Copyright © 2008 Kathleen Hood-Haskins. All rights reserved.

The car had no air conditioning and the temperature outside was already over 95 degrees in the shade, accompanied by a humidity that Nick's grandmother would have said "you could cut with a knife." Beside him, the teenage girl was rolling a joint, her pink tongue moving smoothly along the edge of the white paper before she sealed it into an almost perfect cigarette. Her face was hidden by her long, dirty, uncombed hair, but he didn’t need to see her face to know what she looked like. After all, they'd been riding in this car together for three days. She had a wide face - she wasn't a particularly thin kid, in fact, she was plain plump, built like a linebacker. Her cheeks were round and usually flushed in an unflattering, sickly way. She had small, even teeth and a crooked smile. When she smiled, she looked kind of like a retarded kid, so he tried not to make her smile too often.

"Wanna hit?" She raised her face and held the joint out toward him. He could see the thin pale smoke and smell the unmistakable odor of weed. It was magnified by the warm, close interior of the car.

He shook his head and turned away from her, not wanting to see the disappointment on her chubby face. She made a small noise, but he wasn't sure what she meant by it, so he ignored her. Outside the car, he could see the steam rising in wavy lines from the heat of the cement and he tapped his fingers against the side of the car, his arm hanging out of the open window.

The beat up old truck in front of them drove forward, so they moved up one car length closer to the drive-through window. He could see a pimply boy, no older than the girl smoking the joint in the seat next to him, handing colorful paper drink glasses and a brown sack, thick with fast food, to the driver of the truck. There was a big, glossy black Labrador retriever in the bed of the pick-up, and it reminded Nick of his father's hunting dog, the one they'd named Tar Baby. That had been years ago. He hadn't seen his family since he was eighteen and he was twenty nine now.

I’m sitting in a rusty, broken down old Cadillac in some godforsaken town in Arizona with a jail bait hitchhiker named something like Tiffany or Amber, he thought miserably. Aloud he muttered, "What the hell am I doing?"

Tiffany/Amber brightened, thinking he wanted to talk to her. "What did you say?"

Looking down at her, he felt a wave of nausea. "Nothing. I wasn't talking to you."

She pulled back like he'd slapped her, her face reddening. He saw the truck pull away and drove the Cadillac forward, next to the window. The kid, dressed in a blue and

They’re wrong, he thought, this is the dream, those idiots just don’t know it. He cruised the highways, answered to no one but himself, punched no time clocks, chose when and where he wanted to be. And, of course, who he wanted to be with. When he got out, he decided he was never going to be anyone’s prisoner again. He knew he’d die first.

Grabbing a sandwich, he ate it in three bites. Smiling coyly, she handed him a second one before he’d tossed the wrapper out the window. Nick looked at her and gave her a toothy grin. "Thanks. I guess I’m hungrier than I thought."

Taking that as a sign of interest, she said, "No wonder. You haven’t eaten since breakfast and it’s after six." The pleasure in her voice was apparent. "Do you think we’ll be in California by tomorrow?"

He shrugged, tossing the second paper wrapper, and gulped down half of his soda in one swallow. "Jesus, I can’t remember ever seeing it so hot." He looked out the window at the surroundings, sandy earth and rocks everywhere. Only an occasional cactus or tumbleweed broke the monotony. Even the range of mountains in the distance were the same basic colors. The only thing that cooled him at all was the air blowing in the car windows. The air itself was warm, but against the sweat dripping from his hairline to his neck, it helped.

He’d tried all day to shake off the now familiar feeling, but her voice was really grating on his nerves. Between her and the sweltering heat, he felt like he was going crazy.

"I have always wanted to go to Los Angeles," she babbled on, her voice like a little kid’s. "Can we go see Disneyland? Or that famous theater that all the movie stars have their names in front of? Oh, and those studios where they make movies."

She was getting more animated all of a sudden and he had to fight back the urge to backhand her right then. "Shut up, okay?" he said calmly, without looking at her.

"I’m tired of you treating me so bad." She crossed her arms on her chest and threw herself against the seat back, shaking him. "I didn’t do anything to you. Don’t talk to me like I’m trash."

But you are trash, he thought to himself. I found you on the side of the road like any other litter. You climbed in my car as easy as pie, smiling like the cat that ate the canary, and screwed me just as readily, with the same stupid grin. You’re two kinds of trash.

He threw the empty drink cup onto the floorboard behind them and pressed the accelerator, speeding up to almost 80. "I’ll talk to you any way I want to." His voice was cold. "And, by the way, just hearing you talk is pissing me off. And you don’t want to piss me off." He reached down and flipped on the radio, cranking it up pretty loud and drowning out any chance of hearing her response.

She stayed quiet for a while after that. They drove another hour or so before it started to get dark. He stole a look over at her a couple of times, trying to decide how much he was going to have to sweeten her up before she forgave him and followed him wherever he wanted to lead her.

None of the others had been this irritating. It made it more difficult in some ways: he’d have to suck up to her now, or fight with her, and neither prospect would be fun, in light of his feelings. But, it also gave the whole thing an element of gratification because he would be glad to be free of that whiny voice and homely face.

The highway lights came on and he found himself searching for a good place to stop. There were several little roadside motels, which they passed, and she began to look at him, curiously. Most evenings, they’d stopped by this time and settled into a tiny room in some flea infested dump.

"That last little motel looked okay, Nick. Why didn’t you go there?"

He didn’t answer, just drove on.

"Are we going to drive all night or something?" He thought he detected a note of apprehension, maybe even fear, in her voice, and it made him smile.

"Why are you smiling? Did I say something funny?" She wrinkled her nose and cocked her head to the side, looking at him from across the car.

Shaking his head, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard and lit one with the car lighter. He took a long drag off of it and blew some wavering smoke rings into the ceiling of the car. Gratefully, he noticed that the darkening evening had dropped the temperature in the car. "I need to pull over up ahead. Take care of business, you know." He inhaled deeply, the glowing tip was the only light inside the car.

"Do you have to? It’s so dark out here and the last few signs said we weren’t far from a place called Linton." He was surprised to feel her hand on his leg. The heat of her flesh was warm through his jeans and she began to fumble clumsily with the button on his fly. "Come on, Nick, let’s find somewhere to stay. I’m tired."

He tried to push her hand away, but she thought he was being playful which only made her giggle and move closer to him on the seat. She slipped her arm through his and pressed up against his right side. "Please. . ." she whimpered.

Nick realized that his jaw was aching from clenching his teeth together, but he decided not to shove her off of him just yet. He took another drag from the cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. Time to start acting, Nick, old boy, he thought to himself, casually putting an arm across the back of the seat behind her head. Time to reel this one in.

Holding the cigarette between his teeth, he wound the wheel gently to the right, moving off the dark highway onto the shoulder. For several minutes, there was the sound of the gravel crunching under the tires, and then he turned onto a dirt road that led back into the trees.

The girl laid her head against his chest. Her filthy hair was right under his face and he fought the impulse to say something unkind. No need to provoke a fight this late in the game. Inhaling again, he put his foot on the brake and she sat up. He shifted into ‘park’ and turned off the ignition, slipping the keys into his pocket.

As he climbed out of the car, she watched him, that foolish smile plastered across her face. He stretched his arms upward, rolled his shoulders, and walked slowly back to the rear of the car, all the time aware of her eyes on him. Opening the trunk, he leaned in and started gathering a few things together. He smiled to himself when he heard her open the car door and step out uneasily into the darkness.

"Nick?" Her voice was concerned. "Nick?"

He bent his head around the side of the open trunk and gave her what he hoped was a easygoing smile. "What? I’m just looking for a flashlight." Bending back into the trunk, he chuckled to himself, put the cigarette between his lips, then stood up. "Here it is!" He waved the bright flashlight with one hand, the weight of the knife felt good in the other. "I think I heard a funny sound in the engine and figured I’d take a look while we were stopped."

She came around the end of the car, clutching her upper arms, and frowned. "Shouldn’t we just go on into town first?"

Nick shook his head. "Nah."

When he turned to face her, she saw the knife and her eyes widened. "What do you need that for?"

"Let me give you some advice, kid," he said, taking one last puff from his cigarette and flicking it out into the grass. He could see the tiny red glow several feet away. "Nice girls don’t take rides from strangers."

A few hours later, he stopped at a well-lit diner in Linton, ordered ham and eggs and a big mug of hot, steaming coffee. While he waited on the food, he went into the men’s room and washed his hands, staring at himself in the mirror before returning to his booth. The waitress flirted with him a little, asking all sorts of questions about which way he was headed and from where. She was an older woman, frowzy bottle-red hair and too much makeup. She’d obviously seen better days. His grandmother would have said she’d been "rode hard and put away wet."

Might as well give her a little lift, she looks like she could use one, he thought. He left her a big tip, smiling and waving as he left. The motor roared to life when he turned the key in the ignition. He backed out of the driveway and, within minutes, was back on the highway. He scanned the radio dial until he found a good station. Singing along with an old Rolling Stone’s tune, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, smiling to himself.

Next morning, right after he crossed the California state line, he saw a girl about seventeen, long blonde hair and long tanned legs, with a green backpack. Her skin, though tanned, was as smooth as a baby’s butt, and she reminded him vaguely of someone. As his car neared, she turned and smiled, sticking her thumb out. While he drove past her, he tried to think of who it was that she resembled. Was it Texas, he wondered, or Kansas? He slowed and moved onto the shoulder of the road just ahead of her, watching her in the rear view mirror as she ran toward the car.

"Thanks for the lift, mister." Her voice was bright, natural. She opened the passenger door and leaned in, smiling.

"Name’s Nick." He grinned. "No problem, I’m headed this way." Pointing over the seat, he said, "Throw your bag in the back seat."

She tossed it into the seat and slipped the seat belt around her as Nick glanced back, accelerating onto the empty roadway. He could see the ribbon of tarmac as it narrowed away into the flat horizon in the rearview mirror. His left arm hung out into the glaring sunlight and he could already feel the heat pounding into his skin. Drumming lightly against the outside of the car door, accompanying some old song on the radio, he apologized for the car. "Sorry I don’t have air conditioning in this old heap." He looked out the window again and back at her with a slow, easy smile. "As my granny would say: it looks like it’s going to be another scorcher."