Hitchhiking.
You just don’t see it anymore.
It used to be a means of transporting one’s self to points unknown with a complete stranger.
I know, not because I ever had to hitch a ride to go somewhere, but because I was the guy who would stop and pick up whoever had their thumbs out.
I never once thought of any danger out there on The Road. My travel buddy, a German-Shorthaired Pointer named Maxmillian Chopper Diaz, kept a watchful eye on any strangers I allowed into the old ’65 Ford pickup. I looked at every rider as a new opportunity to meet someone with their own story to tell. On occasion, I would join them for a short leg of their journey. I loved going new places with new people.
Then I heard about a young woman hitchhiker near Tucson, Arizona who was found stumbling down Interstate 10 with her arms cut off.
What stopped me from picking up anyone else after that was my fear for my dog’s safety. Hell, I was young and fearless, so I knew nothing would ever happen to me, right?
When was the last time you saw someone holding up a sign that said “anywhere?”
The only people I see holding signs near freeways are scammers and some legitimately down-on-their-luck people, but you can’t tell the difference.
Hopelessness.
To see it in the eyes of a fellow human being is heartbreaking.
When someone has reached the bottom, an enlightened society would see to it that person gets the opportunity to get their sense of self-worth back.
Their dignity.
The elderly are another segment of society that can see their dignity erode little by little, as their bodies begin to betray them.
It is inevitable.
Whether we want to our not, we have an obligation to the planet we live on and the community known as the human race.
I write about stewardship in this short-short story from my book EMOTIONS: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!
***
Stewardship
“Junior! Junior!” his mother yelled from the kitchen. She was hovering over a tray of homemade meatballs pulled hot from the oven. They smelled of garlic and oregano and Junior was hungry. Really hungry.
“I can hear Billy crying again. Can you please go see if his diaper needs changing?”
“Aw mom,” Junior protested.
The extended index finger emphasized his mother’s threatening tone.
“Not one word. You promised me if I got you a car, you would help make up the cost by helping me with Billy. Besides, we really couldn’t afford Maria anyway. It’s only for a few more months. With your help, I’ll be able to quit the night job soon.”
“Alright, alright.” Junior knew the futility of trying to win an argument with his mother, especially when she was right. He trudged down the dark, narrow hallway and carefully approached Billy’s room.
“Oh shit!” Junior screamed. “Mom! I’m gonna throw up! There’s poop everywhere!”
“Plenty of nose pins on the laundry line”, she offered. “Here, smear some of this under your nose,” as she tossed him the little blue jar of Vicks Vapo-Rub.
“Oh man. Stop crying.” Jesus he cries all the time. Junior approached the screaming, helpless little body. He wiped his bare back of the dried feces and carefully turned him over. Billy stopped screaming and settled into a muffled sob. Junior used another towel to clean the rest of Billy’s body. He knew that a mess this big was gonna have to be cleaned up and a bath given. He removed the soiled diaper like he was defusing a neutron bomb.
Almost telepathically, his mother bellowed from the kitchen.
“Junior, how is he? After you clean him up, you get some bleach-water towels to sanitize the room. I mean the whole room. Then……”
“I know, I know. A bath.”
“Thank you. You’re such a good boy.”
His mother returned to kneading the little pasta-potato pillows for her gnocchi primavera.
Junior spent the next half-hour cleaning up Billy’s entire room.
How the fuck do you get shit on the walls? I didn’t think your skinny little arms could throw that far.
Junior was speaking into Billy’s vacant eyes. As he lifted the tiny body, Junior had to say something, but he just couldn’t bring himself to call him by his name— Billy.
“It’s OK Grandpa, I’ll take care of you.”
***
Stay well.
