Hitchhiking
by Dale Neibaur, @1974
I stood on a corner of your life
Thumb up
Dreams in a bag at my feet
Waiting for a ride on the first friendly smile
That happened by.
I didn't know it was your road then,
I was a stranger in town
And no one told me.
When you came by I was dazzled by your beauty
And could scarce believe when you pulled up short
And motioned me to join you.
Quickly taking off my two-weeks-walking-
On-the-road-and-nobody-cares look,
I hid it deep in my bag
(You found it later, of course)
And replaced it with my best
My-isn't-this-a-beautiful-world expression.
I know it was old and dusty
And perhaps I wore it a bit crooked
But then I hadn't needed it for a long time
And I'd almost forgotten how to use it.
You didn't laugh anyway;
I was grateful for that.
The first few miles on the road
Were your game --
I'd forgotten how to talk, it had been so long.
So I just listened and stumbled in a sentence
Now and then
Merely to let you know I really was interested
Even though I'd forgotten how to show it.
Of course you noticed the bag
(People always do)
And perhaps for a lack
Of something better to discuss
You asked me what was in it.
I don't know what possessed me to show you;
I'd never shown anyone before
And hadn't even looked myself
For a month of blue moons.
But somehow your understanding smile
Gave me courage
And I pulled them out one by one;
My dreams.
They weren't all that great to look at
Tattered and beaten like they were
But even though the colors
Had long ago faded
I still carried them along
Hidden away
Thinking perhaps
Someday
I'd take time to repair one or two.
You examined them carefully
Kindly
With hands that smoothed the wrinkles
And eyes that noted the rents and frays
Then turned to me and looked deep inside.
Your eyes asked what had happened
But your voice had more sense.
I liked the way you handled my dreams,
Smoothing and sorting and straightening,
Careful lest an uncalculated move
Should irreparably mar their faded fragility.
"No need to worry," said I,
Half-pleased at your caution,
"They're so old and worn out
I should have thrown them away
Years ago."
"Oh, no," you said emphatically,
Shaking your head until
A lock of hair fell across your eyes,
Then stopping
To brush it back absentmindedly.
"Oh, no. They're beautiful."
When you handed them back
They did look much better,
Almost like something worth having.
And I thought, as I laid them carefully
Back into my bag,
"Maybe someday . . ."
* * *
I got out in Wendover
Although I had intended to ride
Clear to 'Frisco
Where you said you were going.
It felt lonely back on the corner.
I don't know why I didn't go
All the way.
Guess maybe I was afraid
Of what I might find
At the other end.