the hitchiker

My momma and a whole lot of other people told me never to pick up hitchhikers. This was an exception.I had stopped in Butte the first morning. When I pulled out of the truck stop and onto the ramp, there he stood. He looked like a mighty man at one time but today he looked tired, cold, hungry, and weak. He looked like he had been hit by a truck. His name was Brad and he had been hit by a truck. A semi, head on, about a year ago."I’ve been in a rehab home for months, after six operations in a Seattle hospital. Lost all my teeth and one eye," he explained."Where you headed?" I asked."To Billings, where my lawyer is to have a settlement check. Then buy a pickup and go back to Red Cloud and fish for walleye."He went on to explain how the truck stop had put him out, to spend the night in the cold Butte air. I asked if he was hungry. He was. We stopped and had an early lunch. He went on to tell me how his younger brother died from meth, his time cooking in fire camps, and gold mining. He didn’t seem to be bitter about anything. He just wanted to be back fishing for walleye.I left him at an overpass in Billings with $20 and my old space blanket.He helped me many times more than I ever helped him. I hope he has a happy ending to his journey. Mine is just beginning