Can you remember the last time you were freezing? So cold, you might die? We often talk about being cold, but actual coldness is something else. Right before you descend into the death spiral, if it is any consolation, you become sleepy and filled with happiness. You give up on everything and drift away. I’m sure there were more instances where I faced near death unwittingly, but hitchhiking in the winter was my first memory of knowing I was a hair away from extinction.

Once Cuddles and I couldn’t cross the river in Albuquerque on the most direct path to warmth (aka Dennys), we went a long way around through the historic 66, through a lowrider convention. Actually, it was just a typical night, but we didn’t belong there, so in my mind, I tucked it away as a convention. We were very out of place, and most people laughed at us as we walked by. It was clear that we didn’t hang with car enthusiasts, and they didn’t run with crusty punk squatters who probably smelled like they left a dragon’s asshole. Nobody bothered us because we were gross after living in a sulphuric volcano for months without bathing or washing our clothes. They were perhaps more concerned about being near us and kept their distance. For a short time I was there, though, I admired their love of their craft, immaculately detailed cars that went boom and had spectacular lights.

The people and their cars would be the highlight of that evening.

After many hours of walking, we arrived at Denny’s and ordered their famous bottomless coffee, and took turns napping on each other. The coffee couldn’t keep us awake, but it warmed our bodies from the inside out. We drank all the creamer containers, and when the servers were not looking, we ate off abandoned plates. Once warm enough, I went to the bathroom and washed my face. To this day, I try to wash my face every morning to remind myself that I can. I honestly shower too much as a remnant of this past, which I know I should address, but I suppose I’ll get to it eventually, along with wearing pajamas to bed. I still struggle with going to bed fully clothed in jeans and everything, and I keep my shoes by the bed. No matter how well off you are, the trauma will follow you if you don’t confront it someday.

Unfortunately, the warm bliss ended as the store manager arrived and informed us that there was a shift change, and we had to settle our bill and move out. The sun had not come out yet; it was still dark and below-freezing outside. It was colder than when we arrived. We didn’t know what to do. We begged them to let us stay, and they offered to call the police department, and we, in turn, begged them not to do that. We only wanted until the sun came up to head out to the freeway and hopefully get a ride out of this place. They refused and told us that if we didn’t leave, the cops were getting called to make us go. It was a private establishment, and I didn’t have a right to demand my presence, so we complied and left.

We went to the nearest gas station and shopped slowly until the attendant figured out what we were up to and asked us to leave.

“It is freezing cold outside; we’ll die. Where will we go?”

“I can call the police. I don’t care where you go. You can’t be here”.

Ok.

We went out back, climbed into the dumpster, pulled trash over us, and wrapped our bodies around each other for warmth. This did the trick until the sun rose, and we could wander back into Dennys without anyone noticing. It worked until we were kicked out again by the afternoon, perfect as the sun was high enough to be at the warmest point of the day, which was still incredibly cold with frost everywhere.

Cuddles and I headed toward the freeway and stuck our thumbs out. We danced, we chanted, we smiled, and nothing was working. After a few hours of this, the weight of my hand was too much to handle. Standing was too much to handle. I started drifting off to sleep, and parts of my body were gone. I could no longer feel the cold, and that’s when I knew I was leaving this world. I started sitting down on the ground, and Cuddles cried and screamed for me to get up.

“You can’t go to sleep! You can’t! You’ll die!”

I don’t know how many hundreds of cars passed us without slowing down, but I saw tires pull over just past me just as I started to drift off on the ground.

“Get up! Get up! Someone is stopping!!”

I couldn’t get up.

I felt two men carry me into the back of a vehicle, and then blankets were all over me. I was handed some hot beverage, and the next thing I knew, I was in Flagstaff, Arizona. With a slow-moving RV, that’s probably 6-8 hours that I passed out.

The RV pulled into Northern Arizona University, where my Mom, Patricia, lived. The man who drove me returned to check on me and sat with me for 10 minutes.

“You know, Jesus told me to stop. I drove past you probably ten times, turned around at the next exit, and looped back. I didn’t want a stranger in my vehicle. I was scared and didn’t want to pick up your boyfriend. He’s nice, by the way, but Jesus didn’t tell me to pick him up. He told me to get you. I want you to know that. God saved you. Not me, God.”

I considered myself a non-believer and responded, “Well, whatever works. Thank you so very much. Thank YOU for stopping.” I tried to explain that he had something to do with it all, but he refused and insisted that he was operating from a higher power and not according to his own will.

We tumbled out of the RV with our only belongings on our backs. Would this time home be different? Now that I had Cuddles with me by my side, would Patricia be different? I still, to this day, don’t understand what compelled me to go home, but the bonds with our family are solid and hard to break.

That night, she was happy to see me and showed us our room. Cuddles was there, and we were warm, and that’s all that mattered in the world.

The Ugly Duckling

Hitchhiking with Jesus (40)