Hitchhiker

Driving down the long windy road in the dead of night, my thoughts race through my mind like a stampede in the African wilderness. Uncontrolled, unintellectual, and downright crazy has taken over my normally well-organized head.

An arm around my shoulder means my semi-drunk boyfriend has decided that he is sober enough to drive one handed. I nuzzle my head against his shoulder, not bothering an attempt at sleep. Moving vehicles never quite did it for me, and even so, my wild thoughts have trampled most of my tiredness to the ground.

“How much longer, dork?” he yawns, blinking rapidly. I pinch his arm. That startles him and he flips his head in my direction. “Whadju do that for, fuckhead?”

I smile sheepishly. “You looked tired.”

“Tired of you.” he mutters, eyes back on the road.

“Hahaha. You’re quite the comedian, you know that?” I reply caustically.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m concentrating, asshole.” his hand is off my shoulder and has resumed its perch on the steering wheel, glowing melaninlessly in the selenatic light.

I wonder where all the blood went, because it sure isn’t his brain.

“Three hours and forty-three, no forty-eight minutes left.” I answer his previous from the nav system.

He groans. “How does it take longer? We’re moving closer, aren’t we?” I shrug. When Holden gets worked up about something, nothing you say or do is going to make any difference. “I mean, it literally makes no sense. The time should always drop. Except if there’s traffic or something. If there’s traffic it makes sense, but we are the only fucking people on this road! Next time we get invited to a party at a Marne’s—“ I shush him.

“Not the only people.”

A hitchhiker stands all alone on the side of the road, thumb jutting out, staring hopefully into our windshield.

What do you mean?” Holden asks, confused by my cryptic manner.

The hitchhiker steps into the middle of the street.

“Watch out!” I shriek. Holden swerves off the street. I can’t focus on anything other than the rapidness of my breath, and the contraction of my lungs as I struggle for air.

The car flips. We land sideways in a ditch. My heart is pounding. I can feel the blood sloshing around near my encephalon.

“Holden! Holden! Are you all right! Holden! Answer me! Please, dear god!” I yell frantically. He can’t be dead. I don’t allow it.

“Dean.” He says in a gravely voice. “Dean, my legs.” I start to gasp frantically, lungs be damned. He’s alive!

Seemingly out of nowhere, the whole world tilts and the car has all four feet on the ground. I take in my surroundings. My nose is bleeding from an airbag explosion, but other than that I’m fine.

I can’t say the same for Holden. I had my legs tucked up on the seat when we crashed, but he was driving. The hood has crushed his legs, his right arm is bent like a Gumby toy, and his temple is dripping a steady stream of crimson blood.

I hear a tapping on the window and squint through the shattered glass.

“Are you all right?” The figure asks.

The hitchhiker.

“Help us! Please! He’s stuck!” I call through the window.

The man grabs the handle, and attempts to wrench the door open. Holden lets out a whimper. I try to move my hand from where it is pinned to my side, and pat his good arm lightly.

“We’ll be all right, baby, just hang in there.”

The hitchhiker wrenches the door open, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I remove my hand from Holden’s arm and unbuckle myself. I slide out of the car and onto the hard-packed dirt of the ditch beside the road. The hand that helps me up is rough and calloused that belongs to a wiry man in his early thirties. He has his unruly black hair swept back in a red bandanna. His gaunt face stares me down, and I squeeze my eyes shut, grateful for the momentary lapse of reality.

“Thanks.” I breathe, still trying to comprehend what happened.

“No problem, kid. Is your brother all right? It’s too bad about your car. Normally people just stop, though.” I’m so flustered I don’t even bother to correct his mistake.

“His legs are smashed, his arm’s all twisted, and he’s bleeding a lot. I think he needs some serious help.” I’m so worried right now; I think I’m going to cry.

“Okay.” the hitchhiker says, even though it is so not okay.

“Be a man, Dean.” I mutter to myself. “You’re an adult now. Pull it together.”

If the hitchhiker heard anything, he ignores it. He yanks on the door, trying to force it open.

“Stuck.” He reports back to me. I inwardly roll my eyes.

“We should call 911. He needs help.” My eyes itch, and my chin trembles violently.

“We do not call the authorities. No.” His finality scares me a little.

Why? I don’t ask. Maybe he had a bad experience.

“Help me, would you?” He continues to pummel the door to no avail.

I gravitate towards the car. I’m scared. We’re hours away from the nearest town. Holden might not make it. We’ve been dating for two and a half years, and I’m not ready to lose him just yet.

“Got it.” I rush over to Holden.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, trying not to shake him too hard.

“Do I look okay, asshat? I’m dying!” Even wounded, my Holden has all the charm of a hermit witch.

“Jesus. I’m scared all right!” I’ve given in to the sweet release of melancholy. Tears begin to stream down my face in rapid succession “We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, and you’re dying!”

“Dean, don’t fucking cry! I am not dying! I just feel like someone ran me over with a tractor and fed me to stray cats!” He called me Dean. This is the third time in the past five minutes. He never calls me Dean. It’s always dork or baby or fuckhead or asshole or something like that. Holden doesn’t really believe in calling people by their given names.

“I’m not trying to! Do you think I want to cry?”

Drops of bloody tears fall onto my shirt as I choke back messy sobs.

“I don’t think we should move him. If he broke his back, it might paralyze him.” The hitchhiker breaks in. I almost forgot he was there.

“Paralyzed?” Holden exclaims. “Call the fucking hospital or something! I need to be able to play lacrosse for my scholarship! If I get booted off the team cause I’m hurt, I could get kicked out of school!”

“No!” The hitchhiker yells. “No way! I don’t care. No police.”

“Are you a criminal or something? What’s your problem? You caused him to crash, and when he gets hurt, you refuse to call for help. Why? He’s in pain!” I’m verging on hysteria.

“A criminal? Do I look like I would break the law?” He does look awfully suspicious, once I think about it. His eyes are red and bloodshot, his clothes are in tatters, and he’s got an air of irascibility about him. Then Holden decides he wants to be an idiot.

“Hitchhiking is illegal in Nevada.” He coughs, bringing up some blood. The hitchhiker turns to face him.

“You—“

“Enough!” I command. “I’m calling 911. If you want, we can say that you were riding with us, but we are calling the authorities and nothing you do or say is going to stop me.”

“Atta boy.” Holden mutters with a smile.

“Fine.” The hitchhiker mumbles. “Do it. Get a man in trouble. I could get arrested, but that’s fine.”

“I’m glad you’re okay with it.” I say, ignoring the sarcasm. “That makes me feel so much better.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket. The screen is shattered. I press the home button. Nothing.

“Holden, give me your phone.”

“On it, boss.” He answers with a smirk.

“Shut up.” I say sweetly. The blue glow of the LCD lights the dusky sky with mystique. I hit the call button, and type in 911. Just as I’m about to hit enter, I discover the lack of signal.

“No reception.”

“What?” Holden cries. “Isn’t it supposed to go through anyway?”

“How?” The hitchhiker spits. “On magic waves? I told you it was a bad idea.”

I toss him a dirty look. We need to get Holden to a hospital as quick as possible.

“We need to try and get there. I doubt the car still works, but we need to try. Hey, could you tell us your name so that I know what to call you?”

“Oh yeah. Um… Greg.” I nod sceptically.

“Okay. I’m Dean, and this is my boyfriend, Holden.”

His face reveals his complete disgust.

“You’re a fag?” He spits. His revulsion leaves a sick feeling burrowing in the corner of my stomach.

“I prefer the term gay.” Holden says, barely audible. I’m getting worried. “But yeah. It’s the twenty first century pal. If you got a problem, you can get the fuck out of here—“

He starts to choke. I rush over to him, and rub his shoulder. The choking becomes less worrisome, and more cough-like, until it stops completely.

“You’re going to be all right, baby, okay. Don’t give up now.” I give him a light kiss, and he winces.

“Ouch.”

Greg makes a face. I ignore him.

“We need to get you out of here. I want to see if we can get the car to work.”

“Good luck with that.” Greg says with remarkable disdain. I ignore him again, but he really is starting to get on my nerves.

“Just put it into neutral.” Holden stammers, trying to hold back a cough.

“Genius.” I mumble. “Move so I can reach the gear.”

He leans a bit so I can get my hand into the car. I just barely miss it.

“Try going through the other side, asshat.” Holden looks at me like I’m the most vacuous person he knows.

“Well I’m sorry.” I snipe at him, unaware that answer was so blatants. Then Holden’s usual demeanour takes a complete about-face.

“Look, baby, I’m sorry okay? I’m just scared.” I gape at him. “Don’t look so surprised! Just because I’m so handsome doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.” Greg snorts, and Holden turns to him. “I’d flip you off if my arm didn’t hurt so much.”

I walk around the back of the car, resisting the urge to run my hand across the trunk as if it were a horse. I reach into the maw of the vehicle, and manoeuvre around until I have a good grip on the gear stick. I pull, praying that this’ll work.

It does. As I let out a deep sigh of relief, the car slips forwards slightly, causing me to jolt.

“You did it!” Holden yells, coughing up some more blood.

“I did it.” I parrot, strangely not all that excited about my plan. “Now we have to walk the car all the way back to Reno.”

“Walk!? What do you mean, walk?” Greg sputters. I give him a look.

“You want to teleport? Be my guest.”

Greg grumbles something about not meaning it like that.

“We could hitchhike, you know.” He offers.

Before I can say anything, Holden cuts in. “That would take too long. How many cars did you see, anyway?”

Greg looks defeated. “Fine. But this is going to take forever.”

“This is our only option, and if you don’t like it, you can leave, but there’s no guarantee I won’t run you over.” I dare, resentment dripping off every word.

“Fine.”

I get out of the car and close the door, more out of habit then safety. I walk around the back, and lean up against the truck. I look at Greg. He nods, and I shove.

The car lurches forward. I stumble, not expecting it to move so far.

Holden moans from the drivers seat. I grip the back of the crumpled heap of metal and start pushing again. The mangled car rolls relatively smoothly across the bottom of the ditch, but when it comes time to push it up the side, the dead weight refuses to go.

“Push harder!” Greg snaps, as I pant to get enough air into my system.

I’m sweating and wish I could just pull my shirt off, but we need to get the car up the side of the miniature valley. I remember a long ago poem that I read when I was younger. I think I must have been a sophomore or a freshperson, or something. It was that iconic Robert Frost poem. I start muttering some of it to myself.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Greg gives me a look that could burn through steel.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I make a face.

“Poetry.” I say, not wanting to tell him, just wanting to keep it to myself. He doesn’t look like the type that appreciates the fine art of writing.

“Whatever. We need to get the car out of the ditch.”

“I know that.”

“So get it out of the ditch!”

“How?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, Greg, maybe you shouldn’t yell at me then.”

“Well, sorry. Maybe I’m just regretting helping you.”

“I give up. How ’bout I try pulling from the top of the car.”

“That might work, I guess.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I walk around the front of the car and get my hands around the bumper.

“One, two, three, Uhhh!” I pull the car, and we get the top two wheels on the road. “And again.”

I grunt as my arm muscles strain to yank the car up. My face flushes with blood, and I pull with all my strength. Greg shoves with his shoulder, and together, we have enough force to get the car back all the way on the road. I collapse on the ground, cursing myself for not working out when Holden asked me if I wanted to.

“Get up.” I pull myself skywards, using the car as a support. Bad idea.

It shifts slightly backwards, giving me a scare. “You’re an idiot.” Greg says, annoyed. I ignore him for the third time in what feels like five minutes. He’s extremely annoying, and I wish that he didn’t exist. I know it’s cruel, but if he hadn’t been standing in the middle of the road, we wouldn’t be here right now. I am never letting Holden drive intoxicated ever again.

“How are you?” I ask quietly, not wanting to disturb him if he’s sleeping. He groans, and turns his head. I take a hand and gently move his lightly stubbled cheek facing the direction it was before, not wanting to damage any spinal cords.

“I’m hurting.” I smile despite myself.

“Of course you are.” Greg cuts in rudely. “You crashed your car into a ditch.”

I suck a deep breath in through my nostrils, and hold it in for as long as I can. Holden knows me well enough to detect my defence mechanism.

“Just breathe, baby. Just breathe.” I let out a long sigh, colour rushing back into my bluish cheeks. And then I breathe again. We are going to make it. We have this. We can do it.

“We got this.” I mutter. “Only we have miles to go before we sleep.”

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep.” Holden breathes.

“But I have promises to keep.”

“And miles to go before I sleep.”

“And miles to go before I sleep.”

And with that, I stare up at the star blanketed sky, and sigh, knowing that we have this. If Robert Frost could walk many miles through the woods in the middle of winter, we could walk many miles through the desert in the middle of the summer. We had this.

“And miles to go before we sleep.”