Trusting in Strangers

We are waiting on the side of the road. It is our first time and we are nervous but both pretend not to be. We both pretend we trust strangers and we both pretend that this is the adventure we want. I wish that we were warm and had a bed to sleep in but I don’t say anything. The sky looks like it could drench us soon and my cracked heels beg for a fresh pair of socks. Our spaghetti supply is getting low and we frugally limit ourselves to one meal a day. We are hoping to make it to a town soon to replenish our food supplies and have relative peace in the safety of camping in someone’s backyard.

We thrust our thumbs at every car that passes by, which isn’t too many today. We give our best desperate looks and I smile hopefully at each driver but their taillights keep getting smaller in the distance.

We start to worry that we will have to find a quiet meadow to spend the night when we jokingly throw our thumbs out at a passing 18 wheeler. “Oh God, I hope he doesn’t stop.” He does. We look at each other, crooked smiles, pretend we are braver than we are, and shrug our shoulders. We snatch our packs off the ground and awkwardly run, our hands still carrying mate. We peek our heads in and he beckons. I send a silent prayer to my guardian angels, and before I know it, Aaron has thrown my bag into the front and he is lifting me inside. Our driver is playing Kenny Rogers and as we start moving, “The Gambler” begins to play.

It is almost too much to believe. I felt like Jack Keroauc, even though I have always abhorred him. It feels like we are in a movie, thumbing down rides and listening to Kenny Rogers. Except that I have never been as cool as I pretend to be. We are in the bottom of Chile and the entire ride all I can think of is the knife in Aarons pack and how quickly I could access it if needed. I am too nervous to talk and Aaron doesn’t speak enough Spanish so we spend the ride listening to Kenny Rogers on repeat. I know the rules, and I know it is our job to entertain our silent chauffer—but today and this ride, I am a nervous wreck. I sit wringing my hands, thinking of how no one knows where we are and we could be dead for weeks before our parents back home might worry. I sit thinking of my survival skills and wondering how well Aaron could throw a punch. Every slight movement the driver makes I am convinced is the beginning of a slaughter or violent rape. I sit. I worry. I listen to Kenny Rogers. We do not speak.

In a few hours after many listens to Kenny Rogers Greatest Hits, we make it to Cooiyhaque and the driver lets us out at the edge of town. We say thank you over and over again—Thank you for the ride and also sorry for thinking you were a hitchhiker killer. Thank you for delivering us and allowing us to continue to trust in the great Mystery.

We laugh, we buy beer and we shake off the fear. There are many more rides to thumb, many more drivers to entertain, and many more stops on our journey. We cannot waste any more energy on fear.