Clara (feathered) wrote in featherpens,
Clara
feathered
featherpens

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I'm a full day early!

I wrote more, but I don't like it enough to type it at the moment. Soooo, here's my hitchhiking snippet, featuring yet another unnamed character.


Dylan grew up listening to his parents' hitchhiking stories, which was why I think he suggested we get catch a ride out of town when my father threatened to kill me.

I had no such excuse for agreeing to the idea. No reason, nothing at all except fear of Daddy and trust in Dylan.

Getting out of town was easy enough. We each packed a bag of essential clothes and a few favorite possessions and pooled together all of the money we had saved from birthdays and babysitting jobs. We walked to the truck stop not far from Dylan's house and hung out there until we caught a ride with a young woman. We lied to her, telling her that we were going to visit my nonexistent older sister who was going to school in Laramie. At first, the woman – Hanna, her name was – was only too happy to let us ride with her, saying that she needed guides anyway. Forty miles out of town, she asked what my sister's major was. My mind had wandered in the long silence. I gave the automatic, "I'm an only child," and regretted it immediately. Realizing that we were probably runaways, the woman pulled the car over and left us to stare after her retreating license plates.

We recited poetry to keep warm. I draped extra sweaters over my shoulders. They didn't do much to ward off the cutting wind, but I didn't mind. The uncontrollable shivers that shook my body gave me a good excuse to curl against Dylan. I liked being close to him when he read poetry. When he really loved a poem, his muscles would go taught, and he would shake with the emotion of the words. That day, huddled on the side of the road, he seemed to emanate the magic of T. S. Eliot.


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