Shouldering my load of clothing, and gripping the breadbag I walked up the clover off ramp and down the seemingly endless rows of corn. It was cool out, yet far more seasonable than the chill expanse of the Dakotas, and I took a heady breath of air, savoring the flavor of this new found freedom. It tasted of tilled soil with the sweet redolence of corn stalks, and mingled with diesel fuel wafting from the highway. I watched with my thumb outstretched as the traffic raced past me in a frenzy.
It occurred to me that these people were all heading to parts which my eyes had yet to view, and in that, I was exhilarated with the idea of any person stopping and affording me a piece of their life. Soon my musing came to fruition as a scarlet Cadillac swerved to the roadside, and with a leap in my heart, I ran up to meet these newfound companions.
A woman, dressed somewhat like Stevie Nicks smiled at me from the passenger side, and her driver, a black man, beckoned me in. Quickly I unslung my bag and hopped in the car, thanking them profusely for the ride, introducing myself and querying their names. We swerved off of the roadside, heading onwards to the nearest populous, as they introduced themselves as Joe and Belinda.
Belinda lit a Cigarette, offering me one which I gladly accepted, and asked where I was headed. I informed her that my destination was Anywhere, USA, but the end of the road was in Chula Vista where I had an ex-girlfriend that I wished very much to see. She remarked that this was quite romantic, and hoped I made it OK. I thanked her for her well wishes and asked Joe how far they were going. Des Moines, he replied, and that they were headed to work there. It was about 80 miles away, according to the large sign we soon passed, and knowing we would be some time together, I asked if they would like to hear some poetry.
They affirmed they would, and I read one for them, which they seemed to enjoy. I then offered to sell a hand crafted poem for a few dollars, to which Belinda responded, "I'm sorry, hon, we don't really have any money right now" then Joe chimed in, stating, "if you stop in the next town and stay a few days you can get a welfare check." I responded that I was really in quite a rush to get to California, and didn't have an ID besides, but thanked them for the advice anyway, and again for the ride. Joe replied that it was their pleasure, and Belinda offered another cigarette. We then sat in silence, enjoying the cold burn of the menthol smoke, and watched the roadside pass.
Soon we arrived at the destination, and I got out, thanking them again and giving a copy of the poem I read. Belinda gave me four cigarettes, wished me good luck, and they rolled on down the road.
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Reviewed by Vesna Perkovic
11/2/2003
WEll...my hichhiking poet this is going to be a whopper!..Thanks so much..c'on get going ..and...and...and?
I can't wait....
Intriguing write!
Ah..but you truly are a talent Tyler..I'm sooo proud of you!
At the heart of the eight compelling nonfiction stories and five-article appendix which make up Dreams of the Immortal City Savannah is this interesting question: What would your life mean if you were living someone else's dream of what it should be?
