No one likes goodbyes. Ilsa couldn’t believe that Rick just popped her onto that plane with a blandly spoken “here’s looking at you, kid”, and the world stuttered and stopped breathing for a minute when we heard that Robin Williams would no longer be here to make us laugh. Goodbyes are the WORST. In real life, goodbyes aren’t nearly as poetic or or well scripted as those in books or movies, but they can hurt even more.
An open letter to the Jackson Greyhound Bus Terminal:
Dear Bus Station,
Thanks for rekindling some pretty sad memories for me. About 10 years ago I was standing on a platform at some tiny, unnamed train station outside of Stockholm, and I said goodbye to a dear friend. I didn’t know if I would ever see her again, I mean after all- the Atlantic is on the bigger side. We cried. I ran alongside the train as it left the station, and for the first time in my young mind, I realized that it was possible to cross paths with someone only one or two times in your whole life. Would that be us? Would I ever see my friend again? It was a pretty hopeless farewell.
Ok, stop crying. I saw her a few years later. A brief visit to the U.S. to see us, then back to the grey skies of Sweden, and once again, I was left wondering if that was it. Saying goodbye to my friend was becoming a far too regular occurrence.
Here’s where you come in, Greyhound station. It’s 2014 and my teenage wonder at the world and it’s workings has dissipated a bit. My dear friend returns to the states, and we spend a lovely day together, catching up (she’s finished medical school! I have my dream job!), and realizing that distance has made the heart grow fonder. At the end of her brief stay in Jackson, my husband and myself drive her to the bus station late in the evening. She’s taking the Greyhound to Nashville to connect with other friends who have missed her and wondered if they would ever see her again.
Here’s the thing, I was sad, but this time I wasn’t heartbroken. I hugged her and watched with a bit of envy as she shouldered her backpack and boarded the bus. We waved, smiling and calling out farewells and “we’ll keep in touch!” before turning our backs on the mass of people waiting to board and walked away. It was a quiet ride home that night, and I wondered how many people had said goodbye that day.
Greyhound station, you are like a crush in the 6th grade: heartbreaking and full of hope. You force goodbyes, and you bring the giddy flutter of a hello. So I guess as an ammendum to my bitter start to this letter:
Dear Bus Station,
Thanks for bringing my friend back to me, and thanks for providing a road for her to continue on when it’s time for her to leave. I hope I see her again soon.
Love,
Hannah
Jackson: photographs by Ken Murphy is available now for purchase. To order a copy, call Lemuria Books at 601.366.7619 or visit us online at lemuriabooks.com.
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