It’s awkward to be the hitchhiker… to be on this side of a scary folktale.

Let’s not talk about how I got here. Not really important.

What matters is that I’ve never looked more disheveled. And I’ve never felt more awkward. Just a weird-looking dork sticking my thumb out on an empty road, sandwiched between two forests. Pitch black.

It’s midnight, I think? I didn’t have my watch on me. Or my phone. Or anything else that tells the time. My internal clock ain’t great either. But let’s say it’s between 10:49PM and 2AM. I think. Probably.

Car goes past. Doesn’t even think of stopping. Ah, I don’t blame ‘em. Looked like a couple that were just coming back from a fun camping trip. They don’t need my nonsense right now.

I mean, I wouldn’t stop for me. Would just be silly, really.

I’ll hold out hope. Maybe a van filled to capacity, save for one seat in the back, would stop for me. They could take a chance. After all, if I tried anything funny, I’d be vastly outnumbered.

Twenty minutes pass. No van. Actually, no cars at all. I guess people don’t really use this road. Or it’s late. And hitchhiking on a Wednesday night, or a err… Thursday morning, isn’t really a wise move.

Ooh, look, a car! They’re slowing to stop… No, no it doesn’t look like they can take me… but they look… apologetic? That’s sweet. They’re sort of mumbling “sorry” and shrugging. Ah that’s fine. I’m just glad you looked at me, really.

I’m pacing. I wish I had my cigarettes. I hate being in one place for too long. I hate being alone with my brain. I ruminate. I hear sounds coming from the forest and they creep me out. I think about worst case scenarios all the time. You know how your brain can drum up something much scarier than anything real life can throw at you? Yeah.

I just need to try to be present.

Second thought, maybe I should just stay in my head. It’s safer up here. The more mindful I get right now, the more it’s clear I’m in the middle of the fucking road with no hope of getting home.

There’s a feeling of tension in my chest. It’s tight. It aches. I breathe into it.

It’ll dissipate. I’ve lived with anxiety long enough. I have my tools.

Yes, I did in fact notice the car in front of me on the road slowing to a stop. And no, I’m not gonna get my hopes up.

Shit. The driver looks professional. Like she actually has her life in order. Hun, don’t do this. Statistically, this isn’t a good move. The odds are not in your favor.

She looks like she just straightened her hair. Like she’s coming from some sort of tech conference. Business casual. You could put her in a brochure. Fucking hell, she looks my age.

Don’t do this. I could be a maniac. I can wait for the van.

“You look like you’ve had a rough night,” she says.

I keep my distance from her.

“Hey, uh, look, thank you for the kind gesture but… I’m actually kind of waiting for a car with more people in it. So that it’s… less weird for everyone,” I respond.

She laughs.

“Get in. I’ll be okay.”

If I’m being honest, I’m praying for another car to come by.

Nope.

I get in.

Lady, I’m gonna give you a lecture about safety once you drop me off. It’s not wise to pick up a scruffy hitchhiker like me in the middle of the night.

“Whereabouts you heading?” she asks.

“Uh, honestly, two hours in the direction you’re already driving. I’m in Morgantown. Anywhere in the city is fine.”

“Cool. I can take you a good chunk of the way there I think. Depends on how much I like ya!” she says, laughing. “I’m kidding.”

“I’m just grateful for the ride. Thank you.”

We sit in silence for a bit. I was hoping she’d put on the radio or something. Usually people are more talkative. I don’t want to start ruminating again. I wonder what she’s thinking. Does she regret picking me up? Is this weird? Is she scared for her safety? She shouldn’t be, but I get it. This is weird, right?

“So, I do have to ask. It’s Thursday morning at 1AM. What are you doing in the middle of the road?” she asks.

1AM. Nailed it. My internal clock is better than I thought. And look, lady, I know you just want to have a conversation, but I really don’t want to answer this question.

“A, uh… retreat with my friends. We do it every year. It’s a bit of a ritual,” I say.

She looked confused.

“Right. And does the retreat end with you standing in the middle of the road? Looking… the way you do right now? No offense.”

“None taken. And uh, no. I left early. On not so great terms,” I respond.

She snickers. She looks at me. Kind of warm.

“That’s it?” she says.

“That’s it” I respond.

She shakes her head.

Awkward silence.

I’m starting to go back into my head. Please turn on the radio or something.

“You know… if you talked more, it’d be easier to trust you. I mean, I did pick you up in the middle of the night,” she says.

I laugh.

“You’re free to drop me off wherever you want. I feel weird about this too. It’s kind of like when you’re accidentally walking behind someone at night. And you feel weird. But you two are going the same way.”

“And yet you stuck out your thumb. And got in the car,” she says.

“Good point.”

I mean, it was a good point. It’s good to self-reflect sometimes, right? I can be a hypocrite, sure.

She laughs again.

“Okay, I’ll tell you something about me. But then, you have to tell me more about you,” she says.

Damnit. She’s cute.

“I picked you up because… I’ve had benders before. In a past life…”

She motions to her clothes.

“I mean c’mon, I didn’t always look this fancy. I had to sort some shit out in my life.”

For someone who claims to be as grounded and put together as you are, picking me up was pretty silly. Again, statistically, a pretty stupid choice.

“And so, you know, I had nights where people would go out of their way to drop me off home. I’ve literally been in your shoes, you know. Disheveled, barely awake, drunk out of my mind, sticking my thumb out on an empty road. And honestly, it was just as scary getting picked up. But… I trusted people. And they took care of me, and brought me home. So in a way, I guess I’m… paying it forward. I have full trust that the universe balances things out,” she says.

She said all of that with a smile. Kind of endearing. Not sure if I trust all of that, but endearing nonetheless. I begrudgingly nod.

“That’s actually kinda wholesome.”

“Now you,” she says back.

I sigh. This road runs long. It’s kinda scary outside. Maybe if she likes me enough she’ll take me all the way home. I don’t want to be out on the street again.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I’ll open up. A bit.

“Alright, so, you ever have that group of friends where you’ve changed so much as a person that you probably shouldn’t be friends with them anymore, but you also feel obliged to show up when they ask you to come out?” I ask.

She snickers.

“So you end up going out to that stupid event you know you shouldn’t be going to. And you regret it immediately,” she says back.

“Exactly. So I go. Because we’re all buddies right? And we go way back. Except, I don’t like the idea of getting trashed at a hostel. And having to… give the group my phone, my keys, my wallet, everything. Play that stupid game we all play,” I say.

“Stupid game?”

I sigh.

“Alright, but you have to promise to not judge me,” I say.

She shrugs. Her eyes say “you can’t stop me”. Fine.

“The game is… basically, that, uh… each of us has to hit the town and find a girl to uh… bring back to our room. Anyone who doesn’t succeed has to sleep outside without any of their belongings,” I say, embarrassed.

“Wow,” she says. “You and your friends really are chauvinistic morons, aren’t you?”

I make a face.

“Like I said, I really shouldn’t be friends with them anymore.”

“Awe, I’m kidding” she says.

You shouldn’t let your guard down too quickly. I haven’t finished my story yet.

I take a beat, then I continue.

“I came this time, but my terms were clear. I’ll hang out, we can drink, and I’m happy to be a wingman to anyone playing that stupid game. But beyond that, I won’t be participating. I wanna stay at home, kick back, and have a relaxing time.”

“You didn’t really think they’d let you not participate, did you?” she says.

“I did! That’s why I came!”

“Really?” she asks.

“Really really!”

She shakes her head.

“Moron.”

“You’re almost getting too comfortable with me now!” I say.

“Great diversion. But you didn’t tell me the whole story, did you?” she responds.

You know, if I had cigarettes and a light, I’d be happy to go back onto the street. But I don’t.

Alright, you win.

“Okay, well… they pulled their bullshit on me. I had a couple of drinks in me, and slowly those assholes grabbed my keys, my wallet, my phone, my fucking smokes. Little by little. Pricks”.

Fuck, I’m getting heated. I’m scaring her, aren’t I?

“By the time I knew the jig was up, they all got together to try to pick me up and throw me outside. Y’know, force me to play that dumb game with them. Force me to bring a girl back to our room”.

I’m rambling. Let’s try to cool it.

“You lost your shit didn’t yo–”

“I lost my shit” I respond. “I freaked out. I’m not usually an angry drunk, but something in me snapped this time. Mark grabbed me by the legs and Francesco had my arms and they were trying to drag me outside. They were laughing. So I started kicking. And punching. Hard. Once I got my footing, I was just straight up swinging at them. Full force. I feel like I did some damage. Nothing, like, too severe, but… you know. Mark fell to the floor. I kept hitting him. Everyone eventually tore me off of him, but I was still, like, lashing out. Not physically anymore, but verbally. Like, emotional abuse. It was weird.”

Goddamnit, I need to save this shit for therapy.

“I, uh, anyways. They just looked at me, mortified. Like I was a freak or something. And so… I walked out the front door. And here I am. Took me fifteen minutes of walking to realize that I didn’t have my phone… keys… wallet… cigarettes. Anything. I wanted to go back inside to ask them for my stuff, but it just felt so weird. Like something was stopping me. Just think it would’ve been so awkward, y’know? To freak out, punch my friends, and then come back and say sorry. I know I’m rambling, by the way. I kind of get stuck in my head sometimes. Sorry. Really wish I had a cigarette right now.” I say.

Fucking hell, I can’t even look at her. She’s staring at me like I’m a fucking moron. Keep your eyes on the road please, ma’am.

“Dude, you’re a fucking moron,” she says.

“I know.”

“What’re you gonna do about your stuff?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I’ll just… call them or something. Later. Like, in a few days. To apologize. I’ll… need to borrow someone’s phone to do that, obviously. Or, alternatively, I could bring you back to the hostel tonight. They’ll let me come back in if I bring a lady, right?”

She stops the car.

Fuck. I’m sorry.

“Stupid joke” I say.

Awkward silence.

She slowly starts driving again.

“You’re not making this easy,” she says.

“I know.”

The road stretches long.

“Are your friends smokers too?” she asks.

“Nah,” I respond. “Just me.”

“You… sure about that? Why would they lift your cigarettes if they don’t smoke?”

“Just to like, be dicks I guess. They’re just like that.”

Fuck. This road is long. Guess I never really paid attention to roads before.

Hm. That’s kind of weird.

Why is there an eye on the glove compartment box?

Why is it blinking?

“What… is that?” I say, pointing.

She giggles.

“Just decoration. You missed that when you got in?”

“Fuck, I’m out of it,” I respond.

Silence.

“You think your friends will forgive you?” she asks me.

I shrug.

“I mean, who knows. We were already drifting apart anyway. Maybe it’s for the best if they don’t forgive me.”

“Right. And how does Riley feel about it?” she asks.

Huh. I talked about Riley? When did I mention him?

“Riley?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says back.

“Uhh, yeah. I don’t really know how he feels about it. Probably the same as the other guys. Hey, when did I talk about Riley?”

Silence.

“I never said his name before,” I say.

She sighs.

“Yeah you did. You’ve been rambling for a while. Repeating yourself over and over again. And then forgetting that you said anything,” she says.

Fuck. What?

I look in front of me. The road stretches long.

I look back. This road stretches long.

Fuck, how much did I drink?

Am I fucked up?

And seriously, why is there an eye on the glove compartment?

“And now you’re spiraling. You’re in your head, and it’s gonna be super quiet and awkward for another few minutes,” she says back.

Shit. Keep it cool dude. Clearly, my hitchhiker etiquette needs some work. I’m being unseemly.

“Sorry, I just… weird night.”

“It’s fine. Just… take a chill pill Michael. Breathe in. Relax. It’s all good,” she says.

…

“I never said my name before,” I say.

“You are really forgetting stuff.”.

“No, no I’m not actually. And I hate to use a very overused term, but it feels like you’re gaslighting me right now,” I respond.

“Look, I’m not comfortable with you freaking out at me” she says. “Just look out your window, take a breath, and cool it. I’ll get you home.”

Fine. Fucking hell. Back in my head. With my thoughts.

Back to looking outside.

This road stretches long.

This road stretches really long.

Am I losing it?

Take a deep breath in. I’m okay.

It’s been quiet for a little bit. I think I can calm down. Yes, that fucking eye is still there, but –

“You know, I think Mark smoked your cigarettes after you left. To calm down.”

Alright, she wants to break the tension by theorizing about my friends. Fuck it, I’m here for it.

“I think he smoked them indoors. A few of them. I think he tossed them, half-smoked and still lit into a large potted plant. I don’t think he knew any better. I think they caught fire,” she says.

Wait. The road isn’t narrow anymore. Why does it feel like we’re driving on a large open field?

“What are you say–”

“I don’t think your friends knew what to do. They were probably too fucked up. So the whole place was up in flames quickly. Really, really quickly. I think the fire got them.”

Fuck. Eyes on the road. Stop looking at me while you’re driving.

“Hey–”

She’s smiling at me. Right at me. Deranged. I look away.

I look in front of me.

We’re in the cosmos. But it’s not inspiring. It looks like hell. Black holes all around us. Empty space. What the fuck is happening.

I don’t want to look at her. But I can see her in my peripheral vision.

She’s still smiling at me.

I look over just a little bit.

Her smile and teeth are extending beyond her face. Her face is extending beyond her face. Her whole being is taking up more space. She looks animated. Unreal. Pitch black. Unreasonably happy. Her smile is so clear. It doesn’t make sense.

I feel like I’m prey. This feels like nature.

Her eyes are smiling. Warm. She’s looking at me harder than anyone’s ever looked at me in my life.

Fuck. When did I start looking back at her?

I don’t want to be looked at. Don’t look at me.

I can’t scream.

But.

I’m still alive. Maybe if I keep doing what I’m doing, I can stay alive.

“If it wasn’t the cigarettes, it would’ve been something else. You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she says.

Did she always sound like this? I turn away from her. My eyes are back on the road. Sorry, on the cosmos.

The universe stretches long.

“They were all going to depart tonight,” she says.

She’s not using her mouth to talk.

“You wouldn’t want to see what’s in my mouth,” she says.

Don’t think. Don’t think about this. Just look ahead. Eyes on the universe. Just don’t move.

Fuck. Wait.

Is that my house?

Why is my house in the middle of the fucking cosmos? Why is it here?!

I want to go home. Real home.

“I can feel your muscles twitching in your arms. And legs. I can smell your intestines.”

I don’t know what to do. I need to stop thinking. It’ll pass. One way or another, this’ll end.

“You never eat carrots. Lying is a casual sport for you. You’re happier than you pretend to be,” she says.

She’s in front of me. She’s splattered on the windshield. I can feel her face on the headrest against the back of my head. She’s speaking into me.

“You’re trying not to think.”

Correct, ma’am. I hope this fucking car crashes.

“No you don’t. You’re hoping it’ll all be okay. You’re praying it’ll all be okay.”

Stop. Thinking.

Zen.

Quiet.

Breathe In. And Breathe Out.

She’s still looking at me.

Breathe In. And Breathe Out.

She’s stretching into the cosmos. She’s everywhere.

In and out. It’s okay. That’s how anxiety is. It’ll get worse before it gets better.

Breathe In. And Out.

She’s in front of my face. She’s even closer when I close my eyes.

In. And Out.

In. And Out.

Breathe.

“Were you supposed to be there tonight, too?” she asks.

Yes.

“Yes.”

“And yet you weren’t,” she says.

No.

“No. No I wasn’t.”

“Do you deserve this exit?” she asks.

I don’t know.

“Not sure.”

“It’s coming up soon,” she says.

“I know.”

“I’ll ask you again,” she says.

Fuck. She pierces my hand. And my shoulder.

“Did you change enough, before tonight, to deserve this exit?” she asks.

Please end this.

“No! No I didn’t. I think I’m a piece of shit. I think I deserve to die,” I say back to her.

She makes a right on the exit.

And we drive. Out of the cosmos.

Everything returns to form. Like how it all should be.

Trees. Road. Concrete. Gravity. Sky.

And…

I’m home? That’s it?

I’m home.

It’s morning. The sun is coming up. Pardon the cliche, but I actually think I hear birds chirping.

And she’s… business casual. Professional. All put together.

But I’m bleeding. From my hand and my shoulder. And that eye on the glove compartment box is still there.

We’re parked. On the street right in front of my house.

Okay.

I’ve always been particularly shit at saying goodbye to people who dropped me off.

I open the car door. I trudge onto the sidewalk.

I look back at her. I close the car door. A slow trickle of blood onto the sidewalk. A little bit on her car. Sorry about that. I should go inside and get myself cleaned up. Fuck. No keys.

We’re looking at each other.

“You said some really mean stuff about yourself back there. You shouldn’t sell yourself short, you know?” She says it with a smile. I believe her.

I do a half-wave, and before I can think to myself “please god just fucking drive off fucking please”, she starts driving off. Down the long road.

It stretches long. And long. And long. And long. And she’s in view still. Smaller and smaller.

And then she’s gone.

…

It’s kind of nice outside. Never realized how pretty this neighborhood is. Maybe I’ll stand here for a little while.