The Hitchhiker

The Hitchhiker

By

Saddik Hamid

If thirty-two year old Eugene Pavelik had known how to find the beach community of Port Aransas, he never world have stopped for the scruffy hitchhiker on Highway 59. Dusk was rapidly waning and in the coming dark, he knew he'd be totally lost in the jumble of unfamiliar roads that led to his holiday hideaway. He needed help.

In the rear view mirror of his five-year old Cadillac, he watched as the slightly built hitchhiker shuffled toward him. He was surprised to at how much older the shabbily dressed man was than most guys who stick out their thumbs. The man was cradling a gray canvas gym bag in his arms and for a moment, the frightening thought of a possible weapon flitted through Eugene's mind. Before his hand made it to the door lock button, the older man tugged at the door handle and pulled it open. He slid onto the seat and unzipped the gym bag.

"Hope you don't mind." He croaked in a voice that sounded as though his morning routine included gargling with broken glass and sandpaper. He pulled out a disheveled lump of hair with legs and plopped it on his lap. It was a small Terrier mix with a red kerchief around its neck. The mutt licked his master's hand once, closed his eyes, and settled into a snooze. "That's Toby. Been my only friend for the last eight years." When Eugene slipped on a weak smile, the man continued. "Say amigo, you wouldn't by any chance have some lunch leftovers, would you? Toby really could use something to munch on."

Eugene looked at his new traveling companion. The man also sported a red kerchief around his neck and wore a black knit cap on his head. He appeared to need the leftovers as much as the dog. "Um, sorry. I ate at a Dairy Queen in Victoria a little while back. Cleaned my plate." The rider nodded and Eugene asked "How far you going?"

"Toby and me, we're going to the place I was born, Port Aransas."

Eugene beamed. "What an amazing coincidence. That's where I'm headed. I have a week's vacation from my job in Houston and I have reservation at Pirate's Cover Resort Condos. I'm sure glad I met you because I'm not sure how to get there."

"How 'bout that?" The old man flashed a gap toothed grin as his weathered hand smoothed out a tangle in the dog's hair. "A few miles up ahead in Refugio, you gotta get off Highway 77 and onto 2678. Tell you more later. Don't want to confuse you." The old man stared at the logo on the steering wheel and closed his eyes as if remembering something pleasant. "This a Caddy, huh?" Reminds me of the time Elvis give me one."

Eugene's mouth dropped open and he took his eyes off the road for a second. "Elvis Presley? He gave you a Cadillac.

"Yeah, Ugly color. Canary yellow as I remember. Sort of a goodbye present. One of his regular singers got deathly ill and I sang backup for him in Vegas for a few weeks. That was back when I sang and played harmonica for my supper. He wanted me to come to Nashville with him, but I turned him down."

"Well, uh...what was he like?"

"Good guy. One weakness though. Never met a fourteen or fifteen year old girl he didn't like. Went through a bunch of 'em on that trip."

"Wait a second. You say you sang with him?"

The older man nodded. "Yeah. Hard to believe, huh? I didn't always sound like this, you know. Sinatra changed that."

"You're pulling my leg aren't you?"

"I worked Vegas when I was young. Met a lot of the big names. When I got a pickup gig from Sinatra's bandleader, I guess I went nuts. Thought I had it made. Trouble was I celebrated with a bottle of vodka before the show. Got so drunk, I embarrassed Frank onstage. After the show, he told Eddie, one of his boys, to get rid of me. Frank told me later that he meant I should be fired, but Eddie misunderstood. Within minutes, I found my harmonica being forced down my throat. Frank's manager saw what was happening or I wouldn't be here now. Sinatra paid for the hospital and had a check for ten thousand dollars sent over to my room. Doctors said it was a busted larynx and ripped vocal cords."

Eugene didn't know if the man was letting him in on real secrets of show business or inventing stories, but it was an entertaining way to spend time. "How did you make a living after that?"

"I blew the ten thousand in no time and then I just started drifting like the sand on the beach where I was born." He paused for several seconds and when he spoke again, fatigue had crept into his voice. "I got go back there tonight before it's too late." After that, the man pulled his cap down and faced the window. Except for the necessary directions he gave to Eugene, he kept silent. They made it to Aransas Pass, went over a bridge that spanned the Waterway and continued on to the free ferry that would connect the mainland to Port Aransas on Mustang Island.

The old man drew in an audible breath and croaked, "I can smell it now." He looked down at the dog. "So can Toby."

Indeed, noted Eugene, Toby was stirring. "What? What do you smell?"

"It's the sea. The salt air, it's good to be home."

In just five minutes, the ferry glided across the waters of the ship channel and Eugene said, I guess we're finally here, where to now?"

The older man nodded, checked Toby under his hairy chin and said, "End of the line, little buddy." He looked ahead through the windshield and cleared his throat. "The place you want is up ahead a couple of blocks, but I'd really appreciate it if you take me just a little further to where I'm going."

Eugene followed the man's simple directions and within minutes, the Caddy was on the Port Aransas city beach. Streetlights spaced out at two block intervals showed the hard packed sand that served as the road to where the old man wanted to go,