Tales from a life well traveled.

The sleek black Porsche looked out of place as it slid between two enormous trucks and silently pulled up to the pump. There was a quarter tank showing on the gauge, but the tall impeccably groomed man would take no chances. It might be a long way to the next gas station and he was not familiar with this part of the country. He really didn’t know what town in Arizona he was in, or even if there was a town he could consider himself to be in. The sun had not set. There were no lights yet to glow over nearby hills indicating a larger population than those few souls working in the truck stop.

He waited for the last drop of gas to drip from the nozzle before pulling it from the car’s tank. His bills were crisp new notes from the bank and he couldn’t help noticing the grease on the cashier’s hand as he paid for his gas. He hoped his change would be clean. He caught his reflection in the glass of the cashier’s booth and continued to watch it as his change was counted out. What a life, he thought as he considered briefly the simple 20-something in dirty coveralls that was now returning to work on a tire.

He was careful not to throw gravel as he drove onto the access road and headed for the entrance to the freeway. Don’t need to tick off some local bozo, he thought. Approaching the onramp he spotted a man obviously looking for a ride. The man didn’t stick out his thumb or wave or do anything in particular to indicate a request, but somehow it was evident he was looking for a ride. Sorry bud, he thought as he accelerated past the man and deftly pulled into the flow of a few cars heading east. In his rearview mirror blinding light from the flaming orange ball shimmered off the pavement as it set on the horizon. He adjusted the mirror to get the reflection out of his eyes, shifted in his seat to a more comfortable position and opened the throttle.

The lights of Flagstaff were just starting to twinkle as he shot onto the highway that would circle and bypass the town. He was not ready to call it a night and wanted to see how close he could get to Texas before he was. Banking into a curve in the road his headlights caught the figure of the man standing just off the pavement. How in the world did that dude beat me here?, he wondered as he realized he had seen the same hitchhiker back at that truck stop earlier in the evening. In his mirror he saw the man turn and watch his taillights as he disappeared into the night.

An hour or so later, the lights of Winslow began to appear scattered across the horizon. It was time for another pit stop and some hot coffee. This car is nice, thought the man, but it does get cramped after a few hours. It would be good to stretch his legs and he started watching for a good place to stop. Winslow Arizona looked dead though. He still had some fuel and decided he could make a few more miles.

The gas station was new and had all the amenities any road traveler would require including full service. The self-service islands were full but that was no problem for him as he pulled up to the pump and triggered his fuel cap cover. "Fill ‘er up", he said to the young attendant as he stretched and then strolled easily toward the coffee shop. Inside he headed to the counter and picked a stool equal distance from two patrons 3 stools away from him on either side.

"Black coffee to start", he said to the aging desert queen with bleached hair precariously clipped in a pile on top of her head.

“Sure thing doll”, she replied, handing him a menu and reaching under the counter for his cup.

He was hungrier than he realized and the smell of grease hanging in the air brought burger and fries to mind. No need to read the menu, he knew it was there. “Burger and fries”, he said to the queen, and then swallowed half of his coffee in three quick slurps.

“How bout a nice piece of apple pie and ‘nilla ice cream with that, doll?” she asked.

“No thanks”, he replied, "but you can hit my coffee cup again when you get a chance".

“Right now, sweet thang”, she cooed in her easy desert drawl. She winked but it was wasted as he turned to scan the interior of the shop.

The coffee shop opened into a large, well stocked gift shop that had everything from genuine Indian trinkets made in Taiwan, to shirts with slogans appealing to an age accustomed to flash and dazzle. Turning back to his coffee his eyes caught a glimpse of the hitchhiker he had spotted twice already today. No way!, he thought as he considered the odds.

Standing just outside on the sidewalk, the well-lit canopy and close proximity afforded a clear view of the man. There was nothing particularly unusual about him. He was neither attractive nor unattractive. Nondescript. Except his eyes. There was something about those eyes. Hard to put a finger on what it was but they seemed peaceful somehow - whatever that could mean, he decided. His dress was simple but clean. It was hard to say where he might be from judging from his looks. His hair was dark and hung in loose natural curls not much over the collar. He had a rather large nose, almost Arabic looking. His shirt was white cotton, like something you might find along the Mexican border, and hung below the waist. His pants were simple khaki casuals, old and faded. Over one shoulder hung a small knapsack that didn’t seem to be much of a burden.

The hitchhiker appeared to be gazing across the landscape at nothing in particular. But suddenly he turned fully around and his eyes locked on the eyes of the Porsche man. Quickly averting his gaze, the man swung his stool back to the counter just as his food arrived. The encounter had not at all been threatening but he certainly did not want to encourage this guy. Hopefully he would catch a ride and be gone before the burger was.

As he ate his dinner, he watched a young couple enter and head for a booth in the corner. He eyed the attractive young lady, hoping she would notice him get into his Porsche when he left. She was not aware of his admiration and remained occupied with her partner laughing and touching his hand across the table.

At the cash register, the desert queen made one last attempt to engage the man in enough conversation to reassure her she was still pretty. The man sensed her need and made a conscious effort not to feed it as he cast a glance over his shoulder at the corner booth, accepted his change, walked out the door and ran full force into the hitchhiker.

The hitchhiker smiled as his steady hand grasped the man’s shoulder to help him keep his balance. "Excuse me sir", said the hitchhiker, although they both knew the accident had not been his. The knapsack had been knocked to the ground and they both instinctively reached for it almost making full contact again in the effort. They laughed and the man handed the knapsack to the hitchhiker as they straightened up.

What the heck, thought the man. He’s clean and doesn’t look like much of a threat. "I’m heading east, going through Texas", he said. "You need a lift that direction?", he asked.

"Yes, thank you. I’d appreciate it if it would be no trouble", replied the hitchhiker.

"Come on then, I got that black thing over there at the pump."

"This is a beautiful car", said the hitchhiker as they both buckled their seatbelts. "I’m sure you are grateful to have a gift like this."

"Gift? No, this baby was no gift", said the man. "This gem hits me every month with a payment that is anything but gift. I have another four years of those payments if I keep ‘er but I’ll probably trade in for something else in a year or so."

The headlights made a tunnel in the night as they knifed down the road. Luminous center stripes flickered quickly away and telephone poles flew past like fence posts. Pushing the throttle to the floor, the car lurched forward with a throaty rush and left the speed limit far to the left of his speedometer needle.

The man had just spent long hours without conversation and found himself talking about his work, a bar he liked to go to for happy hour, a lady or two he had met there – nothing really came of it but they were fun until he got to know them. The hitchhiker sat quietly listening to the man speak of all the important things in his life. Promotions that he’d need to fight a couple guys for, that blonde that moved in next to his friend Frank’s apartment, his favorite drink. And his sleek black Porsche that he knew this temporary friend had never before ridden in anything like. It was also very likely he never would again and the man was enjoying making his one time special. This ‘ol boy will be telling his friends about this for a long time he thought as he danced the car deftly through the turns and over a quick rise in the road that made his stomach feel like it was in his throat.

The blackness of the night surrounded the beam of his headlights and the highway flowed like a river through space. “Ya know, if ya didn’t have the stripes in the road, this could be a scene from some spaceship scootin between all these stars”, he mused to his guest as he took in the diamond sparkles that glittered in the sky.

“That’s true”, said the hitchhiker. "It makes you feel rather small in the total scheme of things, doesn’t it?”, he asked.

“Yeah, you got that right”, said the man. Sorta spooky. I don’t know how anyone can live out here in the middle of Rooster Poo Nowhere. I mean obviously they live out here somewhere otherwise there wouldn’t be anybody to work the gas stations”, he said with a chuckle. “I’d go nuts myself.”

“You might find other priorities in your life if you lived somewhere like this”, said the hitchhiker.

“Yeah, like collecting rocks and arrowheads, huh”?, he asked.

The hitchhiker laughed.

“No, I think I’ll stay right where I am. I’m a big city boy. I need my women and night life and I don’t see that happening out here. You see that waitress back at the coffee shop? If that was all I had to scheme on I’d shoot myself. One too many and she might start looking pretty good”, said the man.

The hitchhiker smiled. “Do you read”?, he asked.

“Just the news sometimes on the Net”, replied the man. Got reading out of my system in college. I mean I used to read, mostly Sci-Fi stuff. I went through a phase where I read some mystical stuff like reincarnation, higher planes, stuff like that. But now I’m all work in the day and all play in the night”.

"But you went through a search for the meaning of life, did you?", asked the hitchhiker.

"Yeah, don't we all at some point? I mean until you get your bearings in life, start making a few bucks and acquiring all the trappings of apple pie and motherhood, everybody tries to figure what's it all about", said the man. "I know where I am in life and I don't need that spiritual stuff anymore really. I got about everything I need."

“Do you believe in Jesus Christ”? asked the hitchhiker.

“Whew. That’s a tough one” said the man. He set his eyes on the horizon and narrowed his brow in deep thought. “I believe this Jesus guy was a real person and he was good and all that, but I dunno... those were some pretty simple people back then. I mean, I definitely believe in a higher power of some sort. How bout you, you believe there really was a Jesus?", he asked, turning to face the empty seat where the hitchhiker had been sitting.

© 23 August 2001 Bobby Hitt

This page is by request from my son Erik. He asked me to write about some of the funny things that happened to me when I was a kid. My Mom was 20 and my Dad was 22 when I was born. So they were just kids themselves and if you read these stories you will see why I am the way I am.

Brotherly Prank

There was a time when my brother George and I both worked for a company in Saugus, California that made the vinyl used in record albums. The nature of that nasty, smelly, dangerous job was such that we had to wear safety glasses, ear plugs, hardhat and an oxygen mask attached to a 25 foot long hose that had to be connected to one of the many outlets scattered all over the plant. The buildings were all pole structures; that is a roof held up with I beam poles and no walls.

Under the roofed buildings were a variety of large machines and equipment that made so much noise that the earplugs did not help much. One side effect of the manufacturing process was a white dust that filled the air and covered everything quickly, so in time you grew weary of cleaning your glasses and learned to navigate in spite of your diminished vision. These safety aids, glasses, earplugs, oxygen mask, each blunted one sense or another and you lived in a world insulated from your normal senses. One of the senses most missed was hearing because in addition to everything else, this was rattlesnake country. Snake encounters were frequent enough that you could never completely get them off your mind.

One day someone killed a rattlesnake which was pointed out to me shortly after. My brother George had not seen it yet thus offering an opportunity for me to introduce it to him. Somehow I was able to determine that George was going to soon use the restroom and before he got there I coiled the headless snake next to the toilet. Then I unscrewed the light bulb which left the room illuminated only by a transom window above the door, and I slipped out giggling and chortling to watch from a distance.

George entered the restroom and flicked the light switch which of course did not work. Figuring he knew where all his physical components were well enough to use them in the dark he went into the stall and settled comfortably onto the toilet with his pants down around his ankles. When he shifted his foot to get up it bumped into the body of the coiled snake which he could not see with his dusty glasses on; so he lifted the glasses as he stooped over to get a better look. His eyes had by this time adjusted enough that he recognized it as a snake but not so well that he could see it was dead.

Like a coiled spring, George shot straight up latching onto the top of the stall door; while trying in a panic to suck his legs up higher than the snake might strike. His pants bundled in a stack on top of his feet tied his legs together and prevented any graceful escape; and the din of background noise drowned out his cries for help. He finally sorted out that the snake was headless and extricated himself from his perch.

For some reason George did not seem to appreciate the humor in it all in spite of my pointing it out to him.

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Mommy Krueger

Mom had me, the oldest of her herd of 5, when she was 20 years old. So she was just a kid raising other kids and delighted in doing kid stuff.

One evening when I myself was quite young, my brother noticed Mom was not around. He wandered down the hall calling for her but there was no answer. The rest of us realized she was not responding and soon we were all running through the house yelling "Mommy!!, Mommy!!" at the top of our lungs.

Ding-dong... the doorbell rang and all 5 kids ran like rabbits to the door. Without asking who was there or even trying to look out a window, we flung open the door. Standing in front of us was a monster. The occasion was framed in Mom's new full length black coat which none of us had yet seen. That and a nylon stocking pulled over her head which none of us had seen either, with an old floppy hat to top it off.

Her arms reached out for us in a zombie-like lurch and screaming in terror we scattered like cockroaches. Mom ran after us in a stilted Frankenstein walk, arms reaching and fingers wiggling. After what seemed like an eternity she started laughing uncontrollably which gave her away. We all knew that laugh.

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A Ghost in the Dark

When I was small, there was a period when Dad was working 2 and even 3 jobs to make ends meet. We didn't see much of him then as he returned home long after our bedtime. My brother George and I shared a room then and we slept on old olive green, metal military beds that came from Yellow-Front Army/Navy Surplus Store.

One night in the pitch dark wee hours I was just starting to realize that discomfort I was experiencing was because I needed to go to the toilet. As my thoughts began to coagulate enough that I was about to get up, I looked in horror as a white ghost about 3 feet tall from bottom to top floated about 3 feet above the floor. It moved from the door, past the foot of my bed toward my brother's bed.

My breathing went into uncontrolled convulsions of short spasmotic and noisy gasps. In spite of my eyes opening to the size of coffee cup saucers I did not recognize that it was my Dad in white undershirt and underpants; who himself struggled now not to wet himself as his otherwise silent night was shattered by my commotions of fear.

We both regained our composure and I no longer needed to pee.

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Sneaking in Past Curfew

When I was in high school I started going out on dates and other things that teenagers all do. And like most teenagers, I would often miss my curfew and arriving home would try to sneak into my bedroom unnoticed.

The game began by getting up enough speed that I could shut off my lights and engine and coast past two neighbor's houses, up into the drive and still have enough forward momentum that I needed to use the brakes to stop. Then I slowly opened the car door, got out and pushed the door almost closed and with a sharp bump of my hip, knocked it shut.

Resting my bum against the car I bent down and removed my shoes so my tiptoeing would be silent. When I reached the door I slowly inserted the key, cut by quiet cut until the key was seated. Then with one thumb applying pressure to the cylinder I turned the key and unlocked the door. Pulling hard on the doorknob helped to reduce the noise of the mechanism and when the latch was fully retracted I quickly thrust the door open enough to slip through sideways.

With shoes in one hand I reversed my procedure, locked the door and tiptoed across the living room to the hall.

At this point the above description was identical on at least 2 occasions:

Time 1) I turned and started down the hall which ran directly to the bathroom at the end. Beyond the open bathroom door was the bathtub above which was a small window maybe 18 inches square. The window glass was that frosted type you find in places you want light but not peeping Toms. Further out through that window on the other side of the neighbor's house was a streetlight so that the light coming through the window was diffused and not at all bright; but enough so that my eyes could not penetrate the darkness that surrounded it.

There at the end of the hall, floating in the air about 2 feet above the ground was the Angel of Death. Her gown lit up with the light behind her, arms gyrating in a slow dance like two outstretched snakes. All I could see of that supernatural being was her flowing gown, her features shrouded in darkness.

My scream was not intended nor controlled and Mom, in her new full length nightgown that I had never seen, almost fell off the stool she was standing on. Everyone in the house now was awake, and I was busted for being late.

Time 2) I turned and started down that same hall and this time the view was clear. I gazed at the small bathroom window and tub at the far end of the hall; tiptoeing with shoes in hand I did not notice when passing that the hot water closet door was open just slightly. As I past, Mom's arm snaked out of that barely open door and landed with a thud on my shoulder. I think I hurt my knees when they hit the floor.

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Bombs Away!

With four boys and one girl to house in a three bedroom abode, my sister had her own room and my brothers and I slept on army bunk beds in another. I was older and stronger so I had a top bunk, not realizing at the time there are benefits to being on the bottom bunk. My brother George I am sure would argue now and say I was an angel of an older brother but if he were honest he'd admit I had my moments.

One of those moments was when I would find him in a deep sleep and I would go get Mom's tin measuring cup with the precise spout. I would put a wee bit of water in the cup and climb up on my bed. The Army mattress was more of a pad really, maybe 3 inches thick... or thin as the case may be. At any rate it easily folded back to reveal through the wire mesh, my brothers ear just a short distance below.

I took some time in my aiming knowing there would not be a second shot and I had become quite accurate over time with my torment. Once I was confident of my shot I would slowly tip the tin cup and it was, bombs away! The trick then which never fooled anyone was to toss the mattress back in place and pretend I was asleep before George came to his senses enough to cry out for Mom.

At other times I found him sleeping soundly on his stomach, one arm under his body, the other dangling off the bed. I would fill his free hand with shaving cream and pulling a feather from one of my pillows, would use it to tickle his nose. Of course it was the hand full of shaving cream he used to rub his nose and you can imagine the wonderful result.