feedback: msnsc21[at]yahoo.com

For Char, in honor of her cross-country trip.
====

We are going, Heaven knows where we are going
We'll know we're there

We will get there, Heaven knows how we will get there,
We know we will

It will be hard, we know
And the road will be muddy and rough
But we'll get there
Heaven knows how we will get there
We know we will

Random Acts
by ML

After all this time on the road, he never thought he'd
see himself pick up a couple of hitchhikers.

Suspicion ran deep with him, always had. He was well-suited
to his loner life on the road. He kept to himself at truck
stops, avoiding even the casual chatter of the waitress or
the guy on the stool next to him. He got his food to go if
the place was crowded, preferring the solitude of his rig
over the false camaraderie of the truck stop cafes.

But these two caught his eye as he paid his bill. Not
that they were trying to; in fact, they looked more like
they were trying to blend in than stand out. But something
about them made him look, and look again.

At first, he thought it was a man and a boy, sitting
side by side in the booth. The man was dark-haired and
weary-eyed, stubble flecked with a few gray hairs. The
boy had chopped-off yellow hair and was smooth-skinned.
He wore an oversize denim jacket, sleeves so long they
almost hid his hands, which were twined with the man's.

Maybe that's what made him look twice, and then he realized
that the boy was actually a woman. She'd been looking down,
studying their linked hands, but when she looked up he could
see the unmistakable curve of her lips, the astonishing blue
of her gaze as she looked at her companion.

They both looked a little the worse for wear. The man
looked up and caught him staring. He let his eyes slide
away, as though he'd merely glanced over them as he
waited for his order. He left the restaurant in a hurry,
feeling strangely guilty -- as if he'd been spying or
something.

Later, after he'd had his dinner and some shut-eye, he
went out to take a leak before starting on his way. He
saw them again, at the edge of the parking lot. The man
was helping the woman put on her backpack.

He looked around. Except for a couple of long-haulers,
he didn't see any other vehicles in the lot. Were they
nuts, planning to walk through the night? The days were
still warm, but even in the desert it got cold at night.
And no one who meant well would pick up hitchers on a
lonely road at night.

Afterward, when he thought about it, he couldn't
explain why he'd approached them. They weren't asking
for help. His policy had always been to leave well
enough alone, and these two were adults who must have
had their reasons for doing what they were doing. It
was none of his business.

But approach them he did. "Where're you headed?" he
asked gruffly.

They turned as one to face him, identical defensive moves.
The man said, in a voice nearly as rusty as his own, "Just
up the road a ways." He looked wary, as did the woman
beside him.

"Me too," he heard himself say. He could see the
exhaustion written all over their faces and in the sag
of their shoulders. "Come on, I've got plenty of room."

After a long moment of silent communication with his
companion, the man nodded.

He opened the passenger side and noted how the man stood
and let the woman pull herself up into the rig, watchful
but respectful, ready to help only if asked. He hoisted
himself up after her, stowing his pack behind the seat,
but placing hers so she'd have a footrest.

He also noticed that the man had placed himself in the
middle of the seat very matter-of-factly. He shrugged
to himself and started his rig, letting the engine warm
before pulling out of the parking lot.

The woman was asleep, her head pillowed on her bunched
up jacket, before they were a mile down the road.

"You got a name, fella?" he asked, just to be making
conversation. He still couldn't figure out what had
gotten into him, picking these two up.

"You can call me Bobby," the man said. "And she's
McGee," he added. "We're traveling light."

So light they'd left their real names behind, he
thought. The least the guy could have done was let
the woman be Bobby. Maybe they took turns.

"What's yours?" Bobby was asking.

"Sam," he said. Close enough, anyway. It was his
middle name, and he hardly ever used it, but two could
play at this name game.

"Good to meet you, Sam," Bobby said. There was something
odd about the way he said the name, like he suspected
it wasn't his real name.

He upped the ante a little. "You running from something?"

The guy flinched, just a bit. "You could say that. Also
running to something," he added cryptically.

They rode in silence for a while. Sam noticed how the man
kept contact with his companion. His hand always rested
against her leg or her hand. If she moved in her sleep,
he was instantly aware but did not disturb her if she
settled again.

Bobby turned and caught Sam looking again. "It's harder
on her," he said.

"So what are you running to?" Sam asked.

The man hesitated a moment. "The truth," he said finally.

Sam half-expected him to pull out a religious tract, but
Bobby shrugged and looked out the window a moment, then
turned back to Sam. "There's bad stuff out there, waiting
to happen. We're doing what we can to stop it."

Sam waited, but no more was coming out of the man's mouth.
"Just the two of you?" he asked. The man looked pretty
strong, but the woman was so tiny. What could she do?

"It'll do for a start," he said. "We hope we won't
always be alone."

"I'm not much of a joiner myself," Sam said cautiously,
still expecting some sort of pitch.

"That's okay, I'm not recruiting," Bobby said with a
small grin. "We just appreciate the ride."

"Neither of you seems like the type for the open road,"
Sam ventured.

Bobby shrugged again and smiled a little. "Yeah, it
wasn't my original career path but you work with what
you've got."

"Do you have a place you call home?"

The man was silent for so long that Sam thought he'd asked
for too much information. But when he glanced over, the
man who called himself Bobby was gazing on his companion,
stroking her hand softly. Sam turned away quickly. He was
pretty sure he wasn't meant to see that.

Finally the man said, "We don't have a home in the widely
understood meaning of the term." He spoke very softly, his
eyes still on the woman. "But we'll know when we get there."

Sam just grunted in reply. The other man didn't say anything
more, just sat holding the woman close, whose head now rested
against his shoulder. He stroked her short hair as he stared
out the window.

The thousand-yard stare, Sam thought. I've seen that before.
Hell, I've done it before.

There was something about these two. He couldn't put his
finger on it, but they had an air about them. Like they
were veterans of some war. But it wasn't over yet for them,
he could tell.

He had some experience with that, too.

Bobby finally relaxed enough to sleep a little bit, his
head resting against the woman's. Sam drove steadily
through the night, heading for the horizon.

The sky was promising to lighten as he pulled into the
truck stop. Bobby woke up first, rubbing the heels of his
hands into his eyes. He looked surprised that he'd slept.
He turned to the woman and drew a finger gently along her
cheek, and she opened her eyes instantly. "Where are we?"
she asked.

"A little ways outside of Yuma. I'm heading for Vegas if
you're going that far."

Bobby shook his head. "We're gonna look someone up near
here. Can we buy you breakfast?"

Sam shook his head. "I was just going to ask you," he
said, surprising himself again.

"Can't let you do that," Bobby said.

Maybe they weren't as down and out as he thought, or
maybe Bobby was just putting on a good show, and hoping
desperately that Sam wouldn't take him up on his offer.

He'd let them off the hook. "Naw, I'm gonna push on,"
he said. "You're okay here?" Why was he so reluctant
to part company with these two?

"Yeah, we're good," Bobby said.

Sam climbed out of the cab and came around to help them
unload their gear.

They stood awkwardly next to the truck. Bobby cleared his
throat a little. "I said last night that there's a lot of
bad in the world, but there's good, too. As a friend of
mine used to say, you're good people." He reached out his
hand and took Sam's in a firm grip. "Thank you," he said.

The woman held out her hand as well. "You've been a great
help to us," she said. "Thank you."

Her smile just about did him in. He dredged up a word his
mother had always used when he left on a trip.

"Godspeed," he said, the word filling his eyes with
remembered kindness.

She patted his hand before letting him go, then took her
partner's hand. He watched them turn away. She didn't
seem so tiny any more. Maybe it was a trick of the rising
sun that they walked toward, but their silhouettes matched,
and the shadows they cast back seemed the same height, too.

The sun was making his eyes water. He rubbed his sleeve
across his face and went back to his rig.

He didn't tell anyone about this strange encounter. Who'd
he tell, anyway? He had no one waiting for him at home to
listen to his tales of the road. He wasn't the kind to
write stuff down, either. And really, what was there to
tell? He'd picked up a couple who were down on their luck.
He was no Good Samaritan but he'd done it anyway.

Why did he think he'd done something so good?

He wondered about them once in a while. He hoped that
they'd gotten to wherever they were headed. He hoped for
more good people for them.

Several months later, he passed a man leaving a truck stop
cafe, whistling a familiar tune.

Impulsively, he turned and put his hand on the man's arm.
"What's that tune?" he asked.

The man looked at him strangely but didn't take offense at
his familiarity. "'Me and Bobby McGee,'" he said.

"That's what I thought," he said. "Sorry to bother you,
friend." He turned to go.

"Wait," the other man said. "I know what you're talking
about."

Sam waited.

"I gave them a ride not long ago," he said. "Up by Kalispel.
Good people."

The use of the phrase struck him. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

He took to whistling the tune himself from time to time.
Every now and then, someone would catch his eye and nod
slightly or smile.

He began eating inside the cafes more often, and striking
up conversations. It surprised him how many good people were
out there.

Whoever those two were, wherever they were, they'd started
something.

end.

Author's notes: The song at the beginning of the story is
"Woyaya" by Sol Amarfio and Osibisa. The other, "Me and Bobby
McGee" is by Kris Kristofferson and Fred Parker. I have
borrowed them without permission, but with great respect.

Thanks for reading!

You can find many of my stories at the lovely page
Circe Invidiosa made:

http://www.invidiosa.com/ml/index.html

back to ML's Page