THIS AIN’T THE SUMMER OF LOVE

by Vernie

Chapter 1 – Rides from Strangers

HHOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKK

A semi passes by, the deafening noise fading as it speeds away at 60 miles an hour.

Tired, hopeless, and shivering in the late spring drizzle, I sigh and continue to walk backwards with my thumb extended in the cliché way you always see hitchhikers on television and in movies do. They never had this much trouble though.

I’ve been standing here for over 45 minutes.

But the more I think about it, the more this entire thing seems like a bad idea. And maybe not being picked up is a sign that running away from college isn’t a smart thing to do. Especially when you are a 19 year old girl trying to get a ride from a complete stranger.

I mean, who knows what kinds of perverts lurk out there.

I hang my head, walking slowly away from with my hands stuck in the pockets of my corduroy jacket. My dorm is almost six miles from here. And it’s not the thought of walking all the way back in the rain that plagues me as much as it is spending another year in this living hell.

You see, I was coerced into college by my well-meaning mother. It was never my choice. But after all the money she had saved for my education, working a second night job on top of her already hectic full-time one, I tried to like it, but deep down I knew it just wasn’t for me.

So rather than call her and try to explain my decision, I decided to flee. To make my own way back to the west coast, hopefully without costing her any more money. I still don’t look forward to what she’ll say to me when I return.

But it looks like I’ll have to make that call anyways. There wasn’t a ride home for me today.

Just as I step off and away from the highway to take the road back downtown, an automobile screeches to a halt at my side.

“Lookin’ for a ride?” a voice asks from the driver’s seat of a rusted-out VW bus.

I look up from under the damp mess of hair that covers my head, squinting in the rain to see an unfamiliar face peering back at me.

Situating the green army bag on my shoulder, I nod.

The driver, a young man who must be in his early 20’s, grabs the pile of crap from his passenger-side seat--a mound of road maps, scribbled notes, and cassette cases--and allows me to take a seat at his side.

“Thanks,” I mumble once I am in the warm vehicle and out of the rain. “I didn’t think anyone would stop.”

“You know,” he says soothingly. “You’re lucky I came upon you instead of some pervert. There’re all sorts of weirdoes out there these days.” He gives me an unsettling grin as he eyes my figure. “Where ya headed?”

“West.”

“Ah, lucky you. I’m goin’ to California. Playin’ a few gigs on the way,” he motions to the guitar case in the back.

“You’re a musician?” Now I am intrigued.

“Yes ma’am. I play all sorts of bars from here to L.A. Take the route every summer. Ya know, people pay a lot of money to have me do a couple sets at bars and whatnot. Just yearnin’ to hear some great music.”

“Uh huh…” Getting a better look at him, he isn’t too horrible looking either. Longish brown hair, bright blue eyes, earring, worn out jeans, and a button-up shirt. “What kind of music to you play?”

“I play country and western,” he answers with a grin.

And my hopes are dashed…

“I see.”

“Got lots of followers, too. Once had a carload of kids follow me all the way across Oklahoma just to catch all of my shows.”

“Jerry Garcia’s got nothing on you!” I kid.

He frowns, glancing my way. “Jerry…?”

“Grateful Dead,” I answer quickly. “You know, big cult following…”

He stares at me blankly. Not registering….

“Never mind.”

He shrugs as he pulls back onto the highway, turning on some unfamiliar country tune as I settle into my seat, letting my weariness overtake me. I try my best to stay awake, but instead drop into a deep slumber as the narrator from Dukes of Hazzard lulls me to sleep.