Over the course of the next 8 weeks I will upload an excerpt from a short story I wrote a few years ago. It has only been shared once before in this same manner in my Facebook writing group Canadian Creative Writers. At that time the group received each excerpt shortly after it was first written. Now it has had a few years to mature into the story it now is.
50 Hours
Hallam Ruskin stepped from the shoulder of the Trans-Canada highway onto the westbound lane to throw an oversized lug nut at a vehicle which seemed to have intentionally swerved towards him before zipping away. He was angry at the driver of the vehicle for the stunt and at himself for missing the vehicle altogether. It wasn’t until Hallam heard the screeching tires when he remembered he had turned his back to the oncoming traffic behind him. Rather than turn to face the approaching vehicle, which was surely about to collide into him, he waited for the impact, in truth because he did not want to see his demise coming. Nothing.
In a moment that seemed an eternity, it was eerily quiet, and he was not sure why. Was he dead? Had he in fact been hit so quickly and so hard he hadn’t had time to acknowledge his death? He had always looked forward to feeling his life-force fade away. A horn sounded from behind him causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. In a single motion, Hallam turned and slammed his fist on the hood of the vehicle. Lifting his head up to look at the driver face to face (hoping to intimidate) he saw the driver was using one hand to cover her mouth. You know, in that innocent who me way, girls seem to like to do.
Using her other hand, she motioned him to let her pull off the highway to safety. He looked at the woman and wondered about the gall she had to pull off this stunt. It was a look of disbelief and disdain. Undaunted, she kept smiling and shooing him aside. Hallam, realizing a line of traffic had formed behind her edged to the gravel giving her room to maneuver.
The woman undid her seat belt and exited the vehicle. As she rounded the vehicle, she fumbled putting on her mask. It was an interesting mask, not your typical generic cloth hospital mask. It was a custom job, depicting the smile of the yellow have a nice day guy, made popular on t-shirts. Hallam decided this woman had a strange sense of humor and for this he liked her already. She got no closer than six feet from Hallam and held out her hand.
“Samantha Barnaby, but you can call me Sam or Sammy. You need a ride?”
“No, I just landed a job as a human traffic cone and I’m trying to perfect my craft.”
He looked at her hand and ignored the gesture.
“Hallam Ruskin, call me whatever.”
“Okay. Whatever it is then.”
Hallam was confused as to how he had ended up on the side of the T-Can talking to this strange woman. It was several minutes before he realized he had gotten into the car with Sam, and they were driving along with the traffic west bound.
“Do you always pick up hitch hikers?”
“No never, but I collect traffic cones and I don’t have any that look like you.”
She giggled. He smiled.
She had taken her mask off to drive. Hallam noticed her dimpled cheek. Something about her intrigued him. He stretched out his legs and got comfortable. There was nothing about Sam he felt he should worry about. She heard him stretch out and get comfortable. She knew he would be no trouble. They drove on in silence with nothing but the occasional whooshing of cars and trucks seemingly in more of a hurry than they were.
Hallam broke the silence with a soft whistle. The car radio softly played In the Air Tonight. Hallam played air drums alongside Phil Collins.
“We’ve put a few miles behind us already.”
“We sure have, but I imagine we have a few more to go”
With Sam’s comment his curiosity now had the best of him. Where were they going? There had been no discussion about where either one of them were headed.
The truth was, for him, it didn’t matter. Everyone he had cared for was either dead or had written him out of their lives. Both his parents had been dead for a few years. When the pandemic arrived, it was blamed for his grandmother’s death, although in truth, any one of her myriad of other medical issues could have been equally to blame. He had been doing his best to care for her, and felt he should have, could have, done more for her.
“So, where we headed to?”
“Do we need a place to go, to be? I don’t know about you, but I’m content to be wherever we are, at any given moment.”
He thought about it and decided this was the only thing he had heard in a long time which made any sense.
“Sounds good to me.”
They soon started talking and sharing superficial things about themselves. It seemed they were more different than alike. In fact, their commonalities began and ended the same way , they were alone. Now they were alone, together, because of a pandemic. Rather than being locked down, isolated, and alone because of mandated precautions, they had both chosen to do things on their own terms.
Soon the conversation turned to places across the country they’d never been. They had been to a lot of the same places, mostly along the T-Can. A mutual decision was agreed upon to see as much of the country ass possible, but off the beaten track.
From Winnipeg where they had met, they drove west, that is, until the first beaten path introduced itself which was highway 16, otherwise known as the Yellowhead highway. By beaten road they of course meant less common touristy travelling routes. Their destination of choice was somewhere within the land of the midnight sun, which meant they would eventually have to travel north.
They both took turns driving, a few hours each at a time. As Hallam drove Sam watched him being careful to make it appear as if she were taking in the scenery and traffic as they passed. She wondered about their “chance” meeting, and if it were indeed chance at all, or perhaps even some fait accompli. Whichever it was, to her, it seemed to be a good thing. This pandemic which was now keeping people apart had brought them together. How could this be a bad thing she thought.
End of part 1
Part 2 will appear here in one week
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