The instant David set foot aboard the Greyhound bus, he knew. The eleven hours ahead would not be pleasant.

A subtle pulse had already developed behind his left eye. If he struck back now, perhaps he could reduce the inevitable pain.

The bus was nearly empty. David shuffled along the darkened aisle and found a pair of empty seats near the back. He scooted in next to the window and deposited his backpack on the accompanying seat. Hands shaking, he unzipped an outer pocket and withdrew a small pill box. David popped open the lid and flipped the open box over onto his cupped palm. Three white tablets bounced into his hand.

This is a three-alarm migraine.

David dispatched the three tables tablets, chasing them down with a gulp from his water bottle. Then, he reclined his chair, tilted his head toward the window and closed his watering eyes. As the bus continued to fill, the pulse behind his left eye heralded each new arrival with a fresh jab of pain.

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David was thirteen.

A few years ago, he had thought thirteen would be a magical time. Now that it had arrived, it wasn’t such a big deal.

In David’s family, when you hit the Big One-Three you were ready for the Bus. This was a solo trek to the next province to see Grandad for the famous You’re-Thirteen Camping Trip. Both of his brothers and several cousins had already engaged in this one-on-one ritual with Grandad. You got to finally see the Secret Fishing Gear in Grandad’s Secret Study. There was the Secret Campsite and the Secret Songs. This had all been a great mystery for David when he had been ten years old. But now? Get real!

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David’s eyes fluttered open. How long had he been asleep? Two minutes? Two hours? A loud buzz seemed to emanate from between his ears.

His eyes drifted to the adjacent window. A ghosted face turned toward him. Someone must have taken up residence in the neighbouring seat. From the image, David guessed he was a boy about his own age. His hair was shoulder-length, matted. The boy smiled at David.

David let his eyes fall shut. He was in no condition to carry on a conversation. The buzzing had grown louder. The pain behind his left eye had intensified. David imagined his optic nerve tied into a knot. He hoped the codeine would help him dissociate from the pain.

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You seemed to come home different from your Trip. After Alex’s Trip, five years ago, David was sure his brother was taller. Taller. Two years later, Donnie had his Trip. Somehow, in that week, his brother learned Fur Elise on the piano. At camp? And did Donnie even know what a piano was before that?

David would prod his brothers, hoping one of them would reveal the Great Grandad Secrets. Nope. David would have to find out on his own. Alex and Donnie would then nudge each other and exchange a few unintelligible words. They did that a lot since Donnie’s Trip. It was like they had their own language.

A few months ago, David began to dread the upcoming Trip. His headaches had been getting worse. Usually, they were accompanied by flashing lights, the faceless grin of a Cheshire Cat. The prescriptions were getting stronger. A well-timed dose could still hold the pain at bay.

But the risk of headache wasn’t what worried him.

Grandad had had a stroke last year. Now he sat all day in a wheelchair and hardly said anything. There wouldn’t be Secret Songs or a Secret Campsite. It would be just David and Grandad and Nana in the little house by the lake. The neighbour ladies will come by for tea and remark how much David had grown.

David knew he would spend the whole week sitting at the kitchen table eating Nana’s donuts. (Somehow, they always tasted stale, even fresh out of the oven.) He and Grandad would eye each other awkwardly and David would have to hold up both ends of a conversation.

After Grandad’s stroke last fall, David hadn’t known what to expect. He hadn’t anticipated Nana’s phone call during Christmas. She and Grandad were looking forward to David’s visit the following summer. He was still planning to come, wasn’t he?

How could David not go? The You’re-Thirteen excursion to Nana and Grandad’s has been a tradition in his family forever. Not just for his brothers, but for his cousins as well. It was a rite of passage.

At least David can uphold tradition. But the mystique around the Trip is gone now. It’s not like David will get taller or learn piano. Or learn a new language.

Right?

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“Is this seat taken?”

More time had passed. Outside the window, lights drifted and turned in the darkness, like a swarm of fairies. The matted-haired boy was still there, grinning among them. The bus was moving.

“Hello?”

David blinked. He turned toward the aisle. A figure stood in the aisle, gesturing toward the seat next to him. His backpack was still there. He straightened up and pulled it onto his lap.

“I don’t think so,” he said, having processed her original question.

She sat down next to him. “Thanks,” she said.

David glanced at her. She was older, maybe 20 or 25. “No problem.”

The buzzing between his ears had stopped and the pain had retreated. For now. David still didn’t feel like chatting. Migraines always left him drained.

David turned his head away from his new neighbour, back toward the window. He gave his gaze permission to wander toward the outer darkness, beyond the fairy lights.

His new companion was there now, also in the window. Her face turned up. She reached over her head for the light above her seat.

Click.

Darkness.

David’s eyes widened. The boy with the matted hair had returned. He flashed a toothy grin from the other side of the glass. David turned toward the interior of the bus. The young lady was still sitting next to him. She smiled.

Somehow, David knew the ghostly visage, still in the window inches away, was laughing silently.

The Trip had begun.