The Slob Monster of Stubble Stone Creek

Vonda Norwood

Chapter One

Twin headlights from a Greyhound bus carved a narrow path through the Kansas darkness. Its engine’s steady growl vibrated up through the floorboards, and settled deep into Maria’s bones. Around her, the windows mirrored ghost-like reflections of half-seen faces. The smell of fast-food wrappers mingled with the sting of diesel fuel. Under a weak, yellow haze from overhead lights, passengers slumped against high-back seats. Some slept with slack faces, while others stared ahead with hollow eyes.

In the very back row, Maria sat stiff. Her fingertips gripped each cool, vinyl armrest. She stared directly across the aisle at a young woman who clutched an infant to her chest. The mother’s eyes were closed, her breathing slow and deep, while the baby’s small, bald head bounced softly beneath her chin.

Ruben leaned into Maria’s shoulder, his breath warm against her ear. He whispered in Spanish, “Have you gone broody?”

Maria slid her knees toward the crisp ridge she had ironed into his brown slacks just yesterday. Pressing her temple gently against his forehead, she matched his quiet tone. “Why did I marry a crazy man?”

Ruben grinned. “It’s what crazy women do. Stop staring.”

His sweaty brow warmed her skin. A chill raced down her spine. “I’m—”

“You need to rest.” Ruben reared his head and he gazed down into her brown eyes. “This is a long trip, Baby. If you don’t rest, I don’t rest.”

Maria glanced around quickly. Then brought her lips to his ear. “There are a lot of weird people on this bus.”

He cupped her smooth, cold hands. “You’re the only one I see acting like a weirdo.”

“What?” She pulled her hands from his clutch. “I’m just watching out f—”

Directly behind them, the bathroom door snapped open. A lanky man burst into the aisle, and exuded an acrid stench of urine and motor oil. He’d been in there so long that Maria forgot anyone had gone into the latrine. She winced and squinted upward. The towering, skeletal figure yanked the door handle until it closed with a sharp, final click.

Maria’s eyes watered. She bowed her head and blinked rapidly. Beside her, Ruben leaned forward and held his breath.

That violator of the senses twirled toward the aisle. Behind tightly closed lips, he coughed violently, and stumbled into the side of Maria’s chair. Then he bounced into the side of the seat where the young mother and baby slept.

The baby’s head popped up. The young mother gasped, cradling the infant closer and pivoting toward the empty window seat.

Maria rotated her denim-skirt-covered knees toward the aisle. No matter how much she blinked, the yellow haze masked the full view of the stranger’s face. Still coughing, he paused and he stretched a grimy, red-freckled arm toward the pink blanket draped over the young mother’s back.

Maria’s eyes grew wide, her nostril flared. She shot her hand up and placed her open palm between the stranger’s dirty fingers and the woman’s back.

Ruben hopped to his feet. The cougher whipped around and stumbled up the aisle. A sharp cry from the baby cut through many grumbles.

Staring into the yellow haze, Ruben lowered himself to his seat. Maria faced him. He nodded and pointed toward the aisle, motioning for her to switch places with him.

***

After settling into Maria’s seat, Ruben looked across the aisle. The young woman swayed her quieted baby to the steady, rhythmic jolts of the bus. A faint, powdery scent of milk wafted through the air. The young mother spotted Ruben staring. He smiled. She glanced away, clutching her child firmly.

Ruben shifted to face forward and he cleared his throat.

Maria reached over. She patted his knee, and whispered in Spanish, “I told you?”