Hitchhiker (2 page)

For months now, I’d felt something building in my gut that didn’t sit right. At first, I didn’t really understand it. I had parents who loved me. I inherited a hefty trust fund when I graduated college. I’d earned a degree from Boston University in mass communication. I was currently engaged to a man who loved me. I didn’t have to work, I had no children, and my only responsibility was whatever task I’d given myself during the day. So what was this feeling? Why did I have moments of extreme sadness? Depression wasn’t something that ran in my family, so I kept chalking it up to a bad day. But when I started having more bad days than good ones, it raised more questions.

To any outsider, there was no reason for my depression. I was essentially living the perfect life. But the things that they didn’t see were the fights I got into with my fiancé, Seth. They didn’t see that everyone else except for me controlled my life. Over the last few years, I’d handed out my freedoms in little chunks. I had to ask permission to do certain things, which oddly the excuse of making mutual decisions for the betterment of our relationship disguised. Any money spent had to be talked about, even if it was a simple purchase for a new sweater or jeans. Seth delegated my free time to household chores, and he expected them finished whenever he was in town or when we expected guests. At first, I didn’t hate the tasks. Oh no, as a matter of fact, I loved doing them. It pleased him. And if I pleased him, and those around me, then I felt a sense of contentment.

I was floating off in my own thoughts when I hit a small bump in the road and it brought me back to the present. I wasn’t leaving because of all the small insignificant things. I was leaving because all of those things had compiled into one massive issue. I was lost. Little bits of myself were being lost just like the days that passed. I was searching for something that I knew was missing deep in the recesses of my gut. What it was or where it was, I had no idea. I just knew that being under that roof was stifling me and I wanted to be free of it all. Even if it was only temporary.

The general idea was to head west. As I started this questionable road trip, I had laughed at myself. I lived in Maine. There really only was one direction to go unless I wanted to end up in the Atlantic. As I pulled up to the first intersection, I needed to choose. Take the freeway down to Portland or travel down Route One along the coast. It was a no-brainer, the coast it was. Thankfully, the tourist season was long gone and traffic would be sparse. Getting out of Maine from where I was would be a five-hour drive. Plenty of time to think about whether I wanted to continue heading straight west or make a turn down south. Florida would be a change of pace; plus, I’d never been there. But it was almost December and maybe I was a glutton for punishment, but my doom and gloom attitude didn’t exactly scream sunshine, beaches, and warm weather. Cold, gray skies and rain with a chance of snow felt more up my alley. Deciding I would head toward Pennsylvania, my plan was to see how tired I felt by the time I hit the state line.

The first couple of hours seemed to pass by in a blur. Like when you thought about things while driving and somehow found yourself at your destination with no recollection of how you got there. I was so out of it; I wasn’t sure how I didn’t swerve off the road or kill anyone. Signs for Portland began popping up and I hopped off the two-lane road and entered the busy interstate system. No more mindlessness unless I wanted to wreck.

Shaking my head, I spoke out loud. “This is ridiculous.”

It was so quiet in the vehicle that it was giving me too much time to think. Maybe music would help. Reaching over, I pushed the button to turn on the radio. I went through my usual five programmed stations for something. Frowning, there was nothing. I contemplated shutting it off and driving a few more hours in silence, but that didn’t seem appealing either. I growled in frustration. Hitting seek, the first station that came on was a Christian station. Mmmk . . . not my first choice at the moment. The next one that popped up was R&B. I’d heard that song before, but frankly, I wasn’t in the mood for slow, sensual sounds. As it scrolled, I grew more and more agitated. I pondered turning on an audio book, but the thought just made me want to laugh. It reminded me of an argument Seth and I had gotten into just a few weeks ago.

Seth had bought me an e-reader for my birthday last year. I used to be an avid reader but stopped when I got a little older. However, it wasn’t hard to pick it back up again, and eventually, reading slowly turned into a passion. However, I never anticipated it becoming a point of contention. The more I poured my time into the books, the more Seth and I fought. At one point, he said it was the worst gift he’d ever given me. During a particularly heated argument, he threw it in my face that I spent more time with my fictional characters than the real world.

“Would you rather I drink, Seth? I’m sure if I picked up the taste of a good martini in the evenings like Jack’s wife, I’d be the perfect little babbling idiot you’ve always wanted. Am I right?”

“Jesus.” He scrubbed his hand down his face in frustration. “You know I didn’t mean that you should find another addiction,” he retorted angrily.

I glared at him. “So now we’re calling it an addiction? Why can’t it just be something that I enjoy? Why do you have to belittle it and make me feel like I’m doing something wrong?”

“You know what? I can’t fucking talk to you when you’re like this.” He turned to walk out of our bedroom.

I picked up my little eight-by-four inch ‘addiction’ and threw it at the door just as he was shutting it. “Sometimes I really hate you!” I shouted, knowing he couldn’t care less what I was saying.

That night I laid in bed listening to his relentless snoring and really questioning the strength of our relationship. How could something so meaningless like a simple little book cause a fight so colossal? The truth was that it didn’t. Seth and I had been fighting more and more over the last couple of months. There always seemed to be something that irritated him about me. I hated that I felt like he was constantly scrutinizing me. Two people who were supposed to be hopelessly in love with each other shouldn’t nitpick each other’s flaws. Maybe this was a sign that we didn’t love each other quite as much as I’d originally thought. Wasn’t the man sleeping on the far side of the bed the one who I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with? The ring I was wearing on my left hand said yes. And the fight I’d just had with him, and all the other ones, pointed to no.

A country song that I loved came on and I crinkled my nose. “Ugh, no!” I didn’t want to listen to this. It was Seth’s favorite genre of music, and I had zero interest in thinking about him right now. “Seriously? I just want something new,” I whined out loud.

Pressing seek one more time before I gave up, loud screaming came through the speakers. My first reaction was to turn it off. Instead, my finger hovered over the button and I tried to listen past the heavy beat and grinding of the guitar. Huh. Wouldn’t you know it; they were singing about life and love. It was actually pretty damn sad. I turned it up so loud that I couldn’t even hear myself breathing. One song ended up bleeding into another and then another. Reaching forward, I pushed the number ’1’ on my radio and programmed in the station over one of my country presets. When I sat back, I smiled to myself.

“There. How’s that for change?”

My smile faded to a frown. Had I really resorted to talking to myself now? If I had, this was going to be a long and lonely car ride. Sighing, I pushed forward and weaved my way through Portland traffic. Passing a couple of tolls, I was heading southwest toward Boston. It didn’t take me long to drive through some of the smaller states. I made it through New Hampshire, Massachusetts, the southern tip of New York, and was currently working my way into Pennsylvania. The sun had long since gone down about two hours prior when I started to feel fatigued and stiff. I knew I’d have to stop soon for the night. Since I wasn’t on any particular schedule, I ended up making it to the middle of the state before I pulled over at a motel in a small town just off the interstate.

The sign out front said the place was called Cozy Cottage Inn. Parking my car out front, there weren’t very many vehicles so I hoped there was a vacancy. It was a two-story building with paint peeling off the sides. I saw horrible drapery hanging in the windows, and the rounded doors that led to each room. I guess that was the cottage feel? Although it appeared dated, and it certainly wasn’t the Holiday Inn, I figured it would be sufficient for the night. My tired and droopy eyes really didn’t care where I laid my head tonight. I just wanted sleep. I stepped into the small building out front where it said the office was located and a short elderly man was sitting behind the desk watching
Wheel of Fortune
on a 1990s tube television.

“Hello?” I asked, after I’d stood there for two minutes without acknowledgment.

He didn’t even turn in my direction. He had the volume up so loud I wondered if he could even hear me. And I assumed he probably couldn’t see me just based on the thickness of his glasses that were sliding down his nose.

“Hello?” I repeated a little louder this time.

Twisting in his seat, the man startled a bit at the intrusion. Pushing his spectacles up his face, he coughed and said, “Oh I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t hear you come in. How can I help you?”

“I need a room for the night.”

He dug around in a drawer and grabbed a sheet of paper, sliding it across the counter to me. “Is it just for one night?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered politely.

As I filled it out, he attempted to make small talk. “Where ya from?”

I hesitated. “Maine.”

“Maine, huh? I’ve always wanted to visit Maine. Heard the trees are beautiful during the fall. The missus and I just never seem to make it out of our recliners to go anywhere. So, are they as beautiful as they say?”

“They are something to be seen.” Truth be told, it was my favorite time of the year. I loved to go camping at Acadia National Park, which was renowned for their fall colors.

He smiled warmly at me. “Alrighty, here’s the cost for one night.” He pointed at the rate, changing the subject. Good, at least it wouldn’t even make a dent in the cash that I brought with me. “If you’d just sign here and initial here. There’s no smoking in the rooms. We serve coffee and donuts in the morning starting at six, and it’s a first come, first serve basis. Checkout is at eleven, and if you need anything at all, I will be here all night.” I signed the paper, gave his pen back, and counted out exact change. Handing me an actual key, instead of a card, he said, “Here you go. You’re in room 215. Enjoy your stay, miss.”

I had my only bag slung over my shoulder and walked up the metal stairs to my room. Once on the second floor, I was only a few rooms down. As soon as I opened the door, a pungent smell of old cigarette smoke assaulted my nose. Ugh, clearly they used to allow smoking inside. Oh well, I wasn’t going to go ask for another room as I could only assume they would all be like this. Turning on the lamp that was just inside, it barely illuminated the small space. There was a dresser directly in front of me with a box television sitting on top of it, similar to the one in the office. A full-size bed was on the opposite wall with an ugly floral bedspread covering it. One nightstand was beside it, closest to the door, and another table was next to the window that looked out over the parking lot. Old green carpet lined the floor, and there were a few small darker lined patches, which were clearly permanent stains. I made the decision right then and there that I’d keep my shoes on while I walked around. A bathroom that could only fit one person was to the right and was stark white. Sighing, I closed the door behind me.

Sitting down on the bed, I slipped off my shoes and pants. The comforter felt itchy on my bare legs. Scooting back, I kicked the covers off and kept only the sheets. The room’s temperature felt comfortable enough that I wouldn’t need a blanket anyway. Flipping on the television, I scrolled through five channels before it rolled back around and repeated itself.

“Okay, clearly they don’t have HBO,” I grumbled sarcastically.

I laid there for about an hour mindlessly watching some weather channel from Alabama. Why they had their news airing all the way up here, I didn’t know. But after hearing the anchorman talk about sunny skies and temperatures being in the mid-seventies while it was currently in the low thirties where I was at, I decided it was dampening my already blasé mood. I powered down the boob tube and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about this trip and what I was doing. Driving directionless for the next few days seemed even more pointless than the whole trip. I really didn’t care if I made it all the way to the west coast of California, but once I got there, then what? Turn around and go back home? No way. I did not intend to go back to that life. Not while I was on this crazy-ass mission to figure out what had happened to me.

With heavy eyes and a pillow under my head, I figured tonight wasn’t the best time for me to decide. I’d sort it out in the morning. Placing my hands on my stomach and crossing my legs at my ankles, I shut my eyes and exhaled all of the sorrow of the day away.

The next morning the sun peeking through the break in the curtains beamed directly on my face. I stretched my arms high above my head and yawned out loud. I’d slept like shit. The bed was too hard, and the room got a little too cool for my liking. However, I refused to get the blanket I’d kicked off because I had no idea what could possibly be on it. I could only imagine that it was similar to the carpet, so I passed and stayed curled in a ball in an attempt to stay warm. Even though I was in no rush to get back on the road, I decided to get up and start getting ready. Outside the sun might have been bright without a cloud in the sky, but the wind was blowing and goosebumps formed on my skin. California might not be such a bad idea, after all.

“Morning, miss,” a slightly overweight woman greeted from the same spot the man had been last night. The shift must have changed.

“Mornin’,” I answered groggily.