She stood in the midday Mississippi heat, sweat just beginning to bead on her
forehead, walking slowly but steadily. Her feet drug, just slightly. She
wasn't sure if she would ever stop walking, maybe she would just be here, like
this, hungry, tired, hot, and walking, forever. Her backpack of meager
possessions, the lack of money in her pocket. It all weighed down on her. It
all slowed her down.

A soft rumble started up behind her. As it became louder, nearer, she stopped,
and turned to face it. A Ford Ranchero, one of the smallest, cheapest
American-made cars, was approaching her quickly; more quickly, it seemed,
every second. Time seemed to slow for her. She found her thumb instinctively
thrust out as she stood on the edge of the highway. She was exposed, open to
anyone's violence, kindness, or neglegence. It was a feeling she was neither
used to nor comfortable with, but she had to do it. There really was no other
choice.

The wind from the Ranchero ruffled her curly hair, blowing it into her
eyes.Yes, it was the hair in her eyes that squeezed the tear from her. It
wasn't the neglect. Maybe it was dust, but I assure you it wasn't any kind of
emotional reaction. She no longer had any kind of emotional reaction. She told
herself once more, "Don't cry, you don't care enough to cry."

Slightly disappointed, and shaking in the aftershocks of what once was the
adrenaline ruch of hope, she turned again to walk.

Her hair was tangled and she felt slightly dirty. She longed for a shower and
could only hope for a real bed to sleep in that night. She did hope for a real
bed to sleep in.

Many hours, sore feet, several passing cars, and a slightly more agreeable
temperature later, another vehicle passed by. This time it was an SUV; dark in
color and large in size. She was starting to look foreward to the larger
vehicles. She had had more luck with them than the smaller ones in ther three
days on the road.

It stopped. She had a feeling it was going to. Even if it hadn't, she was
surely used to being ignored. She wouldn't have been upset. "It wouldn't
have mattered anyway", she told herself.

A window rolled down and as she approached, she heard a woman's voice speaking.

"Do you need a ride?"

"Y-yes, please." She stuttered. "I'd love a ride."

She leaned and placed one hand on the door, looking down into the woman's
face. She had been worn by life, her face wrinkled, her skin loose, sagging
slightly from her thin, frail-looking body. These looked like the scars of
motherhood. Her hair was blonde, bleached that way, as the woman's roots were
very dark brown, with noticable grays.

"Well get in, then, dear!" exclaimed the woman with a friendly chuckle. She
jumped at the sudden sound, and quickly obeyed. She dropped her backpack
between her feet in the floorboard and declined the offer to toss it into the
back seat. After standing so long her muscles groaned in relaxation. She took
a heavy breath.

"So what's a young 'un such as yourself doing out here in th' middle of the
day?"

"Oh, you know how kids are these days." replied Laramie. She said it not
rudely, but mysteriously, wistfully, maybe sadly.

"Well, Darlin', I know a heavy heart when I see it, why don't you tell me the
story?"

"It's long."

"Well, the next exit is over an hour ahead of us. You've got time, ..." she
paused, "What was your name?"

"Laramie."

"I'd love to hear, it, Lare-me."

"I hate to sit here and tell you a big long sob story, but well..." she
hesitated when she noticed the woman looking concerned. "Okay. When I was
about 4 everything seemed fine when my dad left my mom for a girl he met at
work. Mom doesn't talk about Dad much, but what I gather is that they hadn't
been happy in a long time, and he found someone who he claimed was 'the one'.
A load of shit if you ask me, though. There's no such thing as 'the one'. They
divorced and I only have a handful of memories of Dad. I only have a handful
of memories with him."

"Were they happy memories?" the woman's voice was already dripping with pity.
She hated that.

"He smoked a pipe and tried to cover it up by chewing lots of gum. He always
smelled of spearmint and pipe tobacco. Other than that, I only remember images
of him," Laramie said it as flatly as she could, as if the subject no longer
pained her. The last thing she needed was an emotional pity party from a woman
who would pretend to care about it for the next hour or so. "He said before he
left that he would call every week, and visit every holiday. I never heard
from him again. I hardly ever miss him, and, well, I can't say I would trust
him if he showed up now to reclaim his old life."

Laramie now wished she hadn't begun this story. She began looking out her
window while she spoke. She looked through the scenery, rather than at it.
It's not that she was missing much, anyway, just a bunch of trees, and every
now and then a tiny country road leading off into someone else's life.

"Things weren't all that great after that. My mom wasn't the same. I feel like
I'm whining about it but I don't mean to be. Other kids have it so much worse
than me, I hate to act like it's some big deal when it's not. Anyway, as I was
saying, things were never normal after that. Mom became an alchoholic and I
ended up being taken care of by my older brother. She used to be a very
beautiful woman, but after she went to alchohol, she got really skinny, like
she stopped eating completely. A year or so after Dad left her figure was gone
completely. My brother was always really nice to me. I don't remember ever
having fights with him. I guess it was because we COULDN'T fight. If we did,
we were both alone, there was no one else to comfort us or to solve our
childish problems. We shared a room, and I remember staying up really late
laying in bed talking to each other. It wasn't like it was easy sleeping in
that house. When he turned 18 he couldn't stand it anymore and he moved out,
and he always told me I had a place to go if I needed it. He wrote me letters
and he called me any time he could afford it. Zack lives in Seattle now. He
came to visit once but he met me in town and we spent the night in the motel.
I didn't go home that night, but Mom never even noticed.

I'm just fed up with it. Zack said I had a place to go and that's where I'm
going. Seattle." She said it almost defiantly, like she was scolding herself
for even thinking of turning back. "Mom is always drinking and she finds
one box of rolling papers and she kicks me out of the house! I know, I
shouldn't hang around with kids like that but they weren't mine. They were in
my room by accident. I assure you my friends wouldn't leave it behind on
purpose." Laramie paused and thought about her school. She thought about her
plain looks and how few kids would be her friends. Her clothes were never in
the best condition and quite often she was dirty, but it wasn't her fault, not
really. She was a good kid, only she was in the wrong crowd. "School is hard,
sometimes you end up in the wrong crowd. It's almost impossible to get out.
That's all that happened. It's not like I'm a pothead or anything, and even if
I was, there are worse things I could be doing." Laramie thought of her mother
when she said that. At least she wasn't a deadbeat neglecting her children.
She'd take pot over that any day. "I'm just tired of it. I get these speeches
about what's right and wrong. Speeches from a woman who only shows up to work
half the time, sleeps the other half of the time, and supports our family on
welfare! Our family which has dwindled itself all the way down to one."

Mary-Caroline said nothing.

"Don't judge me." Laramie felt like lashing out. She knew what Mary
Caroline was thinking. She knew it. They always think the worst.
Teenagers are defiant, but Laramie had reason to be defiant.

There was a pause as Mary thought about what to say next.

"How old are you, dear?"

"Seventeen."

"You are too young to have that kind of cynnicism. So your brother is in
Seattle?"

"Yeah, I'm going there to live with him. I'll get a job and pay rent and
hopefully I'll find a way to get some kind of education." Laramie cooled down
a little. She had to get control of herself. A reaction like that would get
her into trouble eventually.

"You still in highschool, dear?"

"I was." Laramie sounded regretful. It's not that she enjoyed school, but she
knew there wasn't much for the future of a drop-out.

On that note, they drove on for the rest of the hour until they came to a gas
station. During that time, Laramie twice became bleary eyed, and blinked it
away. She hoped the woman didn't notice. It was at the exit Mary-Caroline was
taking to get home. They said their goodbyes and Mary-Caroline gave her 20
bucks and bought her a microwavable burrito. She was reluctant to leave
Laramie there, but was assured nothing else to do for her. She sat and ate her
burrito, contemplating what to do next.

Her mind wandered, as did her eyes. She was now 20 bucks and a bean and cheese
burrito richer. The kindness of strangers is the sweetest there is, she
decided. There was a woman behind the cash register drinking from a water
bottle and staring wistfully around the almost empty store. She was probably a
highschool drop-out. Laramie thought sarcastically, "I just have so
much to look foreward to." Her thoughts were interruped by a voice coming
from behind her. She jumped, having been unaware that she wasn't alone with
the cashier.

"Mississippi... yes, yeah I'll be home in a three weeks. Bye, Mother."

Laramie turned around to see the source of the voice in time to see a man
hanging up the payphone, less than 10 feet from her. There was a jingling
sound from the front of the store, the sound of someone entering, but she
wasn't interested. She was captivated by this man. "May I help you?" echoed
quietly in the back of Laramie's mind, the voice of the cashier. She watched
the man, almost intoxicated. He looked nice enough. He was clean-cut. She
watched him walk around the frozen foods a while, and pick out a package of
some sort as well as a beer. The package, which Laramie discovered was a
pot-pie, was warmed in the microwave and then paid for at the front. There was
only one table in the small convenience store, at the very back, in between a
payphone and an ATM, and Laramie welcomed his company.

"May I?"

"Of course." Laramie stumbled over her words. She had only just noticed how
attractive he was.

"I'm Sheridan."

"Laramie" They shook hands over the table. "It's nice to meet you, Sheridan."

He began opening his package, and flinched a little when hot steam poured out,
presumably singeing his hand. He touched it to his Budwieser and Laramie
watched as his face, contorted in pain, returned to it's normal position, then
smiled at her. She blushed and smiled back, hoping he hadn't noticed her
reddening. He then began eating a chicken pot-pie. She looked at him
carefully, up and down. He had short brown hair and blue eyes. His face was
smoothe, clean-shaven. He wore only a t-shirt and jeans, and Laramie found him
unreasonably cute.

"Where are you headed?" Laramie said suddenly, when she realized he didn't
plan on talking to her any more, and that she desperately needed a ride
somewhere.

"Boise. Idaho."

"Wow, that's far from here."

"I'm a trucker."

"Oh." A trucker? They had reputations for being a generally bad group of
people, always getting up to no good. Idaho was a lot closer to Washington
than Mississippi was, though. Hell, she had a bad reputation, too. Her friends
back home were a bad group of people, and she had always come out fine before.
She would have to depend on the kindness of a stranger more than once in the
next couple of months, she might as well get used to it. "Do you think you
could give me a ride?"

"Where to?"

Laramie paused... how do you ask someone to drive you across the United
States? "All the way."

"To Idaho?"

"I'm headed to Seattle."

"I guess I don't mind you tagging along, but you pay your own food, and you'd
better not be any trouble."

She was lucky. Although she wasn't sure about it, she didn't think many people
would be willing to do this for her. Thinking about it was starting to make
her nervous, perhaps he had other plans. This wasn't highschool, after all,
this was the real world. She decided not to think about it.

When the burrito and the pot pie were gone, and the beer gulped down by
Sheridan, he stood. Laramie jumped up and they looked at each other for half a
second, neither of them sure of what to say, neither of them sure about the
agreement.

"Ready?"

"Yep." Laramie was nervous. Sheridan walked towards the exit and around back,
where a semi was parked, taking up more space than was available. Laramie
looked up at it. It was black, or maybe a very dark blue. It loomed over her
and she realized that she had never been this close to one.

"Well get in." Sheridan was standing on the ladder and hanging on to the
steering wheel, "Unless you want to stay, of course." Looking up at him like
thise made him even more attracive. Attached to this giant truck he looked so
manly, and less boyish than he had in the store.

Laramie ran around to the other side and Sheridan opened the door for her. She
looked up and their eyes met once more. It was her last chance to turn back.
In a few seconds so many thoughts rushed through her mind, of her brother and
Seattle, of being alone in the world, Mary Caroline, her 20 bucks, her
backpack, and that it was this moment that would decide a large portion of her
life. Her last chance to turn back, to refuse the offer. Then she thought of
her mother. That thought was like a lift up, it pushed her into the truck with
ease and she settled herself in slamming the door behind her.

They had only just gotten out of the parking lot when he began to speak. She
was glad for it, she was already beginning to feel uncomfortable in the
silence.

"What was your name again?"

"Laramie."

"Laramie what?"

"Stephens."

"Laramie Stephens." He repeated. He said it aloud, slowly, as if trying to
memorize it.

"And yours?"

"Rayner, Sheridan Rayner."

"Oh." Laramie didn't know what to say after that. She swooned for a few
seconds. Sheridan Rayner, it's a cute name. She wanted to look at him but she
didn't want to seem childish, especially since he was so indifferent. She just
stared ahead, trying to think of something good to say. She felt nervous and
goofy.

"Why are you going to Seattle?" He said, breaking the second awkward silence.

"To live with my brother."

"That's nice. You didn't have anyone to give you a ride?"

"Nope." Laramie clammed up. She didn't want to go through it again, epsecially
since she nearly lost control of her emotions the first time. Sheridan picked
up on her reluctance to talk about it, so he decided to tell her a little
about himself. He wasn't the talkative kind, but he'd be damned if they spend
the whole trip in awkward silence. It was, after all, a very long trip.

"I'm from North Carolina, originally." Laramie was glad he moved the subject
on to himself. "I just dropped off a shipment of mattresses to Baton Rouge,
then picked up a load of furniture in Jackson that I'm taking to Boise." he
paused, thinking of what to say next, "and then I get to go home."

Laramie decided to ask him something, as she was afraid the topic would drift
to herself. "Go home to your family?" She was at first afraid that she had hit
a sore spot, but after a short pause answered casually, "No, no it's just me.
I live down the road from my mom, though. She's the closest thing to family
I've got." Laramie wondered how old he was. He didn't look old. She felt more
comfortable looking at him now, and examined him once again. Short brown hair,
clean cut. It looked recently trimmed. His body was that of an average man,
medium build. She could barely make out muscles under his shirt and on his
forearms. He looked to be in pretty good shape. She decided he was no older
than 25, and must be at least 21 to have a trucker's job.

"How old are you, kid?" Nothing like being called 'kid' to make you feel
comfortable. She looked into the floorboard, and was a little surprised to
find her sneaker very close to a window, through which she could see the edge
of the pavement whizzing by. It made her feel as if she was going much faster
all of a sudden, and she got a little nauseated. She put her backpack up
against the window.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen? Wow, I thought you were older than that." he sighed, "I'm 26
myself, and feel like I get older every day."

"Everyone gets older every day." She thought it might have sounded snappy, but
wasn't meant to.

"Haha, guess you're right."

The rest of the day seemed to drag by for Laramie. They talked about a lot of
things, and found out they had a lot in common. Neither of them had liked
school very much, and both dropped out. They shared an interest in music, and
liked the same genres. The radio was on most of the time, but never loudly.
They found that talking was easy, and they communicated quite freely. After a
few hours on the road Laramie had told him her story, with few more details
than she told Mary Caroline. The second time was easier, and it surprised
Laramie that it was so. She guessed she was getting used to the idea.

Sheridan had listened to her the entire time, and had an understanding of
teenage girls. He felt like he said the right thing at all the right places to
make her feel comfortable with him, and felt like they had established a
friendship. They stopped and ate in a Taco Bell in a small town called
Springfeild. Laramie enjoyed being with him, and was not only starting to look
up with him, but was developing quite the highschool crush on him as well.

*************