The Hitchhiker

He held his right thumb out, blunt and naked and bare onto the incoming traffic. The trees around him saw it. The towering mountains surrounding him glared down. In his other hand he held a premium leather, black suitcase full of some meaningful trinkets he'd probably found dear to him, full of cherished memories he couldn't rid himself of. His hair is slicked back, like those old hipster styles you see from Woodstock. His fashion is one that could receive a woman's heart from first glance, serenading her in the moonlight, while getting her home in time before her estranged husband can find out about her hooky lifestyle. He's done this four times as a matter of fact and he can't remember a single one. They don't slip within his mind. He's selfish and he knows it.
He coughs hoarsely in the chilly November cold. Fresh snow lies at his feet. Frosty mist excretes from his his breath. Smokers cough. He never knew when to quit, despite his mother's wishes. Bless her soul. He's a stubborn one. He doesn't take heed to wisdom and throws righteous opportunities down the drain. His life is wretched and quarrelsome, at the most. At roughly 15 minutes ago he left his cabin in the woods and trekked onward toward this highway here.
"A new life" he says, "I want a new life mah."
He hung up the telephone and left. Out the door. Just like that.
His Ma tried to talk some sense into him. She wanted to know where he was headed, what he was gonna do with his life. He's stubborn and persistent, eager to fulfill his flesh's intentions and his alone. He flees from advice and elderly talk. He wants nothing of it. He wants nothing in return.
He curses under his breath. He's stood in the cold for another 15 minutes. No one has given him the time of day. And he hates this. He steps onto the highway. A car motions toward him in the late evening sunset. The hitchhiker doesn't move. He just stands there. Motionless and without a care in the world. The car approaches closer and closer. No honking. Nothing. It lingers onward as if he appears nonexistent. It approaches and comes to a halt. He hold his thumb out as the driver's window is rolled down. A hand gestures him into his old Ford pick-up truck and the hitchhiker picks up his suitcase and enters the truck. It pulls away into the distant road. Swift and clean.
"My name is Hershel," the elderly driver says, "what's a young man like you doing out here alone?"
"I'm not a kid gramps. Just take me to Junction Station. I'll pay you thirty when we get there."
"Oh I don't need your money son. Just a nice gesture I could provide ya with. From one stranger to the other."
"Fine don't take it."
"Is there something wrong son?"
"Wild you stop calling me that?"
His voice raises. The old man jumps.
"Call you what son?"
"Da-that! God just...just don't talk to me. Please! I just need to get to the station."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It was not my intention."
He pauses.
"Maybe we can just start this conversation over?"
"What did I just say old man?"
"You told me not to talk."
"So stop."
He chuckles.
"I'm afraid I can't do that! My wife told me the same thing for forty years, bless her heart!"
The elderly man solely laughs as the hitchhiker sits in disgust, cradling his suitcase like a newborn babe, pouting.
There is nothing said for the next 7 minutes. The drive to Junction Station is within a mere 15 minutes, from the location of where the hitchhiker was picked up. The silence is killing the elderly man and he has no choice but to spark a freshly squeezed conversation.
"What's up at Junction Station for you?" The elderly man speaks with tranquility and a subtly hoarse whisper. He checks his rear view mirror. He's never received a ticket in his entire driving career. The hitchhiker looks toward the elderly man.
"Really?"
The elderly man can't keep back a smile.
"I beg your pardon?" That grin. Ear to ear.
"I thought I-"
"I heard what you said. But we ain't going nowhere fast until we get a good old fashioned conversation going. You know, like humans do? Or is that extinct for your generation now?"
"You know what you are old man?" The hitchhiker creates tension once again.
"What's that's son?"
The hitchhiker struggles to cough up his vulgar, derogatory insult toward the elderly man. So he sighs and slouches in his seat. The elderly man chuckles then continues.
"As I was saying. What's up here at Junction Station for you? Is it a woman?"
"The farthest thing from that old man."
"Love not a thing for ya?"
"It is."
"Oh?" The elderly man cracks a smile toward the hitchhiker, who in return does not give him the time of day. Cradle the suitcase.
"Girls are a waste of time. They tell ya one thing and change the next next day. They make you feel like complete-"
"Watch your mouth son."
The hitchhiker stares at the elderly man. He gawks at the man then shakes his head in disgust, gazing out toward the cascade of never ending, surpassing trees. He speaks.
"I'm heading outta here. I need to, uh, refresh my life at the moment. Searching for a new life, an escape from this one."
"Religious?"
"You kidding me?"
The elderly man says nothing.
"No not religious escape. I could care less for that."
"Why is that?"
"It's a bunch of garbage. A fool's tale for humans to believe in. It's a false hope. Isn't that something we all yearn for? A wonderful, eternal afterlife that fits according to our needs? A bunch of crap if you ask me. Excuse me."
The elderly man just sits there. He says nothing. He makes not a sound and takes heed to the oncoming traffic. Occasionally, the hitchhiker will glance out of the corner of his eye, as to see if the elderly man's gestures will signal an incoming conversation. But there is none. He just sits there.
Junction station is ahead. The elderly man exits off the road and into the station parking lot. He pulls to a stop.
"Junction Station. Here you go son."
The hitchhiker looks puzzled. He opens the door and steps out, his suitcase in hand.
"Oh, here."
He pulls out thirty dollars and holds it out for the elderly man. But the elderly man does not take it. He gives a small complimentary smile and shakes his head. A tear falls from his eye.
"Keep it son. Just a friendly gesture...from one stranger to the other."
The hitchhiker, bewildered and puzzled, places the money in his pocket and nods. He closes the door and backs away as the car gears transfer from Park to Drive. The elderly man drives off into the distance, passing the tree line and into the evening sunset, never to be seen from or heard of again. The hitchhiker sighs. He boards the train and places his suitcase into the storage compartment above him. He sits in the window seat and closes his eyes. The train begins to move, the snow begins to fall, and life progresses forward as swiftly as it had ever done so before.