The Hitchhiker

by Star C. Spider

We scurry around, solid and secure. We awkwardly accept our place in the center of the universe without a second thought to the other six billion just like us, crawling at various speeds across this vast world we consider ours. When did we get so arrogant? What was the precise moment that we decided to take ‘control’? Was it the thrill of the first hunt? Was it the blood pounding in our ancestor’s ears, the realization that we have the power to take life and with that and our opposable thumbs, there would be nothing that could stand in our way? Could it be that when we finally bent down and peered at ourselves in the flowing river, we wondered at the dangerous mix of fear and truth we saw there? Stunned by our discovery, we promptly decided to take over, for without complete control we would be lost in the endlessness and drown in the unforgiving nature of the elements.

I was hitchhiking. It was not the safest thing I had ever done, but it was certainly one of the most daring and exciting. In case you’re wondering, hitchhiking is the least reliable of all the modes of transportation available in this wide and wonderful world. You might find yourself walking for countless hours, exhausted and soaked by endless sheets of running rain. Or you might end up hungry and horrified that you haven’t even come within an hour’s walk of the nearest highway. Cities seem to stretch into forever and you begin to think that you could do without your belongings that are faithfully, yet heavily, clinging to your bent back. It is next to impossible to hitch a ride in the city. It’s also not wise, as you never know where the person might be going; they could be turning at the next block, or traveling in the complete opposite direction as you. You never really know and so it’s best to walk through the city and linger on the outskirts, just where the highway begins. That is what I was doing on one particular day in the dead of Scottish summer, which isn’t actually all that warm. I had just spent the better part of my day walking from one end of a rather large city to the other, which was such an exhausting feat that at one point I lay right down on a flank of grass beside the sidewalk and fell into a light, yet refreshing sleep. I rested and munched on an apple with the sun setting on my right and the highway teasing my left with its luxurious lines and shimmering shadows. The road was always so alluring to me. It meant possibility and adventure. It was a symbol of freedom and its motion was soothing to my soul, keeping me from the terror of reality. I felt that if only I could keep moving, I could dodge the inevitable bullet of responsibility that comes with staying too long in any one place. So I ate my apple and half-heartedly held out my thumb to the slow trickle of cars that slid silkily along like shining drops from a broken tap. After a long day there is nothing more rewarding than seeing a car pull over, even if it is half a mile up the road. It is customary to run for a car that stops for you as they might be in a hurry and it would be rude to dally. So looking like a stuck pig with the apple clenched between my teeth, I half ran, half hobbled with my pack teetering precariously in position on my stiff spine. Dancing dust rose around the car as we headed down the highway into the twilit countryside.

He wasn’t going far, just about twenty miles. He laughed nervously as I told him stories of my journey and my hunt for magic and solitude in the wilds of Scotland. His eyes sparkled as he turned off the highway onto a lonesome dirt road. I asked where we were going and he told me he had something to show me. I decided to call him Raven because his hair was so black and his jewel blue eyes looked as if they were flecked with obsidian. We came eventually to a parking lot half full of cars. We walked through some gates and down a laneway bordered with hedges. The ground rose like baking bread beneath our feet. We clamored up some crooked steps and emerged in a high field leading into a circle of standing stones. He watched me with a bright half-moon smile as I walked from stone to stone laying my hands on their cold, beautiful bodies. There was a cow, dressed in black and white puzzle pieces, in a nearby pasture and her bell tolled softly, carrying on the breeze. In my mind I saw shadow- figures standing beside the stones, druids of old, watching as I weaved silently through their sacred space. Raven looked on as if he expected me to change into some sort of magical creature and dance the dusk into night. I told him what little I knew of stone circles and laid a few coins on the altar. We left the cow to her grass and the stones to their ghosts and took to the road once more as the clouds obscured the sinking sun and a cool breeze blew in from the North. Raven invited me to dinner but something told me that I had to move on. I was determined to get as far north as possible; my goal was to reach Loch Ness by week’s end. With only the slightest hesitation, which comes naturally from leaving one path to take another, I watched Raven’s car zoom swiftly down the road and vanish.

There are times in life when everything collides in such perfect harmony that it makes you wonder about the state of the universe and its subtle offerings. The darkness was progressing and the clouds had spread wide casting raindrops that were just beginning to settle into a raucous rhythm. I had decided to walk for a while and stretch my legs. I didn’t even have my thumb out and had been walking for less than a minute when a van pulled up in front of me. I ran up to the passenger window and peered in. There was a woman in the driver’s seat with red hair and kind eyes.
Where are you going?” I asked flushed from my sprint and the chilled rain that was beginning to beat on my back.
“Does it really matter?” She replied, with a thick accent; her eyes flickered briefly at the sky and its threatening darkness. I laughed in that careless way that is reserved for the very young and the fearlessly foolish. Flinging my bag into the back and hopping into the front seat, I felt the thrill of the unknown as she stepped on the gas and whisked me away.
I could never really say what it was that made me give up dinner in a warm, crowded pub with Raven in exchange for the dark, empty highway. When you are on the type of journey I had committed to, there really isn’t time to question the choices that lead you to wherever it is you end up. But in this case, where I ended up gave me plenty of time to sort out all of the details. Annie, the woman who picked me up, turned out to be some sort of angel. She was worn down with a disability, which I never fully came to understand, but her spirit was bright and she had youthful, dancing eyes. Within ten minutes of talking, she had invited me to stay with her and her son at their house in the hills. I was honored and found that I could do nothing but say yes. She told me that in exchange for accommodation I could do her a favor and collect the big chunks of quartz crystal that were scattered over her land and align them on either side of the driveway. To be helpful was a huge relief for me, as I always felt terrible taking advantage of anyone’s hospitality. This is not necessarily a good trait in a hitchhiker, but most of the time I do manage to overlook my discomfort and inherent sense of independence.

The way in which Annie described her place could never have prepared me for the reality of it. It was a beautiful two-story cottage nestled in the hills without a neighbor to speak of for as far as the eye could see. Behind the shed was what appeared to be an old wooden stable and barn house. Annie told me that she wanted to fix them up and make them into little apartments. She took me on a quick tour and showed me some old writing on the walls in the barn. It was dated back to the 1800’s. Scribbles and scrawls of child-like writing, speaking from the past in a language long lost.

There is something different about Scotland. I felt it the moment I got off the bus in Edinburgh. The air is thicker there and not just from the endless, heavy rain clouds that often loiter overhead. The world itself seems to shine there, the grass looks greener but in a deep set emerald sort of way that goes beyond beauty and lingers in the realm of mystery. Everything is made of dark wood and stone. Gray permeates the atmosphere and it is so strong you can almost taste it. There is something wild there that lives just out of reach; history still breathes and lurks around every turn only to vanish as if afraid of being caught and banished back to the past where it truly belongs. This is how I felt at Annie’s house in the hills. It was almost as though nothing had died but was just waiting for its time to come again, part of the eternal cycle. As we sat around the fireplace and the shadows settled over the creaking house, the air grew dense with warmth and something else I was never quick enough to catch. We talked deep into the night, words slipping effortlessly from our lips and mingling. I slept as deep as the dead and in my dreams came ghosts of my past, longing to be understood before they could be released.
Upon waking, I forgot where I was and felt oddly relieved to realize that in truth, I had no idea. I could have been anywhere; maps were of no use. A few days after settling down, my body caught up with itself and I became ill. I felt lost and helpless in the sickness that spread through my blood, leaving me weak and feverish, adding to the dreamlike quality of my surroundings. There was a hill outside my window that was just beyond the pasture. I longed to climb it and cursed my sickness for leaving me so ill-equipped for adventure.

The moment I was well again I strapped my flute to my back and stepped out into the brisk highland air. I made my way easily enough through the pasture, the sheep blinked at me blandly, possibly disappointed that I had nothing to offer them besides a half-hearted, breathless smile. The climb was not easy and I arrived at the top shivering and aching. My fever had decided to return, having been charmed back into being by the damp, lusty wind. I did not regret my choice. As I moved further onto the plateau at the top of the hill the house below me disappeared from sight and I was left alone with the vast sweep of countryside that would have been overwhelming to all but the sheep, who seemed to be having none of it, as they munched endlessly below. I sank onto the rough ground, sitting accidentally on one of the thousands of tangled brush bushes that clung ferociously to the starving soil. The sun was not seen there enough to warrant the growth of anything but the occasional bit of green grass, thorny thickets and teeming patches of fir trees in the distance. Aside from the spots of fleecy sheep on neighboring hills, I felt utterly alone and I soaked in the lofty luxury of this expanse. The hills lay in vast heaps, stretching across the wild land, meeting the sky and mingling with the clouds that hung low in the distance. I took out my flute and the notes rang out in a horse whisper, letting loose in the galloping gusts that danced in all directions. I felt my true size as I lay back and examined the sky, picturing the particles that raced all around: the tiny tempering the titanic. For that moment, nothing mattered, not where I was going, or even where I was. I was lost and I accepted that with a grace I was unaware I possessed. I don’t know how long I spent on that hilltop, but I do know that when you come back from a place like that nothing is ever the same.

Annie had been worried. I returned flushed and windblown, but whole. I assured her that I was fine and regretfully told her that it was almost time for me to move on. She showed a sadness that can only come from endless days of solitude and my heart ached for her. I considered her desire to keep me forever, for comfort, for companionship, for care. But here was not my place and I had a long way to before even beginning to discover where that place might be. I was eternally grateful to the woman who had taken me in without hesitation. I prayed that one day I would be able to pass along the favor in an invincible line of understanding. She left me standing on the highway heading south. I had no idea where I was headed, but it didn’t seem to matter. I took a deep breath and slowly stuck out my thumb.