The Hitchiker Revised 8/25

I've decided to use this blog as a place to record the evolution of my story. Should be quite facinating to look back on.

Some new things in this one: The intro is probably the most obvious. I made it when I realized that my emotional focal point won't actually be a sunny sunflower field, but instead a dark, wet bus stop. (Yes, everything is becoming more gritty as the story progresses. I hadn't initially planned for Mac to actually threaten Avrum, but apparently my characters have a tendency to take things into their own hands. And you probably noticed that the waitress has changed from a cheery matron named Wendy to first a nameless hog and now to a swine. And I suspect her condition will continue to deteriorate (sorry Wendy)). The intro was extremely difficulty to write and I'm still not satisfied with it. I think it needs more country-talk (I'm an urbanite, so its doubly hard). I hate intro's because they take so much work. You have to set the mood and narrative style, do some foreshadowing, AND give an overall impression of what the story about in a concise, attention-grabbing manner. Give me a nice body or conclusion any day.

Oh, and pay attention to the radio. Lots of work in that. And my descriptions of the truck will be significant later. Still need to pick a title, but I now know what I will have to involve. Has to be a common road phrase with the possibility of romantic interpretations.

The story that Mac tells in the end isn't entirely my own invention. I actually spent an hour looking for a road joke off the Internet that would fit the story. But I think I found one that fits perfectly. I've yet to write the punch line, though it isn't knee-slapping funny. Just funny if you were Mac and Avrum. :) And of course there's bittersweet significance to it as well... But I won't give that away just yet.

It’s raining like a heffer with bad kidneys, and I’m cold, wet and hungry. The grey clouds have taken a back seat to Night’s driver, and the street lights have started throw their orange light on anything they can reach. A truck rumbles pass, leaving behind the pungent aroma of gasoline and a memory of something bold and capable.

I’d been waiting since the cock crowed.

Suddenly, out of nowhere a bus pulls over and a man gets off. I can’t see his face yet, but I know right away it’s him. I can almost hear his lilting laugher as he splashed through the puddles like the cocksure bastard he is.

His sandals go slap, slap, slap, on the sidewalk as he walks towards me. He could make that noise on me all night long if he wanted…

Slap, slap, slap!

I awaken abruptly to an overweight, sour-looking swine with rust-coloured hair thumping the diner table with a fleshy fist.

“Honey,” said the swine with a barfly rasp, “Yer snoring was just breakin’ my heart…” it snorted and then waddled away, a tray of half-eaten lasagne balanced precariously on its arm. I rubbed my eyes and the swine became a waitress.

“Sorry,” I croaked feebly.

The waitress grunted.

Still bemused, I fingered the lock around my neck as I chased shadows with my mind. But then my eyes wandered to my watch, and I shot up like a buck on steroids. My shoulders set the grimy lights jangling, provoking a rutting sound from the kitchen. “Knock out my lights, and I’ll knock out yours, y’hear?” yelled the waitress. I cursed my unwieldy body and wiped the grease on my jeans as I lurch towards the exit on stiff legs.

At that moment there was a jingle at the door, and Jim Burkman sauntered in. As I passed him, he gave me a once over and an easy smile.

“Hey, Avrum.” he greeted in a voice too friendly to be innocent.

“Jim.” I nodded, but didn’t smile back. The man howled in a chilling way when he shot his load. Better not chance it tonight with a full moon. Besides, I had a new shipment to pick up and I was late.

I skipped across the parking lot, fumbled for my keys, and finally installed myself into the snug and slightly smelly lair I’d called home for the past seven years. The careworn leather seat sighed as I shifted my weight. My fingers lingered for a moment on an old postcard clipped to the dashboard, and then in went the key and I was off.

I switched on the evening news as I pulled onto the highway but I was only half listening to the reporter go on yet again about some escaped felon stalking the region. Golden lights illuminated a familiar and friendly trail, but the moon cast its own ghostly glow on a landscape that was neither familiar nor friendly. It was the kind of moon which could corner a man’s thoughts and make him think about the journeys life had taken him and the things which could or should not have been…

Suddenly, a movement caught the periphery of my headlights, and I slowed to a stop with the engine still roaring. I heard the rapid staccato sound of shoes hitting gravel shoulders, and a burly shape materialized at the side window. I felt only a fleeting chill – a premonition – before I pulled the door wide.

“Pretty late to be on the road, eh?” I yelled.

“Can I get a lift? North, maybe?” the other man yelled back, shielding his mouth from the exhaust which obscured his form.

I signalled with a sharp jab and said, “Aye, get in!”

A thick arm reached up, grabbed the side door, and swung the rest of its cargo smoothly into the front seat. He slammed the door shut and I pressed the gas. I could just make out the outline of high cheek bones and a wide-based jaw with a week-old crop of fur. A dirty wife-beater was stretched between a pair of heavy-set shoulders and a waist narrow enough to make most women jealous.

First thing he did was switch the channel from evening news to country-rock.

“Name’s Cam.” said the man, turning sharply. “You got a lighter?” I was suddenly ill at ease. There was something familiar in that edgy, quicksilver voice. His restless eyes seemed to reflect liquid fire.

“Yeah, sure,” I murmured in reply, flipping him the lighter. He pulled my hand close, a cigarette already in his mouth. Turning, I caught his face in the red glow of the flame.

I hit the breaks, hard.

“Fuck!” he shouted in surprise. He looked at me and saw me staring at him and his eyes narrowed. “Hey, trucker, what the hell…” His knuckles tighten.

“Sorry, Cam…” I said, biting off his name and tasting bitterness. “Thought I saw something cross the road.” I took my foot off the break, picking up speed again, my eyes fixed ahead. I was flirting with danger and I knew it.

“Y’know what…” His voice was suddenly cold as ice and tinted with menace. “I don’t think that’s it… Maybe you’d better pull over, mister…”

I ignored him. I let my foot increase pressure on the accelerator.

“I said…” There was a quick movement, and then I felt something cold and sharp pressed against my waist. “…to friggin’ pull over, you mother fucker!” He yelled the last. His eyes were black pools of fury.

Any reasonable man would have done as he was told. But I wasn’t any reasonable man. I was as crazy as he was. The engine roared like a beast at a hundred and sixty.

I yelled, “Still playin’ cops and robbers, aye Mac?”

I saw panic in his eyes as he pull away in a hurry, nicking me with his knife as he did.

“Lights!” shouted Mac in the next moment, desperation in his voice, “Turn on the God damn light!” He was clawing at the roof. “For fuck’s sake… turn on the light…” he pleaded.

I reached for it, but then Mac grabbed my arm. “No…never mind…never mind…” he said fervently. He sounded almost terrified. “Don’t turn on the light. No lights!” His eyes darted about, then his trembling hand pulled something out of his pocket. For a moment I thought it was a gun until he jabbed it into his mouth and swallowed it. He sighed, his agitation subsiding immediately.

For a while, we sat side by side, listening to each other’s breathing. I eased my foot off the pedal, bringing down the speed. My heart beat took a little longer to adjust.

“Give me the lighter again?” Mac asked finally, “I… dropped my last one.” He sounded distant, like a siren a long way down the road. He wiped sweat off his brow with an arm.

“Yeah…” I cleared my throat. Or eyes met as I handed him the lighter (still in my hand after everything), and I saw that he recognized me, but not in a friendly way. It seemed like he was still figuring whether it was better to jump out the truck. I’d dreamt our meeting a hundred times, but I never though it would be like this.

Mac broke our gaze and took a deep drag of his cigarette.

“You know,” he began slowly, “Me and my pal Mur – that’s short for Murva – used to go driving just like this. Except that we were sixteen, and we didn’t have no rig. Just my old man’s shitty station wagon.”

He shot me a sidelong glance. What the hell was he talking about? “Don’t get me wrong, Mur wasn’t my girlfriend or anything – just best buds – though she was definitely all girl. Looked gorgeous in a red satin dress and even had that queer sway in her hips, if you know what I mean.” I felt a tug at the corners of my mouth as I understood. Little Bastard.

His smiled tentative and continued, “Anyway, one weekend her folks decide to leave on the train to South Dakota. So I thought, what the heck, why waste the free car? I was real proud of my new licence, see. Mur hadn’t gotten hers yet. She didn’t think she’d pass; she never thought she could pass at anything. Thought he body was too big, too clumsy… though I made her take the test eventually… but that’s another story.”

“Anyhow, I say to Mur, ‘Why don’t we go pick up some girls at the bar?’ Mur didn’t like the sound of that so I said she could pick up some pansy guys if she liked.” Mac paused, “I think she hit me for that. Anyway, she complained for a while about this and that but eventually she went along with it. So I drove us done to the bar late that night, and we picked up the girls. Pretty soon we were all pissed drunk and making stupid talk, but I could tell that Mur wasn’t too keen. So we dropped off the girls, and drove back to her place. But then when we got out of the car, we saw it – a big friggin’ dent in the back of the station wagon! We were like holy shit, someone must have backed up and ran off. Mur was freaking out about her folks killing her, and I was feeling awful because it was all my idea. So we decided we’d get if fixed before her parents came back. I didn’t have any money, so Mur paid for the panelbeater out of her savings.”

Mac took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled.

Hitchiker Revised

Revised, but only slightly extended. Yeah, I'm a slow writer... (plus I've been pre-occupied with a number of real-life crises)

Thump, thump, thump. Sunflowers and a lilting laughter faded to black as I awoke to a heavenly vision: an overweight, sour-looking hog with rust-coloured hair thumping the diner table with a fleshy fist.

“Honey,” said the hog with a barfly rasp, “ya beautiful snoring was just breakin’ my heart.” it snorted at its own joke and then waddled away, a tray of half-eaten lasagne balanced precariously on its arm. I rubbed my eyes and the hog became a waitress.

“Sorry,” I croaked, feebly. I seemed to be having difficulty generating spit.

The waitress grunted, hog-like, in response.

Still bemused, I fingered the lock around my neck and let my mind linger for a moment on a half-forgotten dream. But then my eyes wandered to my watch, and I shot up like a buck on steroids. My shoulders set the grimy electric lights jangling, which provoked a rutting sound from the kitchen. “Knock out my lights, and I’ll knock out yours, y’hear?” yelled the waitress. I swore quietly, wiped the grease on my jeans, and lurch towards the exit on stiff legs.

There was a jingle at the door, and Jim Burkman sauntered in. As I passed him, he gave me a once over and an easy smile.

“Hey, Avrum.” he greeted in a voice too friendly to be innocent.

“Jim.” I nodded, but didn’t smile back. The man howled in a chilling way when he shot his load. Better not chance it tonight with a full moon. Besides, I had a new shipment to pick up and I was late.

I skipped across the parking lot, fumbled for my keys, and finally installed myself into the snug and slightly smelly lair I’d called home for the past seven years. The careworn leather seat sighed as I shifted my weight. My fingers lingered for a moment on an old postcard clipped to the dashboard, and then in went the key and I was off.

I switched on the evening news as I pulled onto the highway but I was only half listening to the reporter go on yet again about some sandy-haired felon stalking the region. Golden lights illuminated a familiar and friendly trail, but the moon cast its own ghostly glow on a landscape that was neither familiar nor friendly. It was the kind of moon which could corner a man’s thoughts and make him think about the journeys life had taken him and the things which could or should not have been…

Suddenly, a movement caught the periphery of my headlights, and I slowed to a stop with the engine still roaring. Then I heard the rapid staccato sound of shoes hitting gravel shoulders, and a burly shape materialized at the side window. I felt only a fleeting chill – a premonition – before I pulled the door wide.

“Pretty late to be on the road, eh?” I yelled.

“Can I get a lift? North, maybe?” the other man yelled back, shielding his mouth from the exhaust which swirled around his indistinct form.

I signalled with a sharp jab and said, “Aye, get in!”

A thick arm reached up, grabbed the side door, and swung the rest of its cargo smoothly into the front seat. He slammed the door shut and I eased my foot off the pedal. I could just make out the outline of high cheek bones, a wide-based jaw, and the two-month-old blond fur around it in the indirect glare of the headlights. A dirty wife-beater was stretched between heavy-set shoulders and a waist narrow enough to make women jealous.

“You got a lighter?” he asked, turning sharply. I was suddenly ill at ease. There was something familiar in his oddly melodious voice and in those dark eyes which seemed to reflect liquid gold.

“Yeah, sure,” I murmured, flipping him the lighter. He pulled my hand close, a cigarette already in his mouth. It was at that moment that I turned and caught his face in the full red glow of the flame.

I hit the breaks, hard.

The Hitchiker

Below is the beginning of a short story I'm writing. Be warned that this is a pre-pre-pre-pre-First Draft, so it will likely be heavily revised as the story unfolds.

Thump, thump, thump. Sunflowers, autumn leaves, and a lilting laughter faded to black as I slowly came to. I pried my eyes open to the heavenly vision of a dumpy matron with a streak of tomato-red in her otherwise greying hair. She was thumping the diner table with a plump fist.

“Honey,” she rasped, “Your beautiful snoring was just breakin’ my heart, and we can’t have that.” She flashed a dazzling smile and waddled away, a tray of half-eaten lasagna balanced on her arm.

“Sorry, Wendy.” I yawned. My throat felt like sandpaper. “Won’t happen again.”

“Right. Like I haven’t heard that before.” She snorted and disappeared into the kitchen.

For a few minutes I sat there, fingering the lock around my neck, my mind still chasing red and gold shadows. But then my eyes wandered over to my watch, and I shot up like a buck on steroids, hitting the electric lights. I quickly stilled the jangling, but not before I heard Wendy yell, “If you knock out my lights Avrum, you can bet your britches I’ll knock out yours, y’hear?” I swore quietly at my clumsiness while I wiped the grease on my jeans.

“And no swearing in my diner!” She paused. “Only I’m allowed!” My lips quirked at that but I was wise enough to keep quiet. Wendy had spunk, and we loved her for it. All of us truckers did.

I lurched towards the exit on stiff legs. At that moment there was a jingle at the door, and Jim Burkman sauntered in. As I passed him, he gave me a once over and an easy smile.

“Hey, Avrum.” he greeted in a voice too friendly to be innocent.

“Jim.” I nodded, but didn’t smile back. The man howled in a chilling way when he shot his load. Better not chance it tonight with a full moon. Besides, I had a new shipment to pick up and I was late.

I skipped across the parking lot, fumbled for my keys, and finally installed myself into the snug and slightly smelly lair I’d called home for the past seven years. The careworn leather seat sighed as a shifted my weight. My fingers lingered for a moment on an old postcard clipped to the dashboard, and then in went the key and I was off.

Pulling onto the highway, golden lights illuminated a familiar and friendly trail. But the moon was bright tonight, and it cast a ghostly light of its own on a landscape that was neither familiar nor friendly. It was the kind of moon which could corner a man’s thoughts and make him think about the journeys life had taken him and the things which could or should not have been…

Suddenly, a moving shape materialized briefly in the periphery of my headlights. I slowed down ahead, coming to stop with my engine still roaring. I was pretty sure of what it was.

I waited.

Moments later, I heard the rapid staccato sound of shoes hitting gravel shoulders.

To Be Continued...