Hitchhiker on a Forgotten Highway

Got my thumb out in this chilly prairie wind that cuts through my jacket like a knife. In the past hour, I’ve only seen a couple of vehicles headed for Fargo on this forgotten highway. Not a single vehicle is headed east toward Chicago. That’s where I’m headed. I need to get out of this place as fast as I can. With my dark skin and shoulder length jet-black hair, I doubt anyone will take the time to stop for me. Still I keep my thumb extended just in case. If someone were to snap a photograph, I’d be known as the hitchhiker on a forgotten highway. From east to west there is not a goddamn vehicle anywhere in sight.

My name is Leon Redhorse in case you care, and I’m running away from the Pine Ridge Reservation where I attend a mission high school. When I look out the window of the school, I didn’t see no future for me.

My mother is drunk. She has been that way for the past four months since my father’s funeral. He got himself killed in a fight with a couple of bikers in Rapid City. She tells me grief is hard to cope with unless you are numb. At some point, you have to look yourself in the mirror and promise to carry on the best you can. That’s what made me decide to leave and hitchhike my way to Chicago on this forgotten highway. I just wish the wind would stop blowing. It never does.

Uncle Earl told me not to hitchhike on the interstate, because someone might stop who still holds a grudge on the death of General George Armstrong Custer. You never know. Every time I leave Pine Ridge to visit Uncle Earl in Pierre, some of the people point at me and call me a redskin savage or worse. Uncle Earl told me not to pay them no mind, but it still stings when they say that shit.

“Hey Leon, if you give them the satisfaction that what they’re sayin’ is bothering you, they will keep doin’ it.” He nodded, “Besides, you never know which one of them is packin.’”

He was right. It’s what got my dad killed. He pissed off a couple of tough looking bikers, and they beat him with lead pipes until they killed him. When the paramedics were putting him in the ambulance, my father quit breathing. He was dead on arrival.

I am headed for Chicago because my Aunt Bessy, my mother’s sister, lives there. I talked with her on the phone, and she said, “C’mon Leon, I have a place you can stay for a while. I got off that horrible reservation when I graduated from college. Ain’t nothing there for you except a slow death.”

She works for a big bank where they have lots of money. That’s something I’ve never had. Aunt Bessy tells folks she graduated from college, but all they gave her was a certificate of completion at the community college. Still, she lives in her own apartment and has a real job. Last summer, before my father died, we all went there to visit her. She ain’t married and she has no kids. She tells me she likes being unattached. I wonder what it will be like when I get there.

There is ice starting to form on my Wrangler jeans and my sneakers have holes in them. I won’t shiver. I won’t give them the satisfaction. I won’t let my ancestors see me struggling this way. Everyone expects me to struggle, because I have no idea what I am headed for. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other. Looking out into the rolling hills, I see the steel gray clouds rising up like spirits. It’s as if the Great Spirit himself, has forgotten this empty land, leaving it to nothing but the ice and wind.

“My name is Mr. Fergus.” He was a balding man who would be our teacher for the rest of the semester. He was thin and seemed to cast a frail shadow. We knew no matter how frail and weak he was, we would have to show him respect. His tiny blue eyes were hidden behind his thick wire rimmed glasses. “Please stand and state your name for me.”

All the instructors at this school like to play this game. It was easy. None of the instructors ever really paid attention to what we had to say. After spending most of my life dancing to their music, I wanted to spend some time dancing to my own music. As each student stood and said their names, Mr. Fergus had no idea he was being mocked by each of them. He said he was from New Jersey. He had no clue about the Lakota students sitting in front of him and we weren’t going to say nothing. They bring in these teachers from back east who have never seen a real Lakota.

“And you, son?” He pointed to me.

Son? I ain’t his son, but I stood up with a wicked grin and said, “Leon Redhorse.”

I sat back down and knew he had forgotten my name as soon as I was seated.

As I walked the forgotten highway, State Road 212, I passed by open fields where my ancestors had once hunted the buffalo before they were nearly wiped out just like my people were.

A truck driver pulled over.

“Hey kid, where are you headed?” He asked. He had a big light-colored beard that almost cover his massive gut, but he seemed like a nice man. Some of the truck drivers understood our people, because many of our people drove rig, I was told it was in our blood. Back before they wiped out the buffalo, the horse soldiers would raid our villages, so my ancestors learned how to pack quickly before the soldiers arrived.

“Chicago,” I answered.

“Ah, I ain’t goin’ that far. I’m just goin’ to Minneapolis.” He stroked his beard.

“Can I ride with you until you get there?”

“Yeah, sure, hop in.” He nodded. And so without any further ceremony, I climbed into the passenger’s seat.

“I’m Willit Landry.” He tipped his ballcap that covered his flaming red ponytail.

“I’m Leon Redhorse.”

“Ain’t you kinda young to be out here?” He pulled back onto the empty road.

“I am sixteen.” I told him.

“Hmpt.” He grunted, “When I was that age, I was in school.”

“Well, I learned as much as I’m gonna learn.”

“I see.” He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m gonna visit my aunt in Chicago.” I turned my head to peer out the window.

“Have you ever been there?” He asked as he shifted gears.

“Yes, my father took me there to visit.”

“I see.” He kept his eyes on the road as the snow began to fall. “If the weather keeps like this, I might have to find a place to hunker down for the night.” He shook his head.

“I have some money. I can pay my way.” I let him know that I would not be looking for charity of any kind.

“Good, because I have an expense account.” He informed me, “And they don’t like it when I spend money I don’t have to.”

I nodded and smiled.

“So, what are you running away from?” He asked as he turned on the windshield wipers.

“I need to get away from the reservation.” I turned my head toward him to answer.

“I get it.” He acknowledged, “I ran away from home when I was just your age. My parents wanted me to go to college, but hell, I wasn’t a good student.”

“I’m not either.”

“Hmpt.” He grunted again. “You like music?”

“Yeah.”

“I got some Johnny Cash on a cassette.” He reached into an open shelf under the radio and showed me what a cassette looked like. I had never seen one. “Johnny is an Injun, ya know.”

I hated the word “Injun,” that’s what they called my dad when he got drunk. They called him a drunk Injun. I swore I’d never take up drinking. I never let no one call me an Injun.

As soon as the music began, I became a fan of old Johnny Cash. His voice was like my brother’s voice. Teddy had one of those voices that comes from the heart.

“Leon, come here.” He called to me from the front porch. When I came running, I saw him dressed in his army uniform.

“What’s this?”

“I done joined the army.” He beamed.

“What for?” I was confused.

“I got orders to Vietnam.” He showed me.

“When?”

“In a month.” He shrugged.

I hugged him, “Don’t go.”

“I have ta.” He took the papers from me.

How was I to know this would be the last time I would see him before he came home in a flag draped coffin.

“Damn weather.” Willit commented as the windshield wipers slapped at the windshield. “We are at the border. In another hour or so, we’d be in Minneapolis.”

“Do you want me to drive?” I asked.

“You? You’re just sixteen.” He chuckled.

“And my father taught me before he died.” I looked up at him in complete sincerity.

He looked at me for almost a minute. I could hear the gears going around in his head.

“I am pretty worn.” He wiped his bearded chin with his hand. “Are you sure.”

I nodded.

“If my boss finds out, I’ll be fired for sure.” He shrugged with a smile.

“It’ll be fine.” I assured him.

“Alright. I’ll pull off the road at that culvert.” He said as he turned the wheel. I don’t know how he even saw it, but he was right. It was there.

I scooted over into the driver’s seat as he came around to claim the passenger’s seat.

“I must be crazy.” He sighed.

“Worse things than being crazy.” I smiled at him as I put it into gear. Just like the state road, this highway was deserted due to the weather. Willit was already asleep before I pulled the rig back on the highway.

“Teddy.” I called to him in a silent prayer, “This is your brother, Leon. Remember how you taught me to drive that rig before you went off to Vietnam. I told the driver that my father taught me, but that was a lie. He never took the time to teach me anything. Remember our vision quest when we saw that eagle? We always swore that bird would guide us. If ever I needed guidance, now would be the time.”

I drove through Aberdeen to Webster before pushing on through to Milbank. All of these towns were farming towns that closed up the sidewalks at sundown which had been hours ago. Willit started snoring while Hank Williams honkey-tonked on the cassette Willit had put in before I took over.

“Your cheatin’ heart, will make you weep…”

After Milbank, I drove into Minnesota past big industrial farms and empty acres buried under the accumulating snow. According to the map posted on the dashboard, all I had to do was stay on Highway 12 and we’d wind up in Minneapolis.

“If you stay on these forgotten highways, it may take you longer, but you will get there.” Teddy whispered into my ear. I nodded. “No one will hassle you.”

“Roger that.” I said in true military fashion. Like an egg, the sun was beginning to crack on the horizon.

“Huh.” Willit was drooling, “You say something?”

“Naw.” I shook my head.

“Where are we?” He ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed.

“Willmar is about ten miles away.” I answered.

“Damn, we’re almost there.” He shook his head free of the cobwebs and sat up.

“Yeah, I figure another hour we’ll be there.” I nodded.

“Kid, I can’t thank you enough for whacha did.” He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his down jacket.

“You got me out of that place.” I glanced over at him.

“Yeah, it’s part of the code of the road.” He nodded.

“Most folks wouldn’t pick up a runaway Indian kid.” I noted.

“Well, I ain’t most folk.” He bragged, “I’ve been in some places where you’d swear there was nothing there. You’d see the empty horizon from east to west and not a single hint of civilization. South Dokota is like that for the most part.”

“Nothin’ but Indian reservations, huh?”

“Reckon so.” He sniffed, “When I saw you standing on that road, I knew you needed someone to help you out. Glad to lend a hand.” He leaned his head back. “Still listenin’ to Hank?”

“Don’t have a choice.” I admitted, “I don’t know how this thing works.”

“Easy.” He pressed a button and the cassette popped out. He took it in his hand and held it up so I could see. Then he got another and slid it into the cassette player. “There.”

“Is that Merle Haggard?” I asked.

“Sure is. You like it?”

“My father used to play it all the time.” I smiled. It did remind me of him and better part of him, the part I had grown to love. People are complicated, I had come to realize. There are good parts to them and there might be some bad parts that you have to get used to if love them. I loved my father.I loved my brother Teddy, and I loved my mother. My leaving had nothing to do with my love for them. I left because I wanted to find my own highway and build my life the way I wanted to. I would call my mother when I got to Chicago and let her know how I felt.

“There it is.” Willit pointed. I thought he was asleep.

“Yeah.” I knew I’d be walking on the side of the highway with my thumb sticking out.

“I need you to stop by the Greyhound station.” Willit pointed to the glowing lights of the big city coming toward us as the early morning sun rose in the sky.

“What for?”

“You’ll find out.” He chuckled.

I did as requested and Willit walked with me into the station. Once inside the deserted station, he pulled out his wallet.

“One way ticket to Chicago.” He told the ticket agent as he handed the man the money for the fare. Then he turned to me, “I wanna thank ya for whacha did. It’s my way.”

He handed me the ticket.

“Thank you.” I could not believe he had done such a thing. I wasn’t not expecting this.

“I should be thanking you.” He smiled, “You are a good kid, Leon. Bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”

I walked toward the gate. My head swiveled around to get one last glance at him as he waved, turned and walked out the door. There was a lump in my throat as he disappeared.

“Well, well, well, chile.” My Aunt Bessy hugged me when she answered her door, “Doris told me ya might be comin’ this way, but I never believed it none.”

“I’m glad to be here.” I said as she squished my face into her shoulder.

“I am glad you is.” She inhaled a deep breath, “I was so afraid something would happen to you out there.”

“My brother Teddy was lookin’ after me.” I told her.

“I am so sorry he got killed in that war.” She brushed her tear with her knuckle.

“I miss him a lot.” I bowed my head.

A few weeks later I took a stroll around the shores of Lake Michigan. Standing on the shore, I could feel the spirits of my father and my brother. I thanked both of them for helping me navigate through my journey on the forgotten highways as a lone hitchhiker searching for his place in the world. I think I have found my place as a ticket agent for the Ell Train. I meet lots of people, some of them are good and some are not so good. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

I called mom to let her know I was alright, and she said her brother Earl would be looking after her. He promised me he would help mom stop drinking. Earl was once lost like my mother until he found his way out of the place he found himself in. I have found that we are all travelers on that forgotten highway at times.

“Hey kid, you wanna sell me a ticket?” A familiar voice stands at my window and when I look up I see Willit Landry smiling at me, “Hey, I’m glad you made it.”

“I’m glad to be here.” I grabbed his hand through the opening, “Thank you, so much.”

“You have a good day.” He says as I release his hand, and he walks through the gate to his next destination. Funny how guardian angels come into your life without you even suspecting they’re there.