Short Stories: Long Way Around the Short End. James Hill

      Store Security

      Hello. My name is Mitchell Deal, and I’m free again. That’s right. My six years in the navy are up, and I’m free to do what I want and go where I want again. And right now, I’m on I-10 in Florida hitchhiking to wherever.

      The navy told me I could sign up again, but I told them thanks just the same, that I was tired of visiting the world and wanted to see more of my own country for a change. And they said to give them a call if I changed my mind. I said I would but knew I wouldn’t. I’ve always liked the ocean, but I also like solid ground, and it feels good to be standing on it once more.

      You are probably wondering why I’m hitchhiking. Like so many of my shipmates, I squandered a lot of my money. But unlike some of them, I sent some home to my mother (she hasn’t been in the best of health lately). But knowing her, I think she has probably stuck it in the bank saving it for me.

      Anyway, I have some money in my pocket and could have bought a bus ticket back to North Carolina. But I want to see the west for a change, and I better save what I have for the essentials, like food and shelter, until I find a job.

      By the time the sun starts getting low in the sky, I haven’t caught a ride. People probably don’t know I was an enlisted man because so many people walk around with backpacks nowadays. Better be finding a place for the night.

      I find a nice clearing far enough from the highway to build a small campfire. What? you ask yourself. Why not find a Motel 6 or an Econolodge? It’s not raining, it’s a warm night, and I have everything I need in my pack. As I said before, I need to pinch pennies where I can.

      After my lean-to is tied off between two trees, I stake down the back portion and build a small fire. When my meal of sea rations is done, I unwrap my sleeping bag by the firelight, make sure the fire is smothered good, and prepare to turn in. I want to be up early and on the freeway by daybreak. That seems to be the best time to catch a ride: traffic’s not as bad and people aren’t afraid to slow down to pick you up.

      I crawl into my bag and zip it all the way around and over my head, leaving just enough space where I can breathe. It’s a trick I learned in the Boy Scouts.

      Many species of snake like to roam at night, hunting for food or whatever else snakes like to do. And since I’m not inside a tent and on the same level (the ground) as they are, I suggest you do what I just did, unless you want to wake up in the morning with a bedmate beside you.

      * * * * *

      As the third big rig comes up and passes by, I can hear it gear down, the sush of its air brakes, and see the flashers come on for the breakdown lane. I take off at a full jog, the pack bouncing up and down on my back like a bobber in a farm pond.

      I don’t care what kind of conditioning training you’ve had or how good of shape you think you’re in, a twenty-five-mile hike the day before, a night’s sleep on hard ground, and a good jog with full pack the next morning will show there’s always room for improvement. I’m winded by the time I reach the cab. I grab the handrail and swing my weight onto the step. “Where you headed?” the driver yells through the window over the idling engine.

      “No particular place.” I pant. “Just west.”

      “I’ve got a drop in Oakboro, Texas. Is that far enough west for ya?”

      Since we’re somewhere in Alabama, I say, “Sounds good to me.”

      “Hop in.”

      I pull the door open, and in the same motion, I slide one arm from underneath the strap, swinging the pack around as I slide in. It fits perfectly in the floorboard.

      “Give yourself some room, and toss it in the sleeper. It’s a pretty good piece to Oakboro.”

      I give it a toss.

      “Name’s Jerry Albertson…yours?”

      “Mitchell Deal.”

      “Nice to meet you, Mitchell. I noticed your pack and the way you board a semi. You military?”

      “Ex-navy two days ago.”

      “No joke! I’m ex-marine many years ago.” The driver laughs. “I noticed you got a drawl. Where’s home?”

      “North Carolina,” I tell him. “Little town

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