Stephen Dixon - Letters to Kevin

Very best,

Rudy

Dear Kevin: It seems so long since I last wrote you that I forget where I left off. It was probably somewhere on the road. Now I remember: it was Nowhere, on the sidewalk. I was heading in the direction the bus had gone when a car came along. I stuck my thumb out for a ride. The car slowed down. Just as it got right up to me, the man sitting beside the driver grabbed my thumb and said “Step on it, Jack.” The driver stepped on it all right. I was dragged alongside the car by my thumb, yelling at this man to let me go as I only wanted a ride. “That’s what we’re giving you,” he said. “One ride for one thumb.” “I wasn’t giving you my thumb. Just sticking it out for a hitch.” He let go of me. As the car whizzed away and I was rolling after it like a bowling ball, he shouted “And I thought you were giving me your thumb because it’s my birthday today.” “Happy birthday,” I yelled when I rolled to a stop. “And many more.” I wasn’t that bruised and continued walking till I saw another car coming along. This one I didn’t stick my thumb out for, as today might also be the birthday of the passenger or wedding anniversary of the driver. I stood on the side and out of the way of the car, in case it didn’t want to stop. But the driver swerved off his path and aimed his car at me. When I darted left, the car went left. When I shifted right, the car went right. There was no place to hide except behind the car chasing me. For a mile around there was nothing but flat sidewalk without even lampposts or signs to duck around or climb. Then I tripped. The car drove straight at me. But at the last moment it sideswiped me and came to a screeching stop. “What are you doing standing in the middle of the sidewalk?” he said. “What you mean is why are you driving on the sidewalk?” I said, brushing the car’s paint off my clothes. “Wise guy, I see.” He put on his glasses and said “Yeah, I can really see you are a wise guy.” He opened the door, emptied his ashtrays on the sidewalk and let his two dogs out to walk. “Don’t you know it’s illegal to litter the sidewalk?” I said. “I’m not littering the sidewalk, only emptying my ashtrays.” “And don’t you know by now to curb your dogs?” “Where’s the curb? This burg’s all sidewalk.” “Then don’t you know not to let your darn dogs run loose on the sidewalk?” “They’re not darn dogs but Great Danes.” He ordered them back in the car and started up the engine. “You forgot your ashtrays,” I said, holding them up. “No thanks, I don’t smoke,” and he drove off. The next car to come along I didn’t hold out my thumb or even step out of the way for. I just walked with my back to it, hoping it would drive past without grazing me. But the car stopped beside me. The lady driver leaned across the front seat and said “Looking for a ride, love?” “As a matter of fact I am. Could you give me one?” “I don’t have any today. But the car behind me stocked up all last week with them and I know he still has plenty. Tell him Jane sent you,” and she drove off. Iflagged the next car down and told the driver “Jane sent me.” “Jane sends me too — whoo whoo,” and he flicked his directional signals before driving off.

Maybe a sign would work. I got a sheet of paper from my typewriter case and wrote on it in big letters AIRPORT! The next car stopped. The driver got out and so close to the sign that his nose pushed it back a few feet, and said “Oh — airport. It’s dead ahead. Don’t see how you could have missed it. Go left at Alley Road. Right at Avenue Street. Over the underpass. Under the overpass. Out into the bypass and bypass the bypath and go by path by the canyon pass and if you find the ferry, take the raft beneath the bridge. If you can’t find the ferry, ford the stream. You can’t afford the stream, take a creek. Then tear into the detour. Go roundabout through the straightaway. Poke along the speedway for five miles. Open her up on the footpath for two kilometers. Then north by southwest past the fifth tollbooth on the freeway for three furlongs and you’re there.” “But I don’t have a car. I was thinking of a hitch.” “Thinking’s a good way to pass the time while you’re hitching,” and he sped off. I waved down the next car. The driver read my sign and said “Airport? And you say it’s in this direction? Thanks a lot, as I thought I was driving the wrong way.” I threw my sign away and with both hands waved down the next car. “Can you please give me a ride,” I said. “I’m desperate.” “By all means,” the driver said. He lit a match and held it out for me. “No,” I said, blowing it out. “I mean a hitch. I’d like to hitch a ride in your car.” “Ah, a hitch. I knew something was up.” He dropped a coin in my hand and raised his window. “You don’t understand,” I said, rapping on his window. “I’m a hitchhiker, not a beggar.” “Oh, that’s too bad. Do tell me what happened.”

“A bus dropped me off near here and now I can’t get a ride.” “By a bus, no less. My my. Close your mouth.” “What’s with my mouth? You don’t want to give me a ride, say so.” “I didn’t say so? That’s funny. In all the time I’ve talked to you I thought I said so at least once. Anyway, now I’ve certainly said so. Several times — of that I’m sure.” “Listen. All I’m asking is to get to the airport.” “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” He motioned me into the car. I sat beside him and he felt my forehead and put his ear to my chest. “You seem unwell,” he said, “which puzzles me. Lungs all clogged. Heartbeat irregular. Maybe a more thorough weigh-in at the airport will be necessary.” “I feel fine. Nothing’s wrong with my body or baggage. I’m hungry, that’s all.” “Me too.” He patted his bloated stomach. “Very hungry. Starved is more like it. They give you too much to eat in this country.” “I wish I could say that.” “You can’t say the word ‘that’? I always found it one of the easiest to say. And it’s your language originally, so I shouldn’t be the one tutoring you. But put your tongue to the roof of your mouth like this and go ‘th th’ and add an ‘at’ and you’ve got ‘that.’ Try it.” “You want me to say the word ‘it’ or ‘that?’” “Now ‘it’ is a bit different. It’s more like trying to cough something out of your throat. I don’t mean the word ‘it’s’ is said by trying to cough something out of your throat, but the word ‘it.’ For ‘it’s’ you don’t cough anything, but say the word ‘bits’ and then take off the ‘b,’ Well, take it off. Not the word ‘it,’ but the bee. It’s on your jacket lapel. If you don’t take it off, it’ll sting your neck. And I’m not saying the word ‘it’ll’ will sting your neck, but the bee. Though if I did want to say the word ‘it’ll,’ I’d say ‘bit’ and take off the ‘b’ and then add a little ‘ill.’ And no matter what you say, you do seem to be a little ill. And you haven’t yet taken off the bee.” “I don’t feel ill. As I said, I feel fine, only hungry. Which no matter what you say, you don’t seem to be.” “I don’t seem to be, I see the bee. Still there on your jacket lapel. Then I’ll take it off if you don’t see the bee.” He slapped at the jacket lapel. “All gone. I never even saw it come in or leave through the window. Not the word ‘it’ come in or leave, but the bee. Words like ‘it’ and ‘it’s’ and ‘bits’ don’t come in and leave through windows. They fly in through your ears and leave through your mouth, but only after you learn how to say them. And I of course don’t mean the word ‘them.’ Though saying ‘them’ is very much like saying ‘that.’ The ‘th th’ of my first lesson — remember it? Not ‘it’ but ‘that’? But let’s start for the airport. You have to catch a plane right away?” “First one I can get.” “Then this is your lucky day as I happen to be a pilot and am going to the airport myself. Not by myself now, of course, but with you. Butlet’s be off.” He started to drive. I didn’t know how lucky I was, but I at least finally got a ride. After a while I said, just to make conversation, “Nice day.” “Don’t I know,” he said. “Terrible out. Though there’ll be good days ahead, I’m afraid.” The sun was out and sky was clear and it was the prettiest day I could think of, but to him it was terrible. Okay. Some people you can never satisfy. “Though tomorrow is supposed to get cold and nasty again,” I said. He grinned. “What did I tell you. Wonderful, no? We could use some nice weather for a change.”