The Hitchhiker

-The Hitchhiker’s thumb stuck out in the sky. Catches the eye of a passing truck, semi. Picked up by the trucker. Crazy old man.

-The Hitchhiker- Well, thank you, sir. Goin’ to Maiden; how far South you headed?

-Trucker- Pulls back on the road. Has a low, scratchy voice. Smells of cigarettes, maybe something else.

Goin’ to Knox.

You got a light?

Offers the Hitchhiker a cig.

Hitchhiker- Digs in his pocket, his hand returning with a box of matches, takes the cigarette.

Thanks, I’m just out. Where you from, man? ‘round here?

-Trucker- No, not from here.

Doesn’t lead on any further; the Hitchhiker stays quiet.

* * *

Half an hour passes…

-Trucker- North.

Hitchhiker- Huh?

Confused look.

Trucker- From North. Lived North my whole life. ‘ts why I’m headin’ South.

Gradually accelerates, then peaks at ninety. Has a sort of blank look on his face.

Hitchhiker- Aware of the Trucker.

You alright, man? You look out of it.

Trucker- Looks dumbly at the Hitchhiker, turns head back to the road.

Cigarette.

Hitchhiker- Uh. What?

Trucker- Need a cig. Gimme’ a light.

Grabs his pack off the dash.

Hitchhiker- Yeah, sure.

Strikes a match, lights the Trucker a cig.

You sure you’re alright, man?

Trucker- Very subtly nods.

How far South?

Hitchhiker- Uh. S’far as you can, I guess.

Slowly becomes wary of the strange, old trucker.

Trucker- Smokes his cigarette. Between puffs, sometimes during:

Good. South’s good, you know?

Hitchhiker- Yeah, sure sure.

* * *

Another half hour in silence.

Trucker- Lyndon says this shit is bad, man. Caddady don’t care.

Says it very matter-o-factly.

Hitchhiker- Right, sure man. Hey, look. You seemin’ out of it, brother. Y’alright to drive?

Trucker- A cig, man. Light.

Hands are shaking as he grabs his pack.

Hitchhiker- Can I get one of those, brother?

He eyes the cigs again.

Trucker- Sure, sure… Light me, willya?

Hitchhiker- Strikes the match, lights the trucker’s, lights his own. Before he puts the flame out, he notices it, stares at it: it seems very attractive. The match burns ‘till it burns his fingers.

Trucker- You’re crazy. Why- ya here?

Gestures towards the Hitchhiker.

Hitchhiker- Doesn’t hear a word. Instead, the car weems to stop, his world stops. The bike down the street stops, and the baby in the city stops crying. The bustling housewives and the Mexican pool cleaners stop. The middle-aged man’s mid-life crisis stops and his flight from New York to San Francisco stops. The trucker is gone, as he must have stopped. It’s now only him. Himself, staring on down below at himself, alone in the shotgun seat of a semi-truck. Very curious, he takes another puff of his cig. Damn good thing he took one, and the whole pack is just on the dash.

* * *

Hitchhiker- Strange things are gonna’ happen, he can feel it. Strange things have always happened around him. Things always stop, (or start). Time never really existed inside his head. But come to think of it, it doesn’t matter. Isn’t that Eternal Life, anyways?

Damn. At least I got the cig. What the Hell… who am I talking to? What the Hell, man?

Nondescript Voice- Damn, at least you got that cig. Who are you talking to? Who are you talking to? Who are you talking to? Why, that’s up to you. Hasn’t it always been? Why talk to one being when you don’t want to talk to it? You can always pick your friends, they say.

Hitchhiker- Startled a bit at the voice. But really, he only thinks it’s logic.

That’s right. You’re smart, for a Hula girl.

Hula Girl- Raises her arms to her mouth in shock at such vulgar language.

Excuse me!

Hitchhiker- Rather confused.

Oh I—

Hula Girl- Excuse me!

A very, very high pitched voice. Almost annoying, almost cute.

Hitchhiker- I only meant that—

Hula Girl- Giggles a bit.

Excuse me! Nothing to excuse, nothing to excuse. You only mean what you say, after all. Or is it say what you mean? Or….. mean what you mean and say what you say? Hm, yes. That’s right.

Hitchhiker- He’s lost beyond reason now, so he just let’s the little Hula Girl talk to herself. Rambling on about sayings and meanings and whatnot. He opens the door of the semi, and let’s all of the color and sunlight in. He’s now in a television shop. It’s odd, though. The whole place seems vaguely familiar to him.

What a crazy little figure. Where’s my cigarettes, anyways. I could use one again.

Non-descript voice- Very professional sounding, like a man who knows what he’s talking about. Or at least thinks he does.

The deadly little tobacco cigarette, usually found in your back pocket, is, in fact, in your back pocket. Follow up at three.

Hitchhiker- Warily reaches into his back pocket for his pack. His hand returns to his side with his pack of cigarettes.

Uh. Thanks. Where are you, though? You sound like you’re coming from everywhere…

Nondescript Voice- The amazing quality Dolby 1.5 Surround Sound speakers, found in isle three, give the sensation of a multi-speaker surround sound affect for any room!

Hitchhiker- Logic!

Newscasters… never liked them, you understand? Always telling me what’s what and what’s who and what’s where and what’s why, you know? Never really thought I needed one of them, you know? I know. But I guess that’s my point.

Newscaster- The television really did have high quality speakers. As did it have high quality screens, as well. You could almost count the polka-dots on his knuckles and almost see the tombstones in his eyes.

Newscasters: A Fight for What’s Right! The Truth in the Tooth! The Justice in the Hostess.

Hitchhiker- You really need to work on your rhymes, Mr. You don’t seem to be very strong.

Newscaster- I’m Mr. Nisson, and I’m plenty fit!

Hitchhiker- What? Oh, I didn’t mean to call you weak. See you don’t—

Mr. Nisson- And I can see fine! Tonight on the three o’clock update, the Hitchhiker makes a jackass of himself on national television.

He rolls a clip of the Hitchhiker verbally assaulting the innocent-looking Mr. Nisson.

Hitchhiker- That’s not what I said! I didn’t do any of that! You can’t do that, it’s called Slander!

Mr. Nisson- I’m giving you credit for the appearance, no worries, no worries.

Hitchhiker- Is now fed up with the toying around of the cunning Mr. Nisson. He walks out of the Television shop, Mr. Nisson shouting abuse the whole way.

* * *

Hitchhiker-Walks out of the shop and into what seems to be a rally. Some sort of social gathering, but with a purpose, you know?

Band of Fish- Shake your head and rattle your brain,

Make you act just a bit insane,

Give you all the psychic energy you need —

The country sounding band rocked pretty hard in the crowd of fish. They really seemed to be a rallying point for them all. The interesting thing about them all, though, is that the band was made up of four phish. Four crazy fish. In fact, the entire crowd was fish.

Hitchhiker- Well, what’re are you all rallying for? An election, a war, a new law? Civil rights, oppression? Sovereignty?

Band of Fish- The band stops completely at the question. As if they were expecting it, but it still caught them off guard.

A rally? Do we need a rally? Or a reason? We just came here to play. Country Fish and the Joes. Did you like what you heard?

Hitchhiker- It was… interesting. And where I come from, we usually have reasons for rallies and marches and protests.

He doesn’t really know what to think of the fish. They were surely… interesting. But they were fish nonetheless.

Country Fish and the Joes- We’re not going to let Him decide our deaths, man. Not gonna’ happen. ‘sthat why you’re here?

Hitchhiker- I thought you said you had no reason…

Country Fish and the Joes- Well that was yesterday, man. That was so North of here. Today is South, and we have a plan and an idea, man.

Hitchhiker- Thoroughly confused now, he just goes along with it. But again, he can’t help shaking the feeling he’s known this before.

Oh, I see. If there’s anything I can do to help, you know. Just ask me, brothers.

Country Fish and the Joes- We know something you can do. I got something I want done. Are you up for that…something?

Hitchhiker- Why not, you know? It’s weird enough here already.

Country Fish and the Joes- You got it! We’re gonna’ paint Nisson’s re-election slogan sign, man! Gonna’ make a Glowers Paint sign over it! You wanna’ help? Good, you’ll do it.

* * *

Hitchhiker- Is this what you’re looking for? This sorta’ sign?

Asking the band. He’s really know idea what he’s doing. Just trying to have a good time with where he’s at and all, you know?

Country Fish and the Joes- Perfect! That’s what I mean, I feel ya, brother!

They turn the sign to show a big white slogan on a blue background, saying “A Vote For Nisson Is A Vote For Peace!”. But scribbled over it in the bright Glowers paint, a giant fish outline on the sign. Bubbles rising up out of it’s mouth. It’s perfect. The other side says, “Imposters-Will Fail”.

Hitchhiker- Thanks, I thought you’d like that. I should get going, again, you know?

Country Fish and the Joes- Going again? Again means you have before. So you’ve done this before? You’ve been here, right? How many more times? How many, you know? I’ve found it’s easier to do things once, and not twice or again. You start to repeat yourself, you know?

Hitchhiker- Again, totally and utterly confused.

Alright, I’ll uh…. Keep that in mind. You got a light, I’m almost out of matches?

Country Fish and the Joes- ... No. We’re fish…

* * *

Hitchhiker- Wanders along in this sea of fish, immense gatherings of the aquatic vertebrates. Along the edge of the crowd, there runs a beach. A beach along a river. A large river.

Nondescript Voice- Better not jump in. You may never get out alive.

A Jamaican voice. Speaking in a warning tone.

Hitchhiker- He’s grown accustomed to these strange new voices, having met so many already. It’s logic, after all.

Hm, I guess you have a good point.

Not noticing the crowd of fish has gone. But does, however, notice the great turtle at his feet.

Great Turtle- I once met a fella’ who did jus that. Never saw dat one again. Tink he still be in dare, lost as a crab, you know?

The Great Turtle had some very strange colors. Most turtles, being Brown, Green and maybe bits of Reds and Yellows painted on, can’t talk, or give advice. But this Turtle had a Red shell, with Yellow lines, outlining the small interlocking hexagonal pieces of shell. Inside each of those, small bits of Green were embedded. The leathery skin of the Turtle was Black; a wizened leathery Black and Yellow and Red and Green Great Turtle.

Hitchhiker- Yeah? I’m pretty sure I’ll be alright. But thanks for the war—

Great Turtle- Yeah, dat what he say. He say he be right, and “Tank you fo de war—“, but of course, he go off n’ dive right in. He be play dat game for ever, now. Funny ting is, he dun care.

Hitchhiker- At this point, he’s just accepting the little oddities of the Great Turtle.

Sure, sure man. You have the time? Not sure if the time runs here, you know?

Great Turtle- Look of surprise on his Great Turtley face.

Tings are going to stop (or start), you know. Time nevar really exist inside our head. But come to tink of it, it dun matta. Isn’t dat Eternal Life, anyway? Maybe dat why he nevar return, why he always be diving into dat great sea, you see.

Hitchhiker- Right, right, sure, man, sure. Would you like to answer a question for me? Where are we? You know?

Great Turtle- Well, it can’t be where we not, darefore it can’t be where we want to be, cos if we where we wantin’, we already be dare. So it must be where we dun wan to be, which is always where we are. So, we are where we dun wantin to be. You know?

Look of great satisfaction on his face.

I wan to be at de Train Station.

Hitchhiker- Having not followed a word the Great Turtle said, he asks the Great Turtle if he wants a smoke.

I don’t suppose Great Turtles smoke. You want a cigarette, brother?

Great Turtle- Of course, we do. How do you tink we all get live for tree hundred year? Hey, man, you got de fire?

Hitchhiker- The question caught him off guard.

Oh, yeah, sure, sure.

He grabs his matches, he’s only got three left. Then he hands a cigarette to the Great Turtle, who rests it on his lips.

Here, man, here. See, let me light that for you.

He strikes the match.

Great Turtle- Tanks, man.

His cigarette is lit. He puffs away. As he does so, he slowly turns around and walks away. Very slowly.

Remember what me told you. You not where you wan to be, right? Feelin’ right man, tanks fo de cigarette.

Hitchhiker- He really wanted to say something, but couldn’t figure out what. He knows now to stay away from the great sea, for he may never come back. He’s now ignoring the weird feeling of déjà vu. He also now notices that the crowd of fish has been gone for some time. He takes one last look at the great sea.

Just one of those places we’ll never understand, I guess.

As he turns around, there’s a Zebra standing there. Eating grass in a great field. No sign of the previous protest and rally.

Zebra- That Great Turtle. Interesting fella, you know? I’ve known him for years, love that guy. I remember one time he saved my life from that Great Sea. I wonder where he comes from, with that accent, you know? Always got kelp in his teeth. Hate that Great Turtle, you know?

Hitchhiker- Confused at the Zebra’s sudden change in attitude toward the Great Turtle.

Didn’t you just say you love that guy?

Zebra- Yeah, well, I do. You know how it goes, right? Love here, hate there. I’m pretty North, you know?

Hitchhiker- Confused again.

North? No, I don’t know. I’ve been South for a while, I gu ess. Hey, do you have black stripes or white stripes?

Zebra- Thinks hard for a moment. Even deigns to stop eating his grass.

White stripes. Have always had white stripes. They’re the way to go, you know? Any colour you like, right?

Hitchhiker- Right, sure sure. I always thought they were black stripes, you know?

Zebra- Yeah, black stripes, black stripes. Always had black stripes. They’re probably the smarter way to go, you know? It’s how I always get money for the election.

Hitchhiker- So, you do have black stripes? You just said you had white stripes. But whatever, any colour you like, right?

Zebra- Confused as all Hell, now, at this rigorous interrogation.

Yeah, yeah. White Stripes, that’s right. I have those. Any colour I like. Right?

Hitchhiker- I don’t get it. Oh, forget it. I’ll just let you eat your grass, man.

After that confusing discussion, he decided to just let the poor, confused Zebra eat h is grass. He turns and walks away.

* * *

Hitchhiker- He wanders along for a while. Without really anywhere to go. He’s noticing that each new…thing… he meets is just a little bit weirder than the last one. He walks up to the edge of the river, picks up flat rocks, and skips them across the water. Like he did when he was a kid.

The flat ones are the best ones. Smooth, round, flat.

Quoting what his father used to tell him as a child. He hadn’t seen his father for some time now. Years. He never missed him, though. Not really. He was still picking up good skipping stones when a figure appeared down the beach. At first, he just ignored it. But the figure just stood there, staring at him. He started to get curious, so he started towards it. Walking slowly up the beach. When he got halfway to the figure, he realized he was no closer than when he started. The figure was moving with him.

Uh. Yalright, man?

The figure just looked over his shoulder and then back at the Hitchhiker. Blank stare on his face. He had a huge, fluffy white beard and long scraggly white hair. He had a large beer belly. Almost like Santa Clause.

The Hitchhiker was now walking a little faster, towards the man in white up the beach. Yet, no matter how far he came, he never got any closer to him. The Hitchhiker was now moving at a pretty quick pace. Blindly ignoring the fact that he’s not getting any closer to the man in white. It was a quest for him. He needed this. He would understand only when he caught up with the man in white. With no reasons, no signs, nothing, he knew he had to catch up with the Man in White.

Now he’s running. Full speed ahead. Passing the Great Turtle, the Zebra, The Country Fish, the campaign slogan signs, the television shop. Sprinting towards that distant Man in White. Ignoring everything, forgetting why he’s there in the first place. Along the way, he’s even lost to WHY he’s still chasing the Man in White. Now, he just needs to catch up with the Man in White. He even passes the Great Turtle again, along with the Zebra, the television shop, and the signs. Then he passes the band again. And then the Great Turtle, the Zebra…

But the Man in White never stops. He never gets a minute closer to him. Always far apart, and will never catch up to him. The Hitchhiker collapses on the beach. Still conscience, he crawls along the bank to rest against a large, flat stone. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes and his box of matches. It’s his last cigarette. As well as his last match. He puts the cigarette between his lips and strikes the match. He lights his cigarette. Before he puts the flame out, he can’t help but notice how attractive it is. He stares into it. In that one moment of the Match, he undergoes a moment of realization. Of understanding. All of this that had happened to him, he’s seen before. In days before the politics, before the obligations of a job and a family. He smiles into the last Match. It burns until it burns his finger.

* * *

Trucker- You’re crazy, man. Why-ya here?

Hitchhiker- He’s back in the truck, with no memory of what had just happened to him. He went on with his life as if none of it had ever occurred.