The Hitchhiker

The weather had changed as it was likely to do in October. The morning had been crisp, with blue skies and high, fluffy white clouds. When she came out of her last afternoon class, a drizzling, icy rain fell and she cursed herself for not seeing it coming. She had planned to walk the two miles from the University campus to her sister’s apartment to pick up the 1968 Ford Pinto they shared. Since it was her first year at the University she lived on campus. Her sister had done well in her studies the year before and was allowed by her parents, who were funding their educations, to take a part-time job so she could afford to share an apartment off campus.

Her sister had no phone, so she had no other choice if she wanted her turn with the car than to walk.

She was a bit timid and shy from her rural upbringing in central Missouri. She had not spent much time in cities on her own. Even though she felt protected on the University campus, the idea of hitchhiking was foreign to her. She’d talked with others who had done it and it sounded adventureous. The rain started falling harder. “What the hell,” she thought. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

She turned and walked backward with her thumb out, glancing over her shoulder to avoid a fall. Cars passed. Some drivers waved, some shrugged their shoulders as if to say sorry. After walking this way for about a half mile she was about ready to forget it, she was already soaked and cold and feeling very, very sorry for herself. Her backpack full of books weighed heavily on her shoulders. She was defeated. Then a car slowed, and stopped right beside her. The driver looked left at the line of cars travelling in the opposite lane, then he looked at her and smiled. “Finally,” she thought.

She opened the passenger door and got in. The man looked foreign, she wondered where he was from. University life was her first chance to meet people of other nationalities.

“Hey, thanks man, how far you goin’?” she asked. She had heard from her friends it was a polite thing to say when people picked you up.

“How far are you going, miss?” he replied, a lilt to his voice.

“Oh, about a mile and a half now, over to my sister’s place, off Ann street. She has an apartment over there. You can just drop me off anyplace close.”

The heater in the car was going full blast. She dropped her backpack to the floor between her feet and adjusted the vents to blow right on her. She glanced over to check out the man whose car she had entered. He drove with both hands on the wheel, white turban wrapped around his head, doe brown eyes, thick lashes, like no man she had ever seen.

“This is great, I was freezing. Where are you from?” she asked.

“I grew up in Pakistan, and came to University here in 1970 to study medicine,” he replied. “I am first in my family to do so.”

“Cool, man. Do you like it here?”

“Oh, yes, very very much but I miss my family. It is good school.” He stopped at a light and said, “Which way is to Ann Street?”

“Oh, you don’t have to take me all the way, just as far as you are going,” she replied. It did feel good in that warm car though and she hoped his destination was someplace close to her sister’s.

“No, I take you. It is raining hard now. You just please give me direction.”

She directed him to the small apartment complex where her sister lived and he drove her right to the door. She gathered her backpack and opened the door.

“Hey, thanks again, man,” she said. “I hope I didn’t take you too far out of your way. Do you live near here?”

“Oh no,” he said. “I was just waiting for the cars to pass so I could turn into my driveway when you jump into my car.”