Frozen Fish

It had started snowing on our way to town. By the time we headed back out, the snow was beginning to look pretty serious, with the temperature dropping, and the wind increasing.  As we hit the highway, we saw a lone man, coated with snow, standing on the side of the road with his thumb out. We stopped.
Hitchhiker got in, and thanking us, said he’d been on the road since morning, headed for his home in Denver. Q explained where we would be turning off the main road, and Hitchhiker suggested that he’d get out there, and then either catch another ride or find a motel. Bad plan-no motel and no traffic. It was either stay with us or death by snow.  
I wasn’t really nervous about taking a stranger into our home. I figured he was probably too tired to kill us, and we didn’t have anything worth stealing, except maybe the car. So I devised a plan to foil his attempt at grand theft auto by removing the keys from the ignition, which is usually where we kept them, and taking them to bed with me.
Good plan but stupid premise. When we got home, the snow was so deep in the driveway to our house, that Q could drive only about ten feet until so much snow collected under and around the car that it would come to a halt. Q and Hitchhiker would get out and shovel so we could move another ten feet. If Hitchhiker could manage to get our car back up the driveway by himself, I’d sign the title over.
At the house, after a shower and scrambled eggs, Hitchhiker fell asleep on the sofa. Tomorrow we would take him back to town to catch a Greyhound.
Next morning, it was still snowing. It snowed for the next three days. And no snowplow. Hitchhiker paid his rent by entertaining us with stories of his days as a mercenary in Vietnam, rescuing POW’s and MIA’s.
This is my entry in this weekend’s Trifextra.

About paulajwray

I am a writer and I live in the Rocky Mountains of southwest Colorado with my husband and a balding black cat. I write humor, flash fiction, creative non-fiction, inspirational essays, and poetry. When I'm not writing, making lists, or forcing a family member to listen to something I've written, I'm reading, gardening, or laughing with my friends. I also, occasionally, sit and stare.
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5 Responses to Frozen Fish

  1. jannatwrites says:

    I’ve never picked up a hitchhiker (too many scary stories, I guess.) I’m glad it ended up well for you and you got to hear some war stories in return!

  2. Paula J says:

    Here where we live, especially during a snowstorm, to have passed him by would probably have been a death sentence. He looked to cold to be dangerous.

  3. Paula J says:

    Oops! Too cold, not to cold.

  4. Tim Shey says:

    One time I was hitchhiking in Montana and this guy picked me up and took me home near Missoula. He asked his roommate if it was okay if I stayed the night. When I woke up the next morning, one of the guys said, “Hey, Tim, thanks for not killing us.”

    I replied, “I was too tired–maybe tomorrow.”

    “Chris McCandless Revisited”

    Hitchhiking in Russia:

    “Few Thumbs Barred From Rides”

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