The rain slashed through my headlights like miniature meteors streaking Earthward. The slap-tick of the wipers was mesmerizing. Only the gut-grinding fear of losing traction on this two-lane road in the eastern mountains of Tennessee kept me from surrendering to their metronomic pulsing and drifting off to sleep.
I was at the range of my endurance. I'd been driving over six hours, all of it in rain, and most of it in the dark. My head buzzed with random thoughts as I tried to concentrate on the road. The seat belt chaffed my shoulder, but I dared not release it. Under these conditions I realized I was only seconds away from careening into or through a guardrail and plummeting down the slick, green, wet mountainside. Only that seat belt would keep me from ghastly injuries my dead-tired mind conjured.
A brilliant bulge appeared in the road to my right. I started, and pushed steadily on the brake, slowing my vehicle as the specter passed to my right. My sleep-deprived mind slowly functioned and I recognized the figure of a hiker, slogging along the roadside in the rain. Slowed to a crawl, I pulled off to the shoulder and stopped, shaken and blurred by my near miss of the pedestrian.
Once stopped, I noticed the rain was not the torrent it appeared when I was driving. Instead, it fell in a gentle, dark drizzle. My wipers swept the small drops swiftly from the windshield. I twisted the switch to slow their frantic beating.
My breathing had slowed to near normal and my heart's racing beats resumed their more regular pattern when I was startled by an apparition in my window. My hand flew to my throat and a small scream erupted from between my lips. In the window a very damp, young man was peering into my vehicle. In spite of his most miserable appearance, he had a smile on his face. That smile, so unassuming and genuine in the dank Tennessee mountain darkness, gave me the confidence to crack my window an inch.
"Are you all right, miss?" the young man said.
"I think so," I told him. "I though I was going to hit you. Then you startled me."
"Sorry," he smiled. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"What are you doing out here at this hour?" I asked the young hiker.
"Actually, I'm hitching my way to St. Louis," he said. "I got a ride up from Atlanta. But the guy was going north. He dropped me off about three hours ago. I've been waiting for a ride going west. Not much traffic out at this hour, though."
I check the dash clock. It read 2:12 A.M.
Perhaps it was my exhaustion that clouded my judgment. Maybe it was the pathetic vision of this young guy slogging along in the middle of the night in the rain. I cracked the window open another inch. "If I give you a ride," I asked him, "are you going to rape and murder me?"
"No, ma'am," he said, politely, the smile getting broader. "I'm neither a murderer nor a rapist."
My tired mind registered the "neither/nor" phrasing. This was not trailer park trash. This young man was educated and articulate. It helped me confirm my decision.
"Come around to the other side," I instructed him. "Throw your gear in the back and climb in the front. Let's get you out of the rain."
The young man grinned wetly at me, again, then worked his way around the back of the car. He tossed his backpack in the rear seat, then climbed into the passenger seat next to me. He was literally soaked to the skin.
"If I had a towel," I said, "I'd offer it to you. You're going to catch your death."
"I'm grateful to be out of the rain, ma'am," he grinned. "You're very, very kind. And, very brave."
"Probably more stupid than brave," I observed, putting the car in gear and starting off down the road. "What's your name, anyway?"
"Jeremy," he said. "Jeremy Shugart. My friends call me Shug. Like sugar?"
I couldn't help but giggle. "Okay," I said. "Shug it is. I'm Caroline. My friends call me Caroline."
"Yes, ma'am," Shug said.
"Tell me about yourself," I ordered.
"I'm a second year medical student at Emory in Atlanta," he told me. "I'm hitching home to St. Louis for spring break."
"What," I chuckled, "no Fort Lauderdale?"
"No, ma'am," Shug answered, "not for me."
"Shug," I said, "two things. First, you've got to stop calling me ma'am, okay? You make me feel old."
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Oh, sorry."
"Okay. Look, it's okay. Just work on it," I suggested. "And, the second thing is, when I saw you, I'd just about decided it was time for me to stop. So, I may not be able to take you far. I'm just too tired to keep going tonight."
"Yes, ma'am," Shug said. "I understand."
"You're really going to have to stop with the 'ma'am' stuff, Shug," I reprimanded my passenger. "Every time you say that, I think you're going to say 'Mom'. That would just kill me."
"I'm sorry, really," he said. "It's just my upbringing."
He changed the subject. "Are you a mom?" he asked.
I nodded. "A six-year-old son," I admitted. "Nathan. He's staying with his grandmother while I'm on this trip. He likes that. She spoils him incorrigibly."
Shug nodded slowly. "So then you're a married lady," he said.
"No, actually I'm not," I said. "I'm a widow. My husband died stupidly about three years ago."
Shug was silent.
"Don't you want to know?" I asked him.
"If you want to tell me," he answered.
"He was a pilot," I explained. "A stunt pilot. He made a mistake. He should have quit when Nathan was born, but he wouldn't. Now, he's gone and Nathan has no father."
"I'm sorry," Shug said. "I really am sorry."
"It's all right, Shug," I told him. "I'm tired. When I get tired, I let my emotions run away with me.
"It was just so useless and stupid," I continued. "He did it because he liked it. No, he loved it. But, he killed himself and left me and Nathan alone. I'm still pissed off at him about it. Then I get feeling guilty because I'm pissed off at a dead man, and a man that I loved. Then I get even more pissed off because I loved him but he didn't love me enough to stop something so damned dangerous."
I stopped. Tears of anger welled up in my eyes. I realized my voice had risen in volume and intensity.
"Sorry," I told the boy. "I didn't mean to make you the brunt of all that."
"It's good to get it out," Shug said quietly. "I understand."
We drove on in silence for another eight miles before the Co-Zee Rest Motel sign loomed up out of the rain spatter night. Two miles, the sign said, clean sheets, free TV, air conditioning. That's all I needed.
"That's where I'm going to stop," I told Shug.
"Okay," he nodded.