I’ve gotten into the habit of picking up strays – a little something I got from my wife, Trixie, sort of how we came to be together – and Xmas Eve Eve is no exception. But even a monster wouldn’t keep driving past a pregnant woman. Knowing that my MONSTER status was secure, I eased to the shoulder and let her in.
She was pretty, but disheveled – cold, wet, grubby, had obviously been crying and didn’t speak much (if any) English. And, very pregnant. She looked ready to go any time. Through some effort, I learned that her name was Maria. When I pressed for details about her destination, she would motion forward with her hand and say, “Vamos”. I vamoosed. West, deeper into the desert.
She was silent, which was ok because I couldn’t understand her. Me? I prattled on endlessly. I told her stories of my life just to hear myself talk. She seemed to find the droning timbre of my voice soothing, and, coupled with the heater blowing full blast, conducive to slumber. She napped.
I began to get the sense she wasn’t so much, going somewhere, as much as she was running from something or someone.
Even we hero-types get tired, and eventually I was ready to bed down for the night. Take a break from the bumpy road.
Ordinarily, I would have just parked in the desert, but, through no benefit to myself, I somehow felt responsible for this stranger and decided that for the first time I would treat myself to a real bed at a roadside motorlodge.
Alas, this being Xmas Eve and all, there were many travelers and we were turned away. I pleaded with the person at check-in, “You can’t turn away a pregnant woman! Not at Xmas! Have a heart!”
“Sorry. We simply have no rooms available.” Came the innkeeper’s terse reply.
He told me I was welcome to park out back. And, so I did.
I apologized to Maria, “It smells like a barn, I know. I’ve been living in here. But, you take the bed. I will sleep in the cab.”
She seemed to understand. She smiled with no humor, but plenty of gratitude. She climbed in, settled and went quickly to sleep.
I wasn’t so lucky. The cab was cramped and crowded with junk. And, some festive jerk had red and green spotlights sweeping the sky to serve as some sort of holiday decoration. People go looking at Xmas lights, you know. Lord only knows what manner of folk that will attract.
Eventually, I did fall out but was awoken early in the morning by some knucklehead kid who was beating on a spaghetti pot with a wooden spoon. The racket he was making was unbelievable. How can kids stand that?
“Boy, it is way too early for you.” I grumbled groggily.
Maria was awake and, through the mercy of God, still pregnant.
We walked to Beth’s Truckstop & Diner for breakfast. She turned out her pockets to show she had no money. Through histronic gesticulation, I demonstrated that breakfast was on me.
She padded off to the ladies room to perform her morning ablutions and while she was away, I struck up a conversation with the waitress, Madge (or something) and three truckers who were seated at the counter. They introduced themselves by their CB handles: Mel Cooley (he did bear a striking resemblance to the producer on the Dick Van Dyke Show), Balls o’ Steel (oh please), and Caspar the Friendly Ghost. They rode together and, collectively were called, “The Road Kings”. It seemed a bit dramatic to me, but, what the hell. They were friendly enough. They were headed east.
I explained Maria’s situation to them. I insisted that I WAS NOT the father, in fact, had never had sexual relations with that woman (it seemed the best way to phrase it if I wanted to make my point)…yet, and that I had picked her up hitchhiking.
Maria returned and we ordered breakfast.
Madge, apparently spoke Spanish and carried on a conversation with Maria.
The three truckers disappeared into the store and when they emerged, they had some small gifts wrapped in newsprint – whatever they could find and hastily wrap.
While Maria was eating her Huevos Whatever-os, they set the gifts down.
One of them said, “Its not much but, we wanted you to have some Xmas presents”
She teared up as she tore open the packages. He was right. It wasn’t much. A bottle of cheap perfume, a $20 bill and…an air freshener? Seriously? I looked at him and said, “Hey, I know the EM-50 Phantom Manger smells a little but…What? Are you some kind of wise guy or something?”
He just shrugged and looked sheepish.
Maria spoke rapidly to me, then dashed out of the room.
Madge explained that she had had a fight with her father and ran away.
“I talked her into calling him to come get her. She was telling you all that and thanking you for your kindness.” She told me.
“Well, my work is done here, then. I guess I’ll take the check.” I said.
Madge winked and said, “This one’s on me, Joe.”
“Tommy. But, thanks.” I corrected her. “Merry Christmas.”
And just like that…I rambled on.
Merry Christmas, everybody!
