Terry Rietta<\/p>\n
Lyla sat on the side of the highway, painting a daisy on her thumbnail when she heard a rumble. She squinted through the heat shimmer and spotted a dust cloud trailing a car in the distance, then looked heavenward and exhaled a prayer of thanks.<\/p>\n
The wisp of a girl cocked her hip, thrust out her thumb and flashed beauty-queen teeth: a picture of 22-year old optimism daring anyone to pass her by without taking a second look. As she stared down the pockmarked stretch of road, the sun burned right into her eyes, so she closed them, and she waited.<\/p>\n
Time moved at a different speed with her eyes closed. The not-knowing-what\u2019s-out-there anxiety turned moments into minutes. The car should be there by now. Maybe she\u2019d imagined the vehicle. She fought self-doubt as her cheeks ached from holding a pageant smile for so long. Lyla shifted her weight, adjusting her pose self-consciously. She thought about rearranging her boobs in her bra, but she didn\u2019t want to take her thumb out of the air, so she settled for arching her back.<\/p>\n
Worried that she might not be seen, she opened her eyes and angled out a little bit into the road.<\/p>\n
She saw only a blur, but she heard a screech and felt a whoosh as a faded orange Chevy Corvair swerved, nearly smearing her into the asphalt as it passed. Lyla\u2019s face turned away, but her thumb stayed out there, bravely trying to do its hitchhiking job.<\/p>\n
If her thumb had eyes, it would\u2019ve seen that piece of gravel flying through the air. And those thumb-eyes would\u2019ve widened at the sight of a ragged-edged hunk of rock spiraling and twirling almost purposefully, its trajectory set on a collision course with her perfect pink, daisy-dotted thumbnail.<\/p>\n
Schick.<\/p>\n
The gravel cracked the top off Lyla\u2019s nail and ricocheted off into the desert.<\/p>\n
\u201cShit, shit, shit.\u201d Lyla flapped the hand, trying to shake off the pain.<\/p>\n
A haze of dust settled on the young hitchhiker as the Corvair backed up slowly. Teased hair, tattoos and a plague of freckles slouched behind the wheel.<\/p>\n
Lyla coughed and waved through the dust. \u201cYou cracked my nail.\u201d<\/p>\n
The driver popped her gum. \u201c\u2019Bout cracked your skull.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lyla shrugged, rubbed her damaged thumb.<\/p>\n
The driver surveyed the area, wary. \u201cYou know, hitchhikin\u2019s illegal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think it\u2019s more of a \u2018frowned upon\u2019 kind of thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere you headed?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe West.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe<\/em> West ain\u2019t a place.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re absolutely right. The West is more of a tradition…or an ideal. A place where ambitious souls travel seeking adventure.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid you read that somewhere?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? No.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou think I\u2019m stupid?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course not.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCause it sounds like you\u2019re tryin\u2019 to shit me and we just hardly met. You don\u2019t look like much.\u201d<\/p>\n Lyla straightened up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. \u201cWell, appearances can be deceiving, can\u2019t they?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot in my experience, no.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m wounded and out in the middle of nowhere making chit-chat with a crusty stranger about chasing fame and fortune. If that isn\u2019t the start of an adventure, I don\u2019t know what is.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re trying to get a ride offa me…and you\u2019re calling me crusty.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI meant it affectionately.\u201d<\/p>\n The driver snorted. \u201cWell okay then, little miss affection, say I\u2019m up for an adventure, you got a line on a fortune?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI believe a girl makes her own luck. I have some…prospects. Nothing exactly rock solid.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t mean to sound like a broom-toting bitch rainin\u2019 on your hopes and dreams, but that ain\u2019t much of a plan.\u201d<\/p>\n Lyla\u2019s face flushed. \u201cAnd this ain\u2019t much of a car. You just gonna let me sit by the side of the road sweatin\u2019 through the ass of my jeans while we talk about the feasibility of my so-called plan or are you gonna give me a ride?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m thinking about it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook, I haven\u2019t hitchhiked much…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat I believe…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c…but I really didn\u2019t imagine it would take this long to get into a car once it had pulled over.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEasy there, sister-in-a-hurry. A female in this world can\u2019t just let some stranger into her car without knowing a little somethin\u2019 bout her travelin\u2019 companion first. World\u2019s a screwed up place. I only pulled over cause I thought I mighta hit you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re a Samaritan.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, my people are from Lubbock.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt means a doer of good deeds.\u201d Lyla gigled.<\/p>\n \u201cYou got an uppity tone about you. You\u2019re just making up words, now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I\u2019m not. It\u2019s a compliment. You thought you\u2019d hit me and you wanted to help.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d a probably just covered you with a little dirt and gone on my way.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkaay. Maybe not a Samaritan.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDark deeds can happen out on the road. Specially to folks who think they\u2019re above everyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSometimes I come off a little snotty. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t like it when people talk to me like I\u2019m stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n The driver slid the car into gear and idled forward. Lyla put her hand inside the window and hop-step-skipped along side it.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, hey, hey. Look, I really could use a ride. Kinda desperate actually.\u201d<\/p>\n The driver stopped. \u201cYou got any money?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot much.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow<\/em> much?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, not any.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou really didn\u2019t think this through, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI left in kind of a hurry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s his name?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLotta girls got mixed up with him. Complicated<\/em> gets around don\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n Lyle shrugged in agreement. The driver studied her, assessing. Lyla found herself holding her breath, listening to the rumble of the engine idling.<\/p>\n \u201cSo…\u201d Lyla exhaled.<\/p>\n \u201cSo…here\u2019s how it\u2019s gonna go. I\u2019m gonna give you a ride…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes!\u201d Lyla bounced and clapped.<\/p>\n \u201c…but you annoy me, condescend to me, talk too much, get too quiet, fiddle with the radio, fart in your sleep, sneeze in my direction, etcetera…your bony behind will again be sweatin\u2019 by the side of the road quickity quick. We good?\u201d<\/p>\n Lyla extended her hand through the car window. \u201cWe\u2019re good. I\u2019m Lyla.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Karla. Hop on in. Seat belts don\u2019t work, but the AC does.\u201d<\/p>\n Lyla slid into the front seat.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you. Thank you. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m heading to Okmulgee. It\u2019s not an ideal. It\u2019s not a tradition. It\u2019s just Okmulgee. And there\u2019s not much fame, fate or fortune to that town \u2018cept for a truck stop that\u2019s serves up cherry pie so good, it\u2019ll melt your panties off.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYummy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust so you know, saying shit like \u201cyummy\u201d will get your ass kicked to the curb, too.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood to know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWake up, princess.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe stopped?\u201d Lyla\u2019s eyelashes flickered and she looked around to get her bearings. She stretched a kitteny stretch and breathed in the cool night air.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah. Gotta fill up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank god. I\u2019ve gotta pee soo bad.\u201d<\/p>\n Karla scanned the parking lot. \u201cI wanna be real clear now. You got any<\/em> money?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI wasn\u2019t lying. I really don\u2019t have any.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen we are in a situation. I figured you were holding out.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cS\u2019alright. We got a couple options, but I\u2019m guessin\u2019 they\u2019re both gonna be firsts for you. Open the glove box.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay…\u201d<\/p>\n A .38 special sat nestled next to fast food napkins, inkless pens and a ratty owner\u2019s manual for a 1974 Dodge Dart.<\/p>\n Lyla recoiled. She tried to close the glove compartment, but it kept falling back open.<\/p>\n \u201cStop that.\u201d Karla took Lyla\u2019s hand to settle her down. \u201cIt\u2019s just a bad latch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShit. Is that thing loaded?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot much point in having one if it ain\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you trying to scare me?\u201d Lyla stammered.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m tryin\u2019 to educate you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think I may<\/em> have just peed a little. I really have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy god, girl. You are such<\/em> a pain in the ass.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m really really sorry. Can we continue my education after I pee?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNope, cause here\u2019s the rub. We…are running on fumes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEmpty? Like past E empty?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLike halfway to G empty.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkaayy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo we either go in with that gun and take what we need…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShit. You\u2019re serious. You\u2019re, like, totally serious right now, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n Karla shook her head and sighed. \u201cIt\u2019s not as serious as you think, so settle yourself. Some little redneck retard makin\u2019 minimum wage is not<\/em> gonna risk his neck over a tank a gas and some Funyuns.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRiiight…you said there were two choices. Is there a non-violent one?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere is.\u201d Karla tapped the steering wheel with her fingernail, the beat matching the cadence of her words \u201cOne of us can blow the kid behind the counter…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBlow, like blow job?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou are<\/em> a quick one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh my god.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMakes you feel any better, we could toss a coin.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor the violent or the non-violent option? Or to find out who\u2019s going to suck the retarded redneck kid\u2019s dick. I\u2019m saying this out loud \u2018cause I can\u2019t believe these are my choices.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell the other option is pulling off the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and tryin\u2019 to get some sleep with horny truckers hopped up on meth and god knows what else knocking on the windows hourly and askin\u2019 \u2018You all right in there little ladies?\u2019 We\u2019d fend them off until morning where we\u2019d wake up…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c…broke and out of gas.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRight-y-o.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh my god.\u201d Lyla glanced down at her chipped thumbnail. There wasn\u2019t much of the daisy left that she\u2019d painted earlier that day.<\/p>\n Karla reached into the glove compartment and grabbed the gun. She cocked the hammer back on the .38.<\/p>\n \u201cYou wanted an adventure, sister. Heads or tails?\u201d<\/p>\n TERRY RIETTA<\/strong> is a father, a filmmaker and a storyteller. He hits his free throws. He washes his hands before dinner. And he has always written to woo his wife.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Terry Rietta Lyla sat on the side of the highway, painting a daisy on her thumbnail when she heard a rumble. She squinted through the heat shimmer and spotted a dust cloud trailing a car in the distance, then looked … Continue reading