"Could you help me, please," she pleaded.

"What's up," I replied.

"I need a place to stay. Chuck's abusing me and I am through with him."

I heard myself say she could use the spare bedroom with the one bathroom.

"Oh Mike, you are a sweetie," she said.

Since her boyfriend was the one with a car (Tracey never had a car), I explained how to catch the bus to my place. "Fare is $1.50. Ask for a transfer when you board. I'm going to meet you at Military Crossroads," I told her, "Call me again when you're on the 12 heading towards 20th & Seaboard. Use the Indian Lakes Blvd exit from the apartment and catch the bus on the side of Indian Lakes Blvd heading towards Ferrell Parkway. Be waiting no later than 5:45 PM since that's when the last one leaves Community College of Hampton Roads. It's always :45 past the hour for your bus."

Tracey was lucky to catch the last 12 out of Kemps River at 6:15, since it was a bit of a walk from her place to the bus stop (don't forget the bad weather).

"I'm on the 12 to Seaboard now," Tracey phoned. It was 6:10 PM.

"Here's what you need to do: take this bus to Military Hwy. Simply let the driver know you're new to the buses and you want to head to Military Crossroads. I'm already there waiting for you and you should be there by 6:45."

Tracey replied, "OK. 6:45 Military Crossroads. By the way, I caught the last bus symbolically to say that I'm through with him. He's not sorry he slapped me."

I finished, "I see. I'll give further instructions when you meet me here at Military Crossroads."

I was waiting at the Military Crossroads bus shelter when my 23 pulled up. "You don't normally go to Best Square," the operator called out as I wheeled to the door. It was Killerbrew, one of my regular drivers who knew me well.

"When you get back from Best Square, please prepare yourself for a 10-16 going to General," I replied. "Feel free to make a call on the radio to let other drivers know you need room. Also, you might want to ask Dispatch for a bus replacement," I added. The bus was a hunk of junk (TWT vehicle number 937, one of the problematic ones). I grumbled knowing full well the poor restraints of this bus. I also knew that I've had many problems with 937's restraints not working right

As the 23 left for Best Square, around 6:30, I called Tracey again. "You should be on the 15 Naval Base or it should be there in a moment."

Tracey answered, "the 15 is pulling up now."

I finished, "I should be seeing you in about 15 minutes or less. Your bus is usually the first one to the Circle and often arrives early."

As expected, the 15 Naval Base was first. The driver, Jimmy, knew me and said, "I heard the message from the 23 and we know you're here. By the way, I never knew you have a sister!" He then turned towards the back of the bus calling out, "Tracey Kinderheart, please come to the front door. Your brother is waiting for you." When she exited the bus, she had only basics, such as an extra pair of clothes, her small movie collection (about 5 DVDs), and her laptop (this is about all she could carry in a rolling backpack and a standard backpack). I hugged her since she was trembling fearfully and she was seeking comfort. That's when I caught a message over the radio: "Dispatch to the buses due at Military Crossroads: There is a 10-16 waiting for the inbound 23. Please allow room for her." I then heard several replies of "10-4." As several buses came in, the next one was the outbound 20 (that is, the 20 Virginia Beach Blvd heading to 19th & Pacific), they left a spot for the 23 to pick me up at the shelters.

When Killerbrew returned with the 23, this time going to the Hospital, she exclaimed, "who's this with you?" I was hugging Tracey at the time Killerbrew opened the doors.

With a smirk on my face, I replied, "Killerbrew, meet my twin sister, Tracey. She rides free on your bus!" Tracey looked at me confused. "You might want to explain TWT policy to my sister," I said to Killerbrew.

Tracey turned to Killerbrew, who explained, "You're brother's in a wheelchair. We charge him 75 cents to ride, or since he has a 30-Day pass, $35 a month. Since you're assisting him, you get to ride free!" Killerbrew continued (calling onto the bus radio), "2321 to Dispatch: I'm picking up a 10-16 at Military Crossroads. Route 23 inbound." Dispatch replied with "10-4." Killerbrew continued chatting with us (as she operated the wheelchair lift to board me), "So, what brings Tracey out here? I've never seen her on the bus."

I replied, with my expression and tone turning from joking to serious, "All laughter aside now, her boyfriend assaulted her. She's going to be living with me now." I went back to my joking voice and continued, "Yes, this means we need the outbound 2 at the Hospital. Yes, I know it's going to be late as usual." Tracey boarded the bus, and I instructed Killerbrew, "this is Tracey's first time on the bus. She needs to be taught how to strap in a 10-16. I think she should earn her free ride."

With that, Killerbrew said to Tracey, "I'm going to show you how to hook your brother onto the bus. Please pay attention or your brother says I should charge you to ride. Step one, the wheel lock, is already complete. See how his chair is locked in the back?" Of course Tracey rode the 23 free anyways since she had a valid Transfer.

Tracey answered, "Yes, I do."

Killerbrew continued, "Next, we tie down his other wheel. See this red belt? Simply hook it around a part of his chair frame, like this," as Killerbrew hooked on the red belt.

"Last, but not least, Don't forget my seatbelt. Killerbrew, you might want to call Dispatch and get a replacement bus," I added. I looked at a baffled Tracey and continued, "937, like most of TWT's 900 series hunks of crap, really need to be replaced because of problematic restraints, especially problems with the lap belt."

I then handed my sister the hook and Killerbrew handed Tracey the buckle, "with this seatbelt on, your brother is now properly restrained on the bus. He rides so often that he teaches us how to properly use the restraints." For once, the restrained system on a 900 worked like it should.

Killerbrew got back into the cockpit and stowed the lift. "I'll still call for the outbound 2 even though we all know how late it will be," Killerbrew told us.

Tracey looked at me confused. I answered, "Killerbrew used to drive run 281 and she knows, as all of us Hampton Blvd riders know, that at this time of the day, the 2 is always late."

Killerbrew added, "the 2 is never on time!"

Which I replied, "very true."

Killerbrew then continued, "onto other things, why did you not tell me you have a sister?"

I smirked, "she never rode an TWT bus before today. For a couple of weeks she lived all the way out on the 12 near Kemps River Drive. She caught a bus the first time ever today on Indian Lakes Blvd." We started to pull out of Military Crossroads, right on schedule at 6:48. Although there were several requests for Crossroads buses to hold (the inbound 20, running very late as always, was calling the outbound 15 right on cue and that 15 told the 20 to drop off passengers by Nova's, but (as usual) no one wanted the 23).

As we got closer to Monticello, I yelled out, "does anyone need the 1 or 3?"

I hear a loud "Wards Corner" from the back of the bus. I also heard "Evelyn Butts."

We got closer to the Hospital and Killerbrew called for our outbound 2, "If there's an outbound 2 at General, please hold for this 23 coming to you with transfers. I also have a 10-16 for you."

Over the radio, I heard, "This is the outbound 2. I'm at Colonial and Olney and I have transfers for you as well, 10-4?" Killerbrew replied with a 10-4.

When we got to the hospital, we said our goodbyes to Killerbrew as we prepared to transfer to Route 2. The ride on the 2 (Run 282) was uneventful and we got to my place safely.

The first night, I let Tracey share the bed with me because she was very frightened (not even Killerbrew could cheer her up, as much as it seemed like it) and wanted to be comforted. She specifically begged me to let her sleep at my side (if only you could see how badly she was trembling in fear of her now-ex boyfriend Chuck, you'd gladly let your sister share a bed with you for comforting). Sorry perverts, nothing happened. The most we did was hug and cuddle. She was that frightened.

She was calmer, and not trembling, by morning. By morning, the Nor'easter finally cleared, so I gave her $15 in quarters for bus fare, explaining that this is enough for ten rides, and schedules of my local buses, Routes 2, 4, 23, and 44.

After that, she stayed mostly out of sight for the first couple of days… I wondered where she went because she didn’t arrive home until after I was asleep. I discovered later that she was afraid I would think she was in the way. She stayed in bed, in the morning, until I left and then she went to the library or a movie in the evening. If she thought it too early to arrive at the condo she would head to the nearby mini store until she was sure I’d be asleep. She caught a nasty cold being out on winter nights. The cold became pneumonia.

One evening, her coughing kept me from falling sleep. It was a deep, chesty, barking cough. Right in the lungs. Hell, I thought, she’s not going to make it through the night with that cough. I dressed and knocked on her door. She opened it and one look was enough to prompt me to say: "Come on, we are going to emergency room to see a doctor." She didn’t argue (she was so sick that she couldn't argue even if she wanted to).

Turned out it was Linda, another driver who knows me well, who got to take us to the hospital. "281, your 10-16 wants to go to the Hospital," I called out. Tracey's face said it all, either get us to the hospital or she'll 10-24 (puke) right then and there. My sister was feeling that sick and she was still coughing up a storm.

After a few hours of (mainly waiting for) treatment, the doctor told me to confine her to bed for 10 days, make sure she took her antibiotic and keep her inside until the weather warmed. We stayed overnight at the hospital (since we got there around 10 PM and the buses were done for the night by the time they were ready to release her). That day we slept till noon (we were on the first bus home at 5:00 AM). Around then, I arose, made cereal with milk, poured some orange juice, got her antibiotics, put the whole works on a tray and went to her room. She looked bad. Her temperature was up, she was wet with perspiration and she was incoherent when I spoke to her-this was one sick woman. With me physically feeding her, she took her medication, drank the orange juice and went to sleep. I refused to leave her side and I sat in my wheelchair right next to her. I climbed onto the bed when she appeared to try and hug me (turned out, when I climbed onto the bed, that Tracey did want to hug me even though she was so weak she could barely move).

I phoned my own doctor for advice. He said, give her aspirin, all the fluids she could drink and have someone give her an alcohol rub to bring her temperature down.

So there I was, in her room, with a bottle of methyl-alcohol, wondering where to begin. I poured some on the washcloth and proceeded to gently pat her forehead, cheeks and neck.

"Oh, that feels so cool," she said.

Relieved to hear that she was coherent, I replied: "DR. Young’s orders are aspirins and alcohol rubs till the temperature is normal."

A couple of hours her temperature was still 104.5. I told her I’d have to use the alcohol again. To my surprise, she sat up and undid the buttons on her pajama top. In response to my surprised look she sighed and with resignation written all over her face, said: "If you are going to give me an alcohol rub then you must cover enough skin area to be effective."

I protested that I wasn’t a pervert. I wasn’t into lusting after my own sister. I finished by saying I’d be embarrassed to rub her bosom.

Tracey gave me a tired, sick look and said: "Oh, for heavens’ sake Mike. I’m too sick for this nonsense. I’m too sick for lust or sex or anything else. My temperature is at least 104. I need to bring it down. Close your eyes if you have to but give me an alcohol rub. You are my brother, for Pete’s sake."

That’s exactly what I did. I closed my eyes and said to her: "Okay, take off your top and I’ll keep my eyes closed." She wasn’t too sick to laugh out loud.

"Keep your eyes open so you can see what you're doing! It's not like you haven't seen my boobs before," she laughed.

I gently patted her chest, yes her breasts, with the alcohol soaked cloth and I guess I lingered longer than I should have. When I had finished with her front she rolled on to her stomach and I rubbed her shoulders and slowly worked my way to her lower back. As I finished, she sighed contentedly and her slow even breathing told me she was asleep. When I took her temperature a couple of hours later it had fallen to 100. I was mightily relieved. Tracey recovered as the days passed. She kept her pajama tops (and bottoms for that matter) on and I kept a respectful distance. Since she was feeling better, I told her that she didn't need to hide from me.

Now bear in mind that I did all of this while using an electric wheelchair (not a scooter or a power chair, but the kind that looks like a standard wheelchair). Yes, my place was made fully accessible for me when our mother first bought it for investment reasons (I got to stay there rent-free, I just had to cough up a portion of utilities).

The good news for her things was that she didn't bring much when she lived with Chuck. Her things were at our mother's place, a short 10 minutes bus ride away. This meant that we didn't have to go to Chuck's place, which really helped since he's still unremorseful for assaulting my sister. I invited Tracey to live with me, and she more than happily accepted my offer.