The Hitchhiker
He was alone. At the edge of a highway, he stood. The hot Oklahoma sun was high overhead. Ripples of heat rose from the pavement. They were scattered by the cars speeding by, only to reform once the vehicles were gone. He was clad in Air Force blue, the ROTC uniform he wore as he attended classes at the nearby University. He was on his way home. 110 miles away. He hoped the military look would cause favor with drivers of the cars and trucks that were speeding by. He was hoping for a ride.
He looked down the road and saw a Chevrolet approaching. Quickly he raised his right arm high in the air, the thumb of his hand pointing upward and curving in the direction he wanted to go. The Chevy’s driver gave him a quick look, but the car continued on its way. The young man looked down, staring at his shoes that were so smartly shined that he could almost see the reflection of his face.
Another car sped by. He’d forgotten to put his arm up. A slight wind passed over the pavement, sending a McDonald’s hamburger wrapper skipping to the dry grass on the other side of the highway.
Suddenly, the road was filled with the sound of rumbling. A big truck was approaching. The young man thrust up his arm. His thumb moving forward and back. The truck drew even. The sound of its horn was so loud he could feel it pulsing through his body. The truck passed him by, then slowed and stopped.
He ran to its side door, opened it and saw the driver smiling and bidding him to get in.
The monster truck started moving again. “Where you headed?” asked the man. The young man replied “McAlester.” “That on the way to Dallas? Because that’s where I’m going,” said the driver.
“Yep,” said the young man. “It’s about 100 miles ahead and Dallas is a hundred miles beyond that.” The truck was up to speed now. Utility poles beside the highway swept by one by one in a quick parade.
“You a college boy?” The driver asked. The young man said he was. “What you studying?” “I want to be a journalist” was the reply. “I want to be a reporter and an anchorman on television.” The older man smiled.
“You gonna be another Walter Cronkite, huh?” They both laughed. The young man said he already had a part time job, working weekends at his hometown radio station. “I do the news… I play records… I clean up the place when I get off the air at Midnight.”
“Well, I’m impressed” said the driver, “it sounds exciting and promising, not like the jobs I had when I was your age.”
“What did you do?” asked the young man. “Well, I’m from a small town in Arkansas. Raised on a farm. I fed the cows and the horses. Then, I went to work for a man who fixed cars. Learned a lot from him. Stayed there a while, and then this job came along.”
“Do you like driving a truck?”
“Yeah, most of the time. It gets lonely and I am tired a lot. But, I get to see some beautiful country… prairies and mountains… pretty sunrises and sunsets… always something new and I like that.”
The sun was sinking lower in the West… its light turned the highway ahead into a silver ribbon.
The two talked some more, and then they entered the town of McAlester. The truck stopped at the railroad crossing in the center of downtown. The young man hopped out.
“Thank you”, he told the driver, who smiled back, wished him good luck, and then pulled away.
The young man stood for awhile as it grew darker. He watched the truck departing down the road. Its tail lights gleamed yellow as the stars appeared over head.
What a great country, he thought. One where you could stand by a highway, and a truck driver whom you had never met and would never see again would stop, pick you up, give you a sandwich, offer you interest and encouragement, and take you home.
I’m Virgil Dominic