This story is copyrighted to Adrienne Wolter in 2004 and onwards. It was written on Thursday, July 15th, 2004.

This story is NOT autobiographical.
The young man and woman's names are purposely never fully revealed. This could be considered the sequel to Warmth, but stands alone just as nicely.

Million Shades of Grey

"You know," he said, fingering his chin and looking out the bus window, "You never told me where you're going." Glancing over at me, he grinned.
We'd met at the station. I'd been waiting, pondering, wondering what I was going to do, where I was going to go. The two buses that I had been considering both had left half an hour ago, and of the two, after all my considering, I'd decided on this one. Somehow, from how I kept my last check to how I actually came to the station with all the belongings I needed, I knew - knew I'd end up on this bus, going south, going away. No more Vermont for me. After all the time I spent in indecision, I spent about five seconds deciding to go with this young man whom I'd never met.
Winter swirled outside the window where he'd been looking. Always snow - never a winter without it. I'd been frozen, locked into this place for seventeen years, always pressured to do better but never quite reaching perfection like my mother so desired. She built her life around the ideal, and found her doom in such; she's sick at home and I'm here, in my newfound freedom, unsure what I'd do now.

"I don't know where," I told him, grinning back, even though this statement made me feel more nervous than I tried to appear. Everything was built on a schedule, a list, there's always a right and wrong way to do something. But is there really such a fine difference between some things? I mean, there's the stupid, the bad, and the wrong, but nothing is every really black and white. Wrecking a car? Bad. Robbing the bank? Stupid. Killing someone? Wrong.
But even though there's only one white and one black, there are a million shades of grey.
"Another runaway?"
My head had sunk downwards as I thought, and at this question I looked up quite sharply, regretting it as I kinked my neck. Rubbing the worst spot, I continued to watch him, eyes begging for explanation as he continued to grin. Finally, I had to say something.
"How'd you know?"
The hand went back to the chin a moment, considering. "The way you were so intent on going through your pockets earlier. Seeing what you had? And it was a guess, you know. I did the same thing."

I nodded, slightly impressed. Guessing. Something I've been punished for in the past that I could do now, I supposed.
We skirted around the topic from there on. Talked about people, never mentioning names but always able to relate. It was a long trip - several days long. We talked and slept, kept one another company. In that period of time we gradually came to understand, without saying a word, that we'd stay in it together. At each stop, one of us would ask, "Here?" and the other would say all they knew about the location. We finally left the bus and decided on a small town, and from there we came to live, always a challenge when you're hiding from those who may know who you are.
It was that bus ride that made sure I didn't lose faith in people. There will always be your good, bad, crazy, or weird people - but they're not all out to make every last day a nightmare.
I guess it took meeting him to realize that.