The Hitchhiker

Last night I was driving home from Wal-mart at midnight. And yes, this is a fairly regular occurrence, unfortunately. At this time of night, Highway 24, an unlit 2-lane rural highway, had almost no traffic. The temperature was about 25 degrees so I had the heater going full blast.

Out of the darkness, I saw a glimpse of someone on the shoulder of the oncoming lane - a man waving his arms for me to stop. At that speed, all I could see was that he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and what appeared to be shorts.

Instantly the thought crossed my mind - "Oh hell no!" I had images of a crazed hitchhiker with a butcher knife. Or a gun. I thought of every slasher movie set in Texas or some other isolated rural area. This was a no-brainer. Just keep driving.

Then I thought about what he was wearing. It was freezing outside and he had on almost nothing. Was he stranded? We were at least 10 miles from the nearest town. What if he stopped to rest and ended up freezing to death?

As I imagined all the possible outcomes, I let up on the gas. This was turning into a metaphysical crisis. What kind of person did I want to be? As a political junkie, I'm constantly railing against fear-based conservatives and their creative form of domestic terrorism. My basic viewpoint is that conservatives = fear, progressives = hope. But how committed was I to that ideal? Or was that viewpoint relevant at all in this case? I want to be compassionate, I want to follow in the footsteps of saints and angels who dedicate their lives to helping others. Then again, fucking crazy rednecks.

Would I have my compassion squashed by fear? Or would I have the faith to risk an act of kindness and know that I would be ok?

Ultimately it came back to the question - what kind of man did I choose to be? That was the clincher. Whatever the risk, I choose compassion. It's scary. Damn scary. But if it came down to it, I would rather live a short life of compassion than a long life of fear. This one moment was an opportunity to demonstrate that choice.

I pulled onto the shoulder and turned the car around. With my heart pounding, I drove back the way I came. I couldn't remember how far back the guy was, so I drove a little slower and kept an eye out. After what seemed like 10 minutes, I crossed a bridge I'd noted before I saw him, which told me for certain that he'd already been picked up or otherwise found help.

Whew! Relief. I made a choice for compassion AND didn't have to pick him up. Win / Win!

And then I saw him.

This time he was waving his pants at me. Nutjob.

I hit the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. I could barely swallow. I didn't dare back up for fear of running him over. But it was so dark I couldn't see anything and I was scared of him suddenly appearing in my window. Eventually, I saw him in the rear view mirror, sprinting up behind me, a ghostly image coming out of the dark in the glow of my tail lights.

I rolled down my passenger window. He ran up to it, breathless. The guy was about 25, very cute, and as it turned out, wearing pajama bottoms and carrying his pants. He was also out of breath, and obviously scared. Uh oh. Like a friend said later, this was either the setup for a slasher flick or a porn film. It could go either way.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"Yeah."

"Can I use it? I need to call the sheriff."

"I can make the call for you. What's going on?"

"My girlfriend's husband got home early and he's beating the crap out of her."

Wow. That just said it all right there.

I dialed 911 and put it on speaker phone so the poor guy could explain the situation. After the operator agreed to send a sheriff to meet him, I invited him into the car. Definitely not a slasher flick. The jury was still out on the porn, but probably not that either. Really, I was just worried that the guy was freezing his ass off.

I drove him to a defunct gas station, where he'd parked his truck and asked the sheriff to meet him. Evidently he had a rendezvous with his girlfriend, but the husband decided to quit his truck driving school that night and came home early. In a rage, the husband grabbed his gun. My guy, a sheriff's deputy in another county, had left his gun in his truck. Fortunately, the husband's dad came in and calmed the husband down enough to set the gun down. That's when the stud took off, sans pants. His girlfriend threw his pants and shirt out the window but the guy's truck keys, cell phone, and wallet were still there. I guess the last thing he heard was the woman screaming.

So now I had a freezing, scared straight boy in his pajamas sitting in my car. What else could I do - I introduced myself. He told me his full name and we chatted a bit. Then I made sure the husband did NOT know where he'd parked his truck. I found out what town he lived in and a little more about the situation, and casually mentioned that he might want to tell the sheriff that the husband is armed. I tried to keep things light and simple until the sheriff showed up, which he did shortly. My boy tossed his pants on the hood of his truck and talked to the sheriff. After the two of them left together, I stepped out just to make sure I was alone and that I wouldn't run him over when I backed out (the gas station was completely shut down and had no lights - yeah, I know). Then I updated my facebook status and drove home.

This could have had many different outcomes. But in the end it turned out to be a very good thing that I stopped. My only regret is my hesitation. If a woman was being beaten could I have saved her some pain if I had stopped sooner? If my reaction had been more instinctual than methodical?

Hopefully I'll know the end of the story soon enough. Being the son of a well-connected ex-county judge and ex-law enforcement officer has its advantages. My dad knows just about every sheriff in the area. When I told him the story (leaving out the part about how hot the guy was), my dad wrote down his name so he could check with some of his buddies.

I'm glad I'm ok, obviously. But I hope everyone else is, as well.