The Hitchhiker

Normally, I never would have picked up a hitchhiker, especially as it was inching towards midnight and I was in an unfamiliar place, but the girl seemed to be in dire straits. I still had about two hours to go to reach my parents in Denver. It was my fault for leaving my apartment so late, but I was determined to make it there without having to pay for a hotel. The effect of the Turtles album I’d put on when I’d last stopped seemed to have worn out, even playing at full blast.

Maybe if I had someone to talk to…

The girl was covered in dirt and grime. Long red hair. Her long sleeved shirt was tattered, but it was dotted with tiny marigolds. The detail caught my eye. Marigolds had always been one of my favorite flowers. Maybe that was how I knew I could trust her.

When I looked at her for another moment under the dim light of the filling station, I realized that she was pregnant.

She seemed to be about my age, but I was bad at guessing that sort of thing, so I couldn’t tell for sure. Was she in trouble? She saw me stop and rushed towards the passenger side door. I unrolled the window.

“I’m going to Denver,” I said.

Without a word, she got in, dropping her backpack in the backseat.

“I’m Nell,” I said, trying to break the ice, to make her not be so nervous, even to convince myself I’d made the right decision in picking her up.

“Please just drive,” she finally said. She spoke with a thick British accent. That was when I caught a whiff of her body odor. I wondered when the last time she’d showered had been. Realizing that there was probably more to this than I probably wanted to understand, I unrolled the windows and started to drive.

After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes of driving, I thought to ask her where in Denver I could take her. When she didn’t respond, I said, “Well, I’m not going to leave you on the side of the road.”

“Somewhere with a phone,” she said.

“I thought I saw a phone at the filling station where I picked you up,” I replied.

The girl said nothing, and I could see her starting to cry.

Even if she’d said nothing, the pregnancy, how frantic she was, and how she didn’t want to tell me her name, it all told me enough. “I don’t need to know the full story, but are you in trouble?”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. “Just keep driving.”

“Can I ask…” My eyes drifted towards her baby bump, and she knew.

“He’s who I’m running from.”

“Did he hurt you?” I asked.

“He tried.”

I swallowed, not sure of what to say. I wasn’t one to pry on what was clearly a delicate situation, but I had picked her up close to midnight in a relatively remote part of the woods, frantic, pregnant, and with bad hygiene. I supposed I wanted to be sure that her ex wasn’t going to find her and kill her and the baby as soon as I dropped her off. But we still had two hours to go and there was plenty of opportunity to make sure she’d be safe.

The Turtles album was still playing but it was going to end soon and we’d need to change it. “You know,” the girl said. “This is one of my favorite records.”

I smiled vaguely. “It keeps me awake.” More silence. I told her I liked her shirt and that marigolds were my favorite flower.

“My mother had them in our garden at home,” she said. “I suppose it reminded me of that.”

I continued to drive. “You’re going to be able to call someone, right?”

The girl nodded. “My brother. I’m going to buy a bus ticket to California so I can stay with him.”

I told her I’d take her to Union Station, in that case. She showed me that she had money and told me that she’d stolen it from the father of her child. She’d been terrified doing it, but knew that by the time he would notice, she’d be long gone.

The Turtles album ended then, and I told her she could pick out another one from my glove compartment. She chose the Beatles. Revolver.

“I’m from Liverpool you know,” she said. “I had the chance to see the Beatles before they were famous.”

Okay, that was cool. I could tell she was trying not to think of wherever she’d come from.

She kept her hand on her bump, and I asked her how far along she was.

“Four months? Maybe five? Her father didn’t really like keeping track of the days… or me going to the doctor.”

Whoever this man was, it seemed like she’d made the right choice in leaving him. “It’s a her?”

The girl nodded. “That’s what they told me, last visit I had.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful mother,” I said.

This made her smile, and then she drifted off. Not much happened after that. I woke her once we got to Union Station. She told me that I was free to go, that it was late enough already and I should probably get to wherever I was going. But I figured if the situations were reversed, I wouldn’t want to be left alone.

So I stayed as she called and she told me her brother would be waiting for her in California. I stayed as she bought the bus ticket and I wished her luck with the baby and with everything else. Even if I didn’t know for sure, I reassured her that it was going to be okay.

“Thank you, Nell,” she told me. Then, she hugged me and I left the station and got back in my car.

I realized, once I finally got to my parent’s house and crashed, that I’d never gotten her name. There was another part of me that was convinced I’d wake up in the morning having dreamt picking up a pregnant English hitchhiker in a marigold t-shirt in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t a dream, but I’d never got those answers. I went through the rest of my life, and I’d think of her every time I saw a marigold. I’d hoped that she and her daughter were doing well. That I’d made even the smallest bit of difference.

It was funny how people you interact with for the shortest amount of time can make such an impact on you.