Hitchhiker

            by Sebastian Schwelm

 

The night sky loomed over the vastness of the empty desert, the cold dry air snaking across the plains in limp gusts. The boy stood by the side of the road, waiting alone for an uncertain fate, an unknown future, an unknown time, his jacket thin and worn. He hid his pathetically mustached lip below the collar, kept his hands balled up in the sleeves, and hopped up and down on his feet to stay warm. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and save for the sound of gravel crunching beneath his feet, the silence confirmed it. Standing still, he took his left hand, and reaching into his jacket pulled out a single gold chain that hung around his neck. With a tender motion, he kissed the cross on his mother’s chain, and looked skyward, as if for an answer, or an apology. He wasn’t sorry about what he had to do. He was sorry for what had already happened.

In the distance, a dirty white pick-up truck approached the boy, disturbing the desert’s silence. Red taillights lit up the dust clouds that followed the truck, the driver obviously in a hurry to get someplace more accommodating. The boy turned his head towards the new sound, and reaching down to place his small backpack tight on his right shoulder, stuck out his left arm tentatively, his thumb raised in the universal plea for a ride. The headlights swept over the boy, and for a second it looked as if the truck would not stop. 

Please. The boy looked skyward.

The truck slowed to halt some fifty feet beyond where the boy stood, but as he began to walk hurriedly towards it, the driver began backing up. The boy stopped, and waited once more, the red lights giving his face an odd glow.  The driver’s side window pulled even with his face, and slowly rolled halfway down, a gravelly voice booming out in a lazy drawl.

“Hitchhikin’, son?”

“Yes sir, I’m going to Casa Grande.”

The driver chewed on his lip and looked through the windshield, before turning back to the boy. “It’s your lucky day, son, I’m headed through Phoenix.”

“You’ll give me a ride?”

“All right, son, all righ’. Just jump on over to the other side, you’ll be alrigh’.”

The window rolled back up. The boy wasted no time in skirting around the front of the truck and reaching for the passenger’s side door. It was locked, and the boy was confused. He tapped on the window, and the driver reached across the cab to flick the lock, relief showing on the boy’s face. He hefted himself into the seat, letting his backpack slide to the floor and shutting the door carefully behind him.

“Oh, now that won’t do. You gotta slam that one.”

The boy opened the door, allowing the cold air to seep back in for a second, and slammed it tight.

“There y’go. Name’s Jack, nice to meetcha.” A grizzled hand reached out to the boy, waiting. The boy shook without looking up at the man’s face. The hand clamped down hard, and the boy looked up, surprised, just as the man let go.

“You got a name?” asked the man, as he flicked on an unnecessary blinker out of habit and pulled back to the right side of the road.

“Jesus,” replied the boy quietly.

“What?”

“My name’s Jesus,” he said, a little louder.

“Oh. That’s a good name, I guess,” he replied, shifting into second, and then third.

“My momma used to say it was the best name in the whole world,” the boy said quickly, smiling for the first time before turning away to look out the window.

“Mm-hm,” hummed the man in quiet acknowledgement.

 

The miles flew by with nothing in sight. The man grew tired, and began to yawn, occasionally glancing over at his companion, but the boy sat upright in his seat staring straight ahead. They hadn’t spoken for at least an hour.

“You hungry?” He looked over at the boy, taking his eyes off the endless road.

“No.”

“Well, alrigh’, I’ve gotta be making a stop in a sec.”

The boy gave a nod.

 

The blinker went on again, and the truck pulled off onto the right side of the road, emergency lights blinking off into the darkness. The man shut off the engine, and for a second, all was silent but for the endless click of the lights.

“Jus’ gotta relieve myself,” he said with a smile as he opened his door, slamming it with a bang.

The clicking of the lights continued as the sound of boots on gravel faded from the cab. The boy pulled out the chain with his left hand, slowly caressing its length between his fingers. He kissed the golden cross. I’m sorry Mother.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small black handgun. Clenching the cross tightly between his lips, he flipped off the safety and aimed the gun at the driver’s side door. He waited.

 

Jack returned a few minutes later, the blinking lights illuminating his path back to the car. He stood outside the driver’s side door, fumbling with the buckle on his old leather belt, breathing in the crisp cold air that tickled the back of his throat.

“Gosh darn’it,” he muttered under his breath, unable to find the hole. Finally successful, he grasped the door handle and swung the door open, coming face to face with the end of a quivering 9mm handgun.

“What th’ fuck?” he said quietly, looking at the boy’s face.

“I’m sorry,” said the boy, tears streaming down his face. “I have to.”

“Have to do what, son,” he said carefully, separating each word for the first time.

“I have to take your truck,” said the boy, calming himself down with deep breaths. “I have to take your truck.”

“Well, tha’s okay, son, just calm down and put the gun down, jus’ set it down easy.”

“I can’t. Get out. Get away from here.” He spoke clearly, but the gun shook in his hands. “Get away!”

“Jus’ hold on a secon’, hold on…”

The shot rung out across the empty desert, as a wisp of smoke floated carelessly from the tip of Jack’s gun.

Jesus lay slumped against the passenger side door, clutching with both hands at the hole in his chest as blood flowed freely from his mouth. He choked and coughed, splattering blood across the windshield. His eyes grew wide with fear, staring with shock at the man’s stony face as blood drenched his shirt, his pants, his hands.

“Why… why...” the boy stuttered.

“You fuckin’ Mexican kids,” the man whispered. “Fuck you.” His voice slowly rose to a yell. “So desperate, you got nothin’ better to do than try an’ fuck up another man’s life! That’s fucked up, boy.”

The man reached across the seat and tore the gold chain from Jesus’ neck. The boy was silent as tears ran down his face, mixing with blood, as his chest heaved up and down. His eyes closed.

“Get out. Get out of my fuckin’ truck you piece of shit!” the man yelled, but the boy was dead.

 The man reached across the boy’s body and unlatched the door, letting it swing wide. “Get the fuck out.” he whispered, kicking at the boy’s limp, bloodied corpse until it slid off the seat and out on to the gravel. He turned the ignition, and the truck jumped to life. He pulled back on to the road towards Phoenix, letting the cold wind slam the passenger’s door shut.