was glad she did not laugh at my awkwardness, for I was already uncomfortable enough.

In stepping back down to my seat, I accidentally landed on the seat much too close to where the girl was sitting, causing me to lean heavily against her slender body; but neither she nor I seemed to mind what had happened. I apologized for the blunder, however, and quickly moved toward the window. For after all, I had known her only a few minutes, and I did not want her to think I was being too forward on such short acquaintance. In the small town of Bowling Green where I had grown up, a boy was taught -- and expected -- not to touch a girl, except lightly at the elbow when helping her across the street, until he had known her for quite some time.

In the midst of several fleeting glances at each other, we settled into our seats. Then as she thanked me pleasantly for helping, she began unbuttoning the light summer jacket she wore over a soft linen dress -- an attractive combination of blue and white which I noticed was complemented by matching medium-heeled pumps. Everything was just right, I thought.

By now we were both perspiring freely, even though our window was wide open. The bus was not air conditioned, and only after it backed out of its narrow stall and headed slowly through downtown Cincinnati could we feel any movement of air to help offset the high temperature and excessive humidity.

My new traveling companion and I spoke very little for the next few minutes, but I can well remember how delighted I was to have such pleasant company -- a feeling I sensed was mutual. Already I was hoping that she too might be going to New York. This is not to say I was beginning to forget any of the girls I had dated while attending Western. It was just that with me here and now was an extremely attractive girl who fascinated me -- a girl whom I wanted to know better, much better.

My hopes were not in vain. I soon learned this young woman was also going to New York, where her divorced father was a professor of economics at New York University. Later she told me her name was Caroline Williams, but that most of her friends called her Carol.

Our conversation soon broadened from stilted comments on the weather and polite observations about sights along the way to a wide range of interesting topics -- both personal and philosophical.

First we shared the usual biographical information - where we were born, what schools we had attended, and highlights of some things we had done recently. I learned she was a graduate of the University of Cincinnati where she had completed a double major in music and theatre and that she too had played in orchestras and taken part in college and community theatre plays. Of course, I told her something about myself - -perhaps more than she cared to hear, but she was a good listener, appearing to be quite interested in everything I said. And when I told her why I was going to New York, she revealed that she wanted to do further study there, either in music at Juilliard or in drama at the American Academy of Dramatic Art.

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