Nebraska Crossroads
The kid pulled $100 out of a wad of bills in his jacket pocket. •Five-Minute fiction
He’d had more of Nebraska than he could stand. With no particular destination in mind, he hitched a ride out of Lincoln and was dropped off two hours later on the I-80 on-ramp in the nowhere part of Kearney. He had not expected snow. He pulled his hat down over his ears and stood out in the weather for what seemed like forever, stomping his feet, blowing on his hands, until a man in an orange U-Haul truck pulled over and swung the door open.
“Jeez, kid, I almost didn’t see you standing there! You must be freezing. Where you going?”
“Not sure, exactly. West coast, maybe. Thanks for stopping. Damn near got lost out there.” He stuffed his pack in behind the seat. “I really appreciate the lift. I’ll just ride with you as long as you are aiming west.” He rubbed his hands together trying to get some feeling back into his fingers.
“I can use the company; it’s a long trip. I am relocating to Wyoming — got a job out there waiting for me.”
“Yeah? I was born right here in Nebraska, myself. Never been anywhere else. Lived here all 19 years, but I’m going somewhere different now, and I don’t much care where that is.”
They mostly rode in silence for about an hour, listening to country western music on the radio out of Wichita – Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings, the old guys. “I’ll have to pull over pretty soon, until the snow lets up a little. There’s a truck stop cafe just before North Platte – the Tomahawk, I think it’s called. We’ll get us something to eat, wait it out a bit.
“Yeah. Sounds good. I could eat.”
They ordered meat loaf and mashed potatoes, chicken fried steak and french fries. Peach pie. “Comfort food all the way,“ said the U-Haul guy.
“Sure is a lot better food than I am used to at home,” the kid said, licking pie from his spoon. Then he pulled out a $100 bill from a big wad of money in his jacket pocket and said, “Dinner’s on me!”
Later, in the truck, he asked the boy, “Where the hell did you get a hundred dollar bill?”
“Um...well...I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but actually, I robbed a Speedee Mart on the east side of Lincoln this morning. Couldn’t believe it. It was easy as dirt.”
“What? You shittin’ me? Wait! You’re not carrying a gun, are you? You got a gun in this truck?”
“No way! What do you think I am, a criminal? I mean … the clerk thought I had a gun. She was just a kid, working that register alone. I think I scared the piss out of her, poor thing. I was sorry for that.”
“Christ, you’re in a lot of trouble, then, son.”
“Nah. I’m okay. I changed my clothes in a gas station bathroom and put on a hat. I got real lucky – it only took 10 minutes to get a ride. Some guys on their way to a high school reunion outside of Kearney.” He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose.
"I am not a professional, by the way, in case you’re wondering. I never did anything like that before. I swear! It’s just I was starting to go a little nuts there in Lincoln, you know? My family — they’re just fucking insane. And I had to get out before somebody got hurt! I was broke, that’s all. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll tell you what — if you don’t want to take me all the way to Wyoming, I get it. But maybe, could you just drop me off at the Greyhound depot? I can get the directions for it right here on my phone.
The snow eventually let up and the fog had lifted enough for clear visibility. He looked in his rear view mirror as he pulled away from the depot. He left the boy sitting on a bench waiting for the midnight bus to Seattle. Just sitting there, looking like any other kid.
He drove about three miles on the I-80, and pulled off at a crossroads. He just sat there a few minutes as Patsy Cline softly crooned an old radio classic. He stared out the windshield, thinking about when he himself was 19 years old, and the turmoil of those years without a dad. He turned the truck around, and went back to the bus station. “Get in, son,” he said. “I’ll take you as far as Cheyenne.”
“Cool! Thanks! Um … just give me a minute.” The kid ran over to the trash bin and pulled from his pack a wrinkled paper bag. He threw it into the bin where it landed with a heavy metallic clunk. He said under his breath, “I guess I won’t be needing it now. Too dangerous, even though it wasn’t loaded.”
“So, tell me about Cheyenne,” he said, stuffing his pack behind the seat. “You think I might like it there?”
If you liked my story, here is another short one about a woman standing at a crossroads. It is from The Katy archive, and is one of my favorites.
“She stands at the crossroads in the thin April sunlight. The wind is scented with grass and cows. She’d caught a ride on a passing bus near the Great Northern depot in Minot, and was dropped off here in the middle of farmland, a walking distance of three miles from her family home.”
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Great story! Sharron.
The way things are today, the kid could face a vastly different outcome. Your characters grab us and hold us until the final sentence.
That opening line, and going nuts in Lincoln? 100% relatable.