The 1972 spring semester for Johnny’s sophomore year ended. He needed to get back home to Dallas for his summer job at the liquor store, where he could sell booze but not buy it. He could fight in a war, but not drink booze. Damn Baptists.
Johnny had a part-time job on campus where he could walk anywhere he needed to go, so he didn’t need a car. He had ridden with friends who picked up a hitchhiker or two on their jaunts out of town. The hikers helped them pass the time. So, he decided to hitch a ride home this time after the semester ended.
The sun shone brightly on that cool, pleasant day in Central Texas. A friend dropped him off on the highway north of town and he stuck his thumb out. Pretty soon, a hearse pulled up in front of him. Johnny looked down at himself, wondering if he had somehow died while standing up. The driver stuck his head out of the hearse and said to climb on board. The driver was headed up the road a bit to pick up a stiff in a rural location. It felt strange and kind of cool at the same time to be riding in a hearse. He and the driver had a pleasant conversation about the business of riding with stiffs in the car. The radio news announced the death of somebody in the area and the driver’s antenna went up for a potential business opportunity.
They came to a fork in the highway and Johnny had to take the branch going to Dallas, so he got out and thanked the driver. Sorghum and corn crops stretched as far as the eye could see on both sides of the highway. A huge 60s Chevrolet Impala with long sleek tail fins came careening around the curve veering off the fork with a bare-chested guy on the driver side hanging out of the window and yelling at him. The Impala screeched to a halt and the guy waved at him to come on.
Johnny was hesitant but decided it might be safer to accept than decline, and got in the back seat of the car behind three bare-chested guys in the front. The driver had a tattoo on his upper right shoulder of a knife dripping blood and the words “Born to Die” underneath it. He wondered what he had gotten himself into, but the guys were nice enough and he settled down.
They rode with the windows down, wind whipping around his face. After a while, the driver pulled into a convenience store and started pumping gas. Johnny went in the store with the other guys. They went to a magazine rack and started flipping through one titled “Sex to Sexty.” He peeked over a shoulder and decided it was stupid and went back to the car. The driver had stopped pumping and didn’t wait long. He said, “this is bullshit,” and told Johnny to get in, gunned the car and they left the other guys behind.
They rode in silence. Before long, a police car pulled them over. Apparently, the guys left behind had called the police. The police wound up taking the them to a jail in Waxahachie for reasons Johnny never understood. Fortunately, as the driver was being booked, he nodded toward Johnny and said “he’s ok, he just hitched a ride” or something to that effect and he was let go.
Relieved, he started the hitch to get out of town back to the highway. An orange and white truck with three guys abreast in the seat pulled off the road toward him. And kept coming. And kept coming until Johnny had to turn tail and haul ass across a ditch. The truck got back on the road. He turned in time to see them all laughing over their shoulders at him. Johnny wondered if he should have cut his long hair and shaved his beard before hitching. Small town Texas did not look kindly on hippies.
He walked the rest of the way to the highway. This time he was picked up by an elderly Mexican couple. They were polite, but they did not speak English. The man wore a cowboy hat. They let him off on the LBJ Freeway loop on the west side of Dallas. He was grateful for their kindness but all he could think of the say was “Gracias.” He wished he could have said more to express his appreciation.
His next ride came quickly. A little Volkswagen Beetle bug pulled up in front of him. Two young long-haired guys in sunglasses sat in the front. He got in the back and the bug wheezed back onto the loop. Nothing was said until the driver suddenly looked back at him and said, “Want some acid?” He said no, whereupon the driver pulled off the road, stopped abruptly and let him out without a word.
The final leg of the trip to his home was uneventful with a boring guy who just happened to live in his neighborhood. He let himself into the house and turned on the TV news to see what was happening in the world. There was a burglary at the Watergate hotel in Washington D.C. and not much else. He went to the fridge and got a beer.
Copyright © Johnny Clack 2022
Short Shorts 