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SOMEWHERE BETWEEN PALMYRA AND ALLIANCE,
a beat-up green and white pick-up truck, with a
gun rack in the back, pulls up behind me while I'm singing to myself. I look inside and
there, in the driver's seat, sits a skinny bug-eyed cowboy who looks like a turtle. He
looks like he must have spent the last ten days straight chasing squealers in the rodeo
and hasn't changed since. He's got on one of them old fashioned western shirts with a
pattern of little rose flowers faded dingy into grey, mother-of-pearl snaps gleaming
creamy in a line from his chest down to his jeans, untucked. He's got a look about him
that you wouldn't be surprised if he just busted out of the nervous hospital.
He rolls down the window and shouts over the wind,
"Where you headed?"
"Las Vegas."
He looks me up and down.
"Aren't you a little bit young and, maybe say, innocent to be traveling to Las Vegas all
by your little self?"
He's got this tone in his voice like he's got three friends snickering, hunkering down in
the cab and this is all a little joke between them.
"No." I straighten up a bit. "What about you, mister? Where you headed?"
"Well, I don't see how that's any of your business ... and my name's not Mister, it's
Eddie. Eddie Kreezer."
I smile and make a bashful act, bending over myself, trying to let him sneak a peek of my
newfound bubbles, hoping for a free ride. I figure I can turn his none-of-your-business
into Las Vegas with a little bit of sugar. My age makes him nervous and shamey, cause
his eyes keep heading southwards and then back up, guilty. I can tell I can make his eyes
swirl and that's just about all I want to do.
"You some kinda runaway?"
"No. My dad ran away and left me."
This is my new version of my life story.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. I guess he thought I could fend for myself, but I sure could use a ride, Mister,
Eddie, and I'm just worried sick that I won't find a place to stay before dark and I
guess I'm just plum scared and all cause —"
"What's your dad look like? Maybe I seen him." He takes off his hat and squints at the
brim like he's inspecting it.
"You."
There is a silence as he looks me up and down. Then he just starts laughing, real hard
and loud, like his make-believe friends just jumped out the back and the dashboard just
turned into a bar.
"Oh my God, what in the world is in store for me here." He says, shaking his head and
smiling to himself, "Well, well, well ..."
I don't really get his little private joke, but I smile anyways, not wanting to seem dumb
or too young or rude even. I resolve to take the reins.
"You gonna give me a ride or are you just gonna sit there and laugh at yourself all day?"
He stops laughing.
"Oh, I get it, you're some kinda ten-year-old smart-ass or something."
"Try thirteen," I say, real smug.
Reprinted with permission
from Hick
Copyright © 2007
by Andrea Portes
Unbridled Books
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