I had been walking alongside the highway for almost forty minutes. It had been a relatively successful trip until this time. Every time I stuck my thumb out, it seems I had a ride within five minutes. They were mostly short rides. I preferred it that way. It felt to me the way I feel when I order a sampler item off a menu in a seafood restaurant. Rather than spend two and a half days talking to a truck driver from Chicago and looking at sound barrier walls along the interstate, I was able to meet local after local and see their world they way they did as they drove through it every day.
I enjoyed the time spent between rides. I immersed my self unapologetically in my ego, imagining the questions people had as they saw me standing there. I was clearly not a local. I was clearly not a bum. I inhaled the dusty smell of the roadside gravel. Nothing else smells like it or sounds like it as it is crunched under the soles of a walking man's boot. I felt like the king of the world. Nobody knew where I was except for people unaware of who I was. I was a thousand miles from home, with no time constraints to speak of and no need to adhere to any particular route. For me, this was heaven.
But today, things had begun to move along a little more slowly. I was getting more of "them". The lane changers, people finding it necessary to switch lanes as they passed. I suppose a Hollywood film, somewhere along the line, had made them aware of the importance of going to extreme measures to avoid being chopped into little pieces by a hitchhiker. Every once in awhile, one would reach across and lock the door of their passenger seat. This was smart. With such speed limitations as there are on highways, I could easily latch on to a passing car in my quest to cannibalize a random motorist.
Then, there were the signalers. Some would wave. Yes, it's so good to see them. Such friendliness helped restore my faith in mankind whenever I began to get that "stranded" feeling. Other gestures were less life affirming. It often amazed me to see how much information a driver might try to squeeze into a gesture.
A pointing finger, with a shrug, "I am only going a little further and then turning, my friend. Otherwise, I would gladly give you a ride. I am a very charitable soul, usually."
A woman throws her hands up and tilts her head with a sudden twitch, "I have to pick up the kids, the grocer was missing key ingredients I need for my salmon loaf and my husband is ignoring calls I make to him on his cellphone...and you want me to pick you up on a hot day and let the air conditioning out of the car?!?"
Sometimes a gesture wasn't necessary. Blue-collar workers in brand new trucks did not pass by because they are afraid of being assaulted by me. They passed because they worked hard for what they'd acquired, and they'd be damned if they were going to act as the enablers to some immoral hippie, slacker too lazy to get a job and buy a reliable, American made vehicle. My faith in humanity, on occasion, would plunge to all new lows. People refusing to make eye contact, children exercising a confidence never displayed except in the backseats of their parents' cars while on vacation.
On this particular day, as I stared through the clearing dust of some pranksters who'd pulled over just to see me run before speeding away, I was in particular need of something to restore my faith. I knew, in my brain, that it was just a matter of time. I needed more than the usual. Sometimes, a car full of girls would drive by. True to their natures, being in a group emboldened them. Girls in pairs would look. Every once in awhile, they might even wave. Women alone would never be so daring. But groups...that's where the ego boosting behaviour thrived. Whistles and mischievously flattering shouts and offers, none of which amounted to a sock full of gravel, were often just enough to maintain a little smile.
Today was different. I was overcome by too many discomforts at once. I'd awaken too early, after making camp too late. I'd run out of water and been afraid to use the water I'd used to bathe as drinking water. Gas station bathrooms offered hygiene, but I was not so courageous as to drink from such a place. I was hungry, and my money was serving no purpose, as I hadn't seen a food-serving establishment all morning. What's more, I was suddenly horny. Why not? What is a general sense of dissatisfaction if it is not multifaceted?
I was suddenly aware of the emptiness of the highway. I could see the heat rising from the pavement as I cast my eyes toward the horizon. There was no car in sight either behind or in front of me. I stood still. Cicadas and katydids were the only interruptions in the silence. A red winged blackbird settled on a power line and cocked its head to look down at me. I whistled at her and she returned the gesture. I felt relief as this melted my bad mood away. I knelt down in the gravel, allowing the discomfort of the stones on my knees to remind me of the blessing of a sensory existence. I bowed my head down to the gravel like a Muslim would during his daily prayers. I rested my lips on a large piece of gravel and inhaled the scent of the ground with both my nose and mouth, much as I would inhale the essence of a woman to whom I might get so close. I clutched the stone in my hand and stood. I kissed the stone and held it up for the blackbird to see. The moment was blessed, and I would hold onto the rock as if it were a talisman. I closed my eyes and turned my face up to the sun. The heat on my face washed over me, lending a seamless cohesion to the potpourri of other sensory input. It was time to start walking again.
Just as I had decided I would be content to walk for hours, I heard the familiar sound of tires peeling along the asphalt in the distance. For some reason, in wide-open spaces such as I'd found on this Arkansas highway, the sound of tires preceded the sound of an engine. I turned to confront the approaching car. As it appeared over the horizon, it was too far to even determine a colour. Then I saw it was blue. That felt right. It was a blue, Subaru wagon, as dusty as everything else I could see. A flash of long, red hair framed a pale, white, porcelain looking face. I made certain that my arm was extended confidently. I made eye contact, and it seemed we smiled simultaneously. I became aware that I'd snagged a ride just before the woman made a move to pull over.
She gauged her braking power adequately to pull up right alongside me and reached across to open the door. As I ducked into the wagon, saying my obligatory thank you, I noticed that she was stunning. She had freckles all over the bridge of her nose and a few peppering her cheeks. Her hair was a red cascade of tight little curls. She was probably a good five years older than my age of twenty-two, but I'm not sure how I could tell.
She smiled brightly and asked, "Where are you headed?"
"Further than you could possibly be going." was my reply. She began to talk. I was usually the talker, but she was off to go camping somewhere. Her husband was to meet her at a rendezvous point somewhere in southern Missouri. We talked about camping. I showed her my tent and we discussed the relative merits of different camping gear. She stopped speaking after she asked what sort of adventures I'd encountered. I didn't know where to start. I was too distracted by the possibilities toward which my mind would not stop steering me.
I swear I had only glanced. I have never been an ogler, but she was staring at my eyes at just the right moment. Her breasts were covered only by a thin layer of a white t-shirt. She was small breasted and was wearing no bra. In an instant, her nipples showing through the t-shirt had captured me. I broke my eyes away in an instant. When I looked up, she was staring directly into my eyes.
"My husband wants them enlarged."
