Ted of the d’Urbervilles

Chapter 1-3

Eight hours and four Big Macs later—which Giselle paid for—and we were in Phoenix. San Francisco is cold. When it gets hot, it’s nothing but a passing trend. I was always cold, even in the summer. Or especially in the summer, when the fog took hold, when it sunk its teeth in like a pit bull with a bad temperament.

Phoenix was hot. Phoenix could give an oven a run for its money. Phoenix was flat, too, not a hill to be seen, rolling or otherwise. The mountains stood guard in the distance, the sky already turning a brilliant pink, waiting, it seemed, for the inevitable purple and black. My heart again pounded as we pulled into a truck stop. This is where I got off. My thumb began to itch in anticipation.

“Wait here,” she told me.

She hopped out before I could ask why. I watched her as she walked to a row of trucks, all of them neatly lined up in the rear of the parking lot. She disappeared around the side of a semi. I thought again of Mortimer. Did he have a Janie? Did he have a Paul? Did I have cousins who would buy me Big Macs and let me cry inside their cars?

Giselle didn’t look like a dancer. Did I look like a homeless person? Was the stink of it permanent on me? Could you shake the s**t off if you shook hard enough?

Giselle reappeared. Her chest bounced in front of her. I bet she was popular with the other truckers, one of which was by her side. Handsome guy, or so it seemed from a distance. I guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. He had a beard the size of a beehive and short, cropped hair. He was wearing flannel, jeans, boots. She was smiling. He was smiling. I rarely smiled, so why start now?

I hopped out of the truck and waited, backpack slung over my shoulder. The guy waved. I waved in return. “Howdy,” he said as ten feet grew to five, five to one. Up close, the trucker dude was even more handsome, a bit of grey at the temples, crow’s feet crinkling as his smile grew a few watts brighter. He held out his hand. “Chuck,” he said by way of an introduction.

Chuck looked like a Chuck, though Chuck, like Giselle, didn’t look like a trucker. What did I look like?

“Ted,” I said. I could feel the smile on my face. I thought to touch it, to see if it was real, but his hand was still in mine. Smiling was new to me. It would take some getting used to. Chuck, nah, Chuck would be easy to get use to, seeing how easy on the eyes he was. “And, uh, howdy.” Howdy. First time for everything.

Giselle rolled her eyes. “Chuck’s headed to Denver, says he can take you there. That cool?”

Cucumbers should be so f*****g cool. I nodded his way. “Thanks.” I turned to Giselle. Heat rose up my neck and burned my cheeks. I knew her for barely half a day, and yet…

I blinked. She was hugging me goodbye. I stiffened, then relaxed into the embrace. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I chalked my sudden bounty of emotions up to that popped cork, to a full meal in my belly, to my odd day of firsts. Mainly, I just missed my mom.

“Take care, Ted,” she said.

She broke the hug and walked over to the driver’s side of her cab. Up she went. I got a wink and a wave goodbye before she left. She’d told me she had dinner plans at a friend’s house. Chuck hadn’t been mentioned. I gulped. I was alone with a perfect stranger—emphasis on the perfect. I watched as Giselle’s truck disappeared down the highway. I touched my cheek. Damn, wet again.

I looked to Chuck. “Ready?”

He grinned. “We leave at six in the morning. Already been driving since Reno.”

“Oh, uh, okay. I’ll meet you at your truck then.” What was one night sleeping outside? Wouldn’t be yet another first. Plus, it was still warm outside, and as for dinner, we were at a truck stop; dumpster diving should, I figured, prove bountiful. “See you in the morning, Chuck.”

He patted my shoulder. “Giselle said to take care of you.” He grinned. He looked like a bearded version of George Clooney. “Actually, threatened was more like it.” He pointed at his truck. “You can have the front seat. I sleep in the back. Dinner is waiting. Come on.”

He was walking away before I could object. Not that I planned on doing so, but still. My earlier gulp echoed itself, growing from lemon-sized to grapefruit. I had six more days to get to New York. I needed to keep moving. I needed sleep and food, too. I wasn’t accustomed to options. I wasn’t accustomed to bearded George Clooneys either. Besides, one night of sleep in a truck wouldn’t set me too far behind. I’d make up time later, I figured.

Maybe Chuck would pass me along to someone else once we hit Denver. Or kill me in my sleep. Dump my body in the Rockies. No one would even know the difference. No one would even care.

I was standing by the trucker a moment later. “Why are you crying, Ted?”

I shrugged. “Allergies, Chuck. f*****g allergies.”