On The Road

Pete sat in the small camp as the heavy traffic passed a few hundred feet beyond the trees and brush that hid the freeway. Deep in thought, he enjoyed the warm sun that felt good after the morning chill.

Pete was thinking of the pain in his gut. It was sharp today, which kept him from panhandling on the corner a mile down the road. The week before, he'd finally succumbed to the advice of his friend, Sid, and gone to the local emergency room. After a day of sitting, shuffling between tests and some stern advice from doctors, he slipped away in the evening and came back to the camp. Their diagnosis was incomplete, though they knew his liver function was not right and more tests were needed to determine the cause. Pete felt closed in and only wanted to escape.

Maybe he should eat. He thought for a moment, then decided to wait. It only hurt worse when he ate and he wanted to avoid the pain. Maybe it would ease off later.

Pete's thoughts wandered to Rhonda. They'd started on the road together over twenty five years ago. Both were first year college students and both wanted to "see the world" before they settled down and started their lives. After five years, the thoughts of settling down slipped further away. Their lifestyle was ingrained and they had lost the resources to escape. Neither had communicated with family for years and neither wanted to make the effort to return to the life that was now alien to both.

Pete remembered when she disappeared. It was a rainy night, she wanted some cigarettes and would only be gone for a short time. She never came back. At first Pete assumed she had just left, but soon realized she was the woman killed by a hit a run driver as she crossed an intersection. He saw the report in a newspaper at a store where he was buying a beer. He knew he should have done more, but he, also, knew it really didn't matter. His world shifted that moment. He gathered his belongings and was hundreds of miles away within days.

"Hey Pete. I brought you something."

Pete looked up to find Sid handing him a 44 ounce malt liquor. "Thanks" was his reply.

"I had a good day Pete. People were generous on the corner. Maybe tomorrow you'll feel like making some money?"

Pete replied: "Maybe. I'll probably feel better."

Pete opened the beer and took two long swallows. The cold liquid  immediately burned and caused the pain to increase. Taking two more swallows, he laid back on his sleeping bag and waited for the buzz to dull the pain.

"You hungry Pete? I brought some cans of chili."

The thought of eating turned Pete's stomach. He wasn't hungry any longer. Taking another slug of beer, he answered: "Maybe later. I'm not real hungry right now."

Sid and Pete spent the next hour discussing nothing and watching the sun start to fade. Eventually both were just staring and Pete eventually nodded off. Sid looked at Pete to make sure he was asleep.

After he was satisfied Pete was sleeping, Sid rolled up his sleeping bag and made sure all his belongings were stored in his knapsack. Standing, he approached Pete and pulled a knife from his pocket.

Sid stared at Pete and thought of his time in the army. Advance training taught him how to kill a man within seconds. No pain; no screaming; just oblivion. He looked down at Pete. In a low voice that was almost a whisper he said: "That's not my job."

Reaching into his stash, Sid took a ten dollar bill, wrapped it around the knife, and set it on the sleeping bag next to Pete. He made over a hundred today and he had his boot knife for protection. Examining Pete, he realized his skin was now a noticeable shade of yellow. It reminded him of an old man he'd met a few years before.

They called him old man, although he was probably only in his late forties. His life on the road, and alcohol, had aged him before his time. Sid found him dead one morning, so he flagged down a cruiser as it passed. Three days later, less all his belongings, he realized he never wanted to be involved with another police investigation. He'd done nothing, but the police wanted to be sure before they set him free. They wouldn't give his belonging back. They'd said something about a health hazard.

Never looking back, Sid slipped from the wooded area and started walking down the shoulder of the access road. Holding out his thumb as he walked, he hoped to flag a ride and be a few hundred miles down the road by morning. He'd head south. Winter was coming and he wanted to spend it in the Keys. The dumpsters always had good food and there were miles of bridges to sleep under.

Sid knew there was one rule on the road, which was there were no rules. Glancing back one time, he pushed Pete from his mind and picked up his pace.