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    Hitch Hikers
    Hitch Hikers
    Hitch Hikers
    Ebook86 pages1 hour

    Hitch Hikers

    By Ralph Bowden

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    About this ebook

    The act of opening a vehicle to another who needs a ride opens both driver and rider to completely unpredictable and possibly dangerous interaction. Who knows who you're picking up? Who knows who's stopping for you? The eight short stories in this collection provide examples of the possibilities. Can this soul be saved? Is this guy really who he appears to be? Is he a complete con artist like me? Is this van stopping for me safe to ride in? Will this poor old woman hobbling in the pouring rain talk my ear off? I've got my own problems. Indeed, all drivers and riders do. These stories focus on the meshing and sometimes clashing of individual problems and personalities and the effects on both driver and rider.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRalph Bowden
    Release dateJun 18, 2013
    ISBN9781301410187
    Hitch Hikers
    Author

    Ralph Bowden

    Ralph Bowden has entertained himself by writing mostly fiction for almost 30 years, through and following careers as an electrical engineer in the aerospace industry, a history professor, a home builder, an alternative energy consultant, an instructional designer, and a technical writer. Twenty-six novels, four story collections, a volume of collected short fiction, and a three-act play reside, mostly unread, on his hard drive. He likes all of his word children. Realistically, some of them are probably flawed and maybe even terrible. Others might entertain readers besides himself, but Ralph hasn't the time or ego drive to promote and sell, nor the stomach for collecting rejection letters. Self-publishing avoids all that and is quick. If somebody finds and likes what he has written, fine. If not, the world will go on (or not) just the same.

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      Book preview

      Hitch Hikers - Ralph Bowden

      HITCH

      HIKERS

      Eight Short Stories

      by Ralph Bowden

      Copyright 2013 Ralph Bowden

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Cover picture, Northwest Nebraska

      Copyright Chris Scott, by permission

      Table of Contents

      The Man

      Sam

      Mom

      Rob

      Laz

      Lloyd

      The Old Woman

      Chad

      Author’s Notes

      The Man

      My husband, Mitch, is basically a good man. Well-meaning at least. He’s the pastor of the First Independent Baptist Church of Christ of Gibbler, Arkansas, where he’s been thumping the Bible for our congregation – about 60 of them on a good Sunday – for 30 years, the last seven full-time. I’ve been there too, the minister’s wife. It isn’t the life I’d planned as a girl 40 years ago, but you take what’s given.

      Monday is Mitch’s day off. His favorite pastime is fishing, and one of his favorite places is Lake Petre, Louisiana, about 100 miles south of Gibbler, on the edge of Cajun country. We often drive down Sunday afternoon and stay over at a fish camp one of our elders owns.

      Three Sundays ago – it was the last Sunday in April – we were headed south on the old Gulf road about 50 miles out when we saw a hitchhiker walking along the shoulder. He turned toward us to walk backward, thumb out.

      Mitch loves to talk and meet new people. Years ago, he would always stop for hitchhikers. Now, he usually won’t when I’m in the car because he knows it makes me uncomfortable. But we’d been riding in silence for nearly an hour, like the old married couple we are, and I knew Mitch was hankering for some new ears to work on.

      That’s a safe enough stray, wouldn’t you think? he asked me.

      I couldn’t tell. He did appear to be neatly dressed and carried nothing. A local, probably. As we drew closer, though, I saw a small tan mutt sniffing in the grass not far away. Possibly his traveling companion? I’m not a dog person, generally. And I could see the hitchhiker’s scruffy beard and a braided pony-tail hanging down. Hairy men always bother me. My father never shaved and rarely cut his hair – or even combed it. I know better, but can’t help associating too much hair with drunkenness and violence. Mitch is clean shaven and nearly bald, which suits me fine.

      It was too late for me to answer. We had slowed down enough that if we went on, the man would know we had been looking him over and he’d failed to pass muster. Mitch pulled off on the shoulder. The man and his dog caught up and jumped in the back seat behind me.

      Goin’ to Lake Petre, Mitch said. You?

      Beaumont. But I’ll take what I can get.

      Beaumont, Texas, was another 150 miles beyond Lake Petre, so we’d have this rider and his dog for the next hour, the rest of our trip. I’d been enjoying the silence, sinking into myself and letting go of my usual life, filled with meals, grown offspring and grandchildren, the garden, and the women’s fellowship outreach efforts. So much for my peace; the car would now be filled with predictable words I’d heard often.

      Whereya from, Mitch started, the standard opening.

      The man didn’t answer for a couple seconds, long enough for me to start wondering if he had heard Mitch. Then he sniffed, as if he had been occupied with nose drops or something. He was right behind me, so I couldn’t see him. I glanced over and saw Mitch look in the rear view mirror and crease his forehead in that way he has, with his eyebrows both lifting and scrunching together in the middle.

      I forget. Long time ago, the man finally answered.

      Mitch’s head tilted to the side, another Mitchism that people who know him read as, ‘how’s that now?’

      No ties to the past? he asked. How do you know who you are?

      Again a pause and a sigh, as if the man really didn’t care to answer or was bored by the question. I’d rather not. Leaves me freer.

      Now it was Mitch’s turn to pause a moment. This conversation was not going by any book I knew. And the only book Mitch knew was the Bible.

      Well, I suppose. But the Bible says the only real escape from the past and the only real freedom to become something different is through salvation.

      Mitch was a skilled missionary. I’d seen him work with hardened criminals, atheists, Jews, all kinds of people, and sometimes bring them around. This man sounded like a challenge, and that always galvanized Mitch. He tried to look back, but the car swerved and he had to return to his driving. Choose life, the Bible says. Ungrounded freedom – license – leads to eternal damnation and death.

      I’m sure I heard him come out of a yawn. Been there. Doesn’t scare me.

      You say you’ve been dead and damned? Mitch asked.

      The man didn’t answer. Mitch looked in the mirror again and really swerved this time before pulling off on the shoulder. The semi that had been following us closely roared by. I turned and looked as we rolled to a stop. He was slumped into a complete crumple. His hat had fallen off, revealing a bald top. Clearly he had dropped off to sound sleep or passed out. The dog was sitting on the seat beside him, tongue out, smiling, dumb and happy.

      Hey there, brother, you okay? Mitch bawled, looking back.

      No response.

      Let him sleep, Mitch. Poor man’s probably exhausted. And obviously not interested in being saved, I could have added. I was a little concerned, though. I’d seen people pass out before. And die too. But let me check him.

      I jumped out and put my pre-Mitch RN into action, reaching in the back door and pulling him upright. I slapped his face and checked for breathing. None. I grabbed his neck to feel for a carotid pulse. Nothing. I jerked him out of the car – he was skinny and light – stretched him out on the ground on his back, knelt down beside him and began chest compressions. The dog jumped out of the car and began sniffing the tires, completely unconcerned.

      Mitch came around from the driver’s side.

      Find my cell phone, I ordered. "It’s

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