I took a few more steps away from the highway. Nobody would pick me up in this mess. They couldn’t even see me.
My feet kept going out of sheer will. I could make out something ahead, some sort of low billboard. I hadn’t seen a gas station or another building in a couple miles, so I couldn’t really backtrack. Maybe that sign could at least give me a wind break until whatever was going on settled.
For the first time since I left my hometown of Chattanooga, Tennessee, I questioned my decision to quit my dead-end job and take off across the country playing for tips anywhere that would take me.
I’d been doing all right, but this was definitely a low point.
The sign loomed ahead, but the wind was slowing down a little, so I plunged on. I started to worry that maybe I didn’t have enough water to last me however long it might take to catch a ride.
This was the hardest stretch of the journey. I left Vegas three hours ago and was aiming for LA. Getting to the ocean sounded like a fitting end to these months of living by the seat of my pants. Once I got there, I’d have to figure out what I was doing next.
I definitely didn’t look forward to that.
Headlights pierced the dusty gloom. I shifted my guitar case to my right hand and held up my left. I doubted they could even see me, but it was worth a shot.
The car blew past me, just as I figured, but then the world turned red as brake lights lit up the haze. It was stopping.
I hotfooted it up to the car, an aging boat-sized Buick with half the paint sandblasted off from driving through the desert.
This was the trickiest part of hitchhiking, seeing who was picking you up, figuring out their motives, deciding if you were safe.
The lock popped up and I opened the passenger door and bent down to peer inside.
My whole body relaxed as a grandmotherly woman gazed over at me, her silver hair tied back. She reminded me of Gram. “Hello, ma’am,” I said.
“Well, don’t let the whole desert in, boy,” she said in a smooth friendly voice. “Get yourself settled.”
I opened the back door and shoved my guitar case on the seat. The car was immaculate inside, and I winced a little to see all the sand spilling across the green vinyl.
“Nothing a hand-vac won’t handle,” the woman said. “Come on. I want to get out of this sandstorm.”
I jumped back into the front and yanked the door closed. “Much obliged,” I said.
The woman dropped the gearshift into drive and stomped on the gas. We zoomed forward, and I fumbled for the seat belt.
She laughed as I shoved the silver buckle into its slot. “Don’t worry about me. Been driving some fifty-five years and never an accident yet.”
I watched her strong wrinkled hands turn the wheel. She wore a cranberry paisley dress and sturdy brown shoes. But a pink ribbon was tied through her hair, ending in a big bow just above her ear. It held just enough dash to make her seem like a much younger woman.
“I like your bow,” I said.
She cupped her hand over it. “No reason not to put on a few little pretties, even at my age.” She gave me a wink. “You never know when a handsome beau is going to turn up.”
I laughed a little.
“Where are you headed, young man?”
“LA,” I said. “Though any distance you can take me, I’d appreciate.”
“I’m only going as far as San Bernardino,” she said. “But that’ll get you past the desert anyway. You could bus in from there easy.”
“That’s great, thanks,” I told her and settled back against the seat. The car was roomy and cool, a relief after the dust outside. “These storms happen often?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I see one every few runs to Vegas.” She peered out the window. “That where you’re coming from?”
“I did a stint there,” I said. “Sang in a little cafe on the west side.”
“So you’re a singer,” she said. “Planning to change the world in LA? Be a big star?” Her voice held no hint of derision or amusement. Just a plain question.
“No, ma’am. Just going to play around town a little, figure out what’s next.”
“So you’ve been doing this a while?”
“Started off in Tennessee, been thumbing it for five months.”
“You got family back home?”
My jaw tensed over that question. “Not really.”
She nodded, leaning into the steering wheel to stare at the haze. “Sure is a good ’un out there. A boy could get lost in that.”
“I appreciate you stopping for me.”
She glanced over at me and smiled. “Gotta help a boy live his dream.”
We sat in companionable silence for a bit, and I relaxed. I was lucky she had picked me up, as the storm blasted us for twenty more miles.
Hopefully my luck would hold out in California.
~*′`*~