by buttons

"Peanut?" asked the man next to me.

"No thanks," I replied. I looked at him. His flannel was torn and his Levi's were faded. His hair was matted under a Royals cap. He desperately needed a shave.

"You sure?" he asked again. He reached in the bag and grabbed a peanut. Crack! He bit the shill and then spit it out.

"Yeah, I don't like them." I scooted towards the edge of the bench.

"Where ya headed to?" he asked, chewing on his peanuts. A few crumbs missed his mouth and landed on the pinnacle of his stomach.

"Nebraska, you?"

"Kansas." He scratched the side of his face and continued munching. "What's your name?"

I shifted my weight, looking at him nervously. Who was this man? "Um, I'm Tara," I replied. He shoved another handful of nuts in his mouth as I answered.

"Pleased to meet ya, Tara. I'm Bill." His voice was muffled by the peanuts he chewed. He licked the salt off his fingers and then held out his hand.

I refrained from wrinkling my nose. His hand was covered with a mixture of grease and saliva. Dirt was embedded under his nails. "Likewise," I said, allowing my fingers to graze his.

"Pretty day, eh?"

I nodded.

"Wonder when our bus will be gettin' here."

"Me too." I had been keeping the bench warm for over an hour now. I tapped my foot and looked at my watch.

"I'm going to see my kids," Bill said. He shoved some more peanuts in his mouth. "They're in Kansas. Haven't seen them in six years."

"How comes?"

He lowered hsi eyes. "Wife left me. I don't blame her, I guess. She caught me cheatin' on her with her best friend. Stupid, I tell ya, stupid."

I nodded again.

"I had it all," he continued, "Nice house, great family, good job. It's all gone now."

"Sorry," I whispered. I looked at my toes and didn't say anything. After all, what could be said?

"Nah, don't be, Sarah, not your fault." Bill patted my shoulder.

"It's Tara," I said, wincing at his touch. I wondered if he got any of that grime on my new shirt.

"Oh, yeah."

I smiled politely at him. "It's okay, Bill."

"So, why ya goin' to Nebraska?"

I'm going to see my father," I said. I looked up the street but there was still no sign of my bus.

"Oh?"

I nodded. "I was adopted," I said, unsure if I should fill in the details or leave it at that. "This is the end of a long search for my birth parents." I shifted to my right.

"Nervous?"

"Very," I replied. "I don't know how to feel towards him." I sighed deeply.

"I wonder what my kids think of me." Bill looked at me. "How old are ya, Tara?"

"Eighteen."

The Greyhound bus finally pulled up. "Guess that's mine," I said. I picked up my purple backpack and climbed aboard, smiling at the driver. I sat in the sixth row.

Bill followed and chose the seat next to me. "Hope you don't mind," he said.

"Nah, you're free to sit where ya please." I looked out the window. Indiana was so flat compared to the hills and mountains of upstate New York. I had come so far; it almost seemed unreal. Soon I would meet my real father; soon the missing part of my heart would be filled.

"You sure you don't want a peanut?" He held out the half-empty bag.

I took one just to be nice. "Thanks."

"You remind me of my daughter, Amy. She never liked peanuts too much, but her mother always made her take one to be polite."

I blushed.

"She's thirteen now and Peter's fifteen. Just think, those kids were only little when I last saw them."

"Have you talked to them over the years?" Suddenly I was intrigued with Bill's story, with his life. Who was this stranger sitting next to me?

"No, it didn't feel right. I hurt them so much."

"Oh." My gaze returned to my toes. I began etching my initials into my thigh with my fingernail.

"I miss them. It hurt not seeing them," Bill said after a few minutes. "I used to take Peter to baseball games. He loved them. He was the pitcher on his Little League team. I wonder if he still likes baseball."

I sat there imagining Bill sitting behind home plate, encouraging his son. The boy had scruffy red hair that poked out from underneath his cap. I saw Peter hit the ball and run to first base; I saw how proud Bill was with his boy.

"I'm scared about meeting my father," I said, looking down at the toenails that I had carefully painted in the hotel room the night before. "What if he doesn't like me? What if I don't like him?"

"Don't worry, Tara, it'll be okay. He's luck to have a daughter like ya." Bill put his grimy hand on my knee. This time I didn't wince.

I looked at him. "I guess," I said, shrugging.

Bill moved his hand. "Whatcha goin' to say to him when ya meet him?"

I had spent many hours wondering, asking myself that same question. Perhaps a 'Hi, Dad' would work, or maybe just a simple hello. I wondered if I would hug him or shake his hand.

"I don't know. I'm so mad at him. Why did he leave me? Why did he desert me? I don't even know who he is." I ran my fingers through my dirty blond hair.

"Maybe he only said good-bye because he cared. You know what I mean. He probably couldn't take care of ya back then."

I shrugged again. "I feel so deserted."

Bill looked at me. "Girl, ya gotta try to understand things. Everyone has a reason for doin' what they do. I only left my kids 'cause I didn't wanna hurt them. Emily, my ex-wife, hated me; she hated what I did; she hated seeing me. I didn't want my kids to hate me too. That's why I left them."

He looked away and I didn't say anything.

"I'm so worried Peter and Amy are gonna hate me. I just want them to be able to look beyond that. Yeah, I messed up, but everyone messes up."

I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sure they'll see how much you love them."

It was Bill's turn to shrug. "Maybe they will. I hope they will."

We didn't talk for a few minutes. Bill sipped on a bottle of water while I continued to stare out the window.

"Did you get remarried?" I asked.

"I couldn't. I hurt Emily and the kids enough. I couldn't hurt them like that again."

I nodded.

"I didn't even get to say good-bye to them," he whispered. "They left for school one day and I was gone before they got home. I left them a note, hoping and praying they'd understand."

We sat silent again for a few minutes. "My father never said good-bye either," I said. "Maybe he didn't, but today he gets to say hello."

We continued to talk for the remainder of the bus ride. I soon discovered that Amy had loved to swim and Peter was an honor roll student. Bill spoke proudly of his children's accomplishments. Bill knew he was missing something in his life and he wanted to get it back.

"Tara, promise me something."

"What's that, Bill?"

"Well, promise me you'll give your father a chance. I mean, I know he left ya and all when you were just a youngin, but he probably had his reasons. I pray my kids give me a second chance, that's the least you can do for your old man." Bill's eyes were glossy and his words were choked.

I looked at him. "I promise."

The bus arrived at my stop. I stood and shook off my nervousness. I straightened my khakis and ran my fingers over my sweater. "Bye, Bill," I said. "Thank you." I began to walk down the bus aisle. I turned and gave him a little wave. "Good luck with your kids."

"Bye, Tara."

I stepped off the bus. My eyes scanned the crowd for a face I would recognize; a face I had never seen before.

"Tara? Tara?"

Suddenly I turned. Standing beside me was a middle-aged man in a Royals t-shirt and jean shorts. His beard was beginning to gray, but his blue eyes sparkled with youth. That was him.

"Hi."

He looked at me. "Tara?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, my voice cracking.

"How was your trip?" He smiled.

I bit my lip. "It was...it was fine." I looked at my father. His fingers shook as they held the car keys. "So this is Nebraska?"

He nodded.

"Good," I said as a smile crept across my face. "It feels like home."

He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me for what seemed like forever. "Finally I have my baby back," he said.

I took his hand as we began to walk to his car. I knew my life had changed; I knew I had just turned the page in another chapter of my life. He paused beside a street vendor and made a purchase.

"Peanut?" he asked.

I smiled, taking a handful and shoving them into my mouth. "Thanks, Dad."

--buttons

Added 24 November 1998

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