A Hitch in Time

Chapter 2-2

An hour passed; oh wait, my watch says it’s only been ten minutes. But look—oh goody, my first ride. This—thing—drew up in front of me. It was purple and white, so shiny it was like a mirror. It was boxy and ugly, but when I opened the door and slid inside, I sank into luxury. I looked at the driver. He looked at me (I looked better; me, dark reddish hair, dark brown eyes, clean-shaven) (who am I kidding, I didn’t have to shave yet), smiling. A legal, non-shaving, adult. Him—fat, old, balding. But of course—it was a convertible, right? It might be a slow ride but it looked like a safe ride.

He peeled rubber and we roared off down the highway. The radio shouted out, “And now for the number one Billboard hit from 1990—‘Hold On’ by Wilson Phillips!” And hold on I did. I had to.

“You into cars?” my driver asked. “Oh, by the way, my name is Phil Filbert, ha-ha, I know. My mother had a sense of humor, the old bi…ird. I’m a pastor. Hold on, while I change lanes, this broad in front of me—I just gotta get past her! Ha-ha, I kill me.” My driver guffawed and when he dwindled down to chuckles, so did his speed. We were back in the appropriate lane. Did I mention it was a two-lane highway with a double yellow line? I was so glad I’d gone to the—oh wait, I hadn’t. I glanced down at my pants to make sure I still hadn’t, either. Nope, all good. I breathed.

Mr. Filbert shoved a box toward me. It was full of doughnuts. “Open this up for me, will ya? Want to keep a hand on the wheel here, you know. “Help yourself. Pass me one of them cream-filled ones.”

We determined where he was going and that I was going there with him, all except the last few miles. Actually he was going a lot farther, he said, but he had to stop at his mother’s first, about an hour’s drive away. He said he’d let me off as he left the highway, and did I want to know why he had to go to his mother’s?

My mouth being full of chocolate doughnut, I nodded, since he wasn’t watching the road anyhow.

“Well since you ask,” he stated, glancing back at the road. “You’re a nice looking kid,” he added. “You aren’t in trouble with the law, are you, ha-ha?”

I shook my head.

“You’re not—selling anything, are you?” He glared at me suspiciously.

I gulped. I shook my head frantically.

“None of my business anyhow,” Phil said cheerfully. “But why buy milk if you already have the cow? Or something. Anyhow, okay here’s the story, son. This is my mother’s car. I’m supposed to use it to take her to her doctors’ appointments and church and s**t like that. Her church, not mine. Anyhow…” With this, the hands both came off the wheel. He turned the radio up. “Do me!” the radio shrieked. I gulped. My imagination went from selling to cows to what the hell, what did ‘do me’ mean? Was I about to learn?

But Phil was stuffing his face and rattling on. “So I took her to her docs yesterday and for that I got a free home-cooked meal and a bed for the night.” He grimaced. “And I get to use the car again the next day. Now mind, I never did like this piece of s**t, but it’s only had two major recalls…so I’ve added a few things here and there. Did your folks ever tell you that if you don’t like something, you can do what you can to make it better? Yeah, you have a right to do that. Maybe even a responsibility. Too bad it doesn’t work with people. Though we can change ourselves if we try.”

I scarfed down another doughnut. I opened my mouth to say something but didn’t get a chance. No worries about conversation here.

Around a third doughnut, spitting sprinkles everywhere, Phil continued. I could see how he might enjoy making sermons. “This here car is, at today’s value, a fifty thousand dollar piece of crap. It did have a V-6 engine, but when I was a kid I yanked that out and upgraded. Yep, used to be a real good mechanic. Now this thing…”

I tuned out. A car started, stopped, played music, and looked cool. That’s all I wanted in a car. Maybe a big back seat. Some fine day.

I watched the scenery. We were going through a small backwater town, somewhere. Right in the middle of town was an old building that looked like it was ready to collapse.

Phil nodded, “See that? That’s the Black p***y Cat Café. Not the original, of course, but like this car, it’s been new and improved for decades. Except for the whole wood rot thing. And of course, it having been a w***e house in the old days. Man, speaking of black cats.” He cleared his throat and turned to make sure I was paying attention.

Of course I was. I tried to look rapt. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Get some Cokes out of that cooler behind ya, will you? One for me and one for you.”

I did as requested. “Damn good stuff. Now, you remember the Black Plague, don’t you? Ha-ha of course neither of us were there, were we? Ha-ha. Now listen to this. I do sermons about this all the time. You know, how you make a change thinking it’s for the better but decades later you find out you really f****d up? Yeah, I know I just said you should change things to better when you can. And that’s exactly what this Pope Gregory the Something or other thought he was doing.”

I got out, “But…”

“Listen up, hear? This i***t was a lousy Pope. He tortured people, caused crusades and inquisitions, and believed that black cats were from Satan. He had his morons, I mean minions, killing cats by the gazillions. Sort of like your present day morons and gay people. Anyhow a hundred or so years passed and—whoops!—let’s pass this moron in the black Porch, er Porsche, bigoted entitled assholes all of ‘em. A nice Camaro, now, that’s different. But these Porches, ugly things. Where was I?”

All this while passing the ugly, expensive ‘porch’ at full speed, over a double yellow line. And back into our own lane. I breathed again, wondering if Phil was going to yell yee-haw, but he didn’t.

Phil continued, “So when all the rats infected with the Asian Black Plague came flooding into Europe, what did they find? No cats, amirite? Hence death everywhere. Now, what’s the lesson in that?” Phil glared at me.

The radio answered, “‘Black Cat’ by Janet Jackson!” And it blared out music.

“Damn straight,” Phil said, eminently satisfied.

I was still confused.

After Phil dropped me off with a wave and a trailing, “See ya!” I stood on the corner with my head spinning. He had a point, but I wasn’t sure what it had been. He was sure a funny pastor, which made me chuckle. I wondered if what he’d said about making changes would be something I could do in my own life, and if it would make things better—or worse.

But what was the point there, short term change, long term change. Did they balance each other out? Balance, maybe that was the word I wanted. Phil had said something about balance, but I thought he’d meant the new shocks he’d put on the car.

I also wondered what he’d meant when he’d said, “Watch out for the cops!” with a wink, just before he’d peeled out. Ah, just a joke, I figured, shrugging. And inside I thought smugly, legal adult, can’t do anything to me. So there.