Go Placidly

My body strained under the weight of my 30-pound backpack. The unpadded straps had been digging into my underfed shoulders for days. When I found the canvass pack at the army surplus store for ten-bucks I was clueless that carrying the heavy bag on my five-foot, five-inch, 120-pound frame would become torturously impractical. Fortunately, it did provide a good back rest during the long hours that I sat on freeway onramps with my thumb in the air. 

Of the few possessions I carried; my guitar, a threadbare sleeping bag, some clothes and hygiene items - my prized possessions were a dog-eared copy of Siddhartha and a small, laminated copy of The Desiderata. I memorized the entire poem and whispered it as a meditation during the many dark nights I spent alone; on freeways, by creeks, in vacant houses. 

Go placidly, … Go placidly, ….

~~~

Aimless, penniless and tired of dodging the authorities I was about to head north with my almost boyfriend Beau.

Beau’s appearance was masculine: ripped bi-ceps, chiseled jawline, wide shoulders, but his temperament was milk toast. Other than his snarky sense of humor, I didn’t know much about him except that he was an only child. His mom had split town, leaving him alone with his stepdad who Beau despised because the man drank like a fish and had way too many female friends.

I was stunned when Beau decided to head north with me. I guess hitchhiking in the turning weather, with a girl he barely knew, to a place he’d never been, seemed better than sleeping in a 5,000 square foot mansion with a full fridge, stocked bar, and a view of the city. 

As Beau and I trudged down the hill away from the ritzy homes that dotted his hilly suburban neighborhood, he broke the silence. “Fuck that man,” he blurted. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen him express.

Despite Beau’s feckless personality, his presence provided me with an unfamiliar sense of security. I’d been alone for a long time and having someone around who I thought would watch my back was a welcomed change. I had hitched up and down the west coast a handful of times but had never gotten used to wondering if the next car would be driven by a kind stranger or another predatory asshole. 

We made our way to the closest truck stop and finagled a ride in an 18-wheeler heading north on I-5. We’d only driven a couple hundred miles when the trucker decided to stop for the night at a rest area. The September sun was sinking into the western horizon and we didn’t want to wait until morning, so we decided to hitchhike directly on the freeway - even though it was illegal.

~~~

Mike was blurry-eyed when he spotted us standing at the far end of the onramp where it merged onto the interstate. He quickly zipped his Subaru across two lanes and pulled off on the shoulder about a hundred feet ahead of us. Beau’s stuff made my backpack heavier than normal, but he didn’t offer to carry it. I’d been schlepping the pack around for so long that I didn’t notice, at first.

Catching my breath as I ran into the dust cloud kicked up by the Subaru, I opened the passenger side door. 

“Hey, thanks for pulling over.”

“Sure, no problem, where ya headed?” Mike asked kindly. His sun-kissed hair glowed in the setting sun.

“Eugene.”

“Perfect, I’m headed to Washington, jump in.”

“Awesome,” I said, relieved that someone had actually pulled over.

Cars whizzed dangerously close as I opened the hatch and shoved my pack and guitar in the back. Beau wasted no time and made himself comfortable in the back seat. I jumped in the front.

I had a good feeling about Mike. He was easy to talk to.

We pulled off at a rest area in the high desert town of Weed, California and got out to stretch. Mike lit a joint and passed it around. 

“Hey, we’re smoking weed in Weed,” Beau said, amusing himself.

Mike yawned. 

“Sorry guys, I’ve been driving since Huntington Beach, I’ve gotta catch some Z’s.”

The last elevation sign said 3,400 feet, the temperature was dropping fast and I didn’t even own a winter coat. I gulped.

Mike slipped on a down jacket and beanie and opened the hatch. 

“Go ahead and grab what you need.”  

He clearly thought we were prepared to sleep outside. 

I was afraid that Mike might ditch us after all the crap that Beau had been dishing out, so I pulled my pack and guitar out of the car.

He grabbed a blanket from the back seat, settled back into the driver’s seat and made it recline as far as it would go. 

“Nite.” He said, pulling the blanket up under his chin as he closed the door.  

Beau looked like a deer in head lights when he realized that all we had besides our sweatshirts was my thin, single person, sleeping bag. I unzipped it, found a bed of pine needles and threw it on the ground. “You coming?” I asked, starting to zip myself in. “Five, four, three,…” Beau rushed over, laid down beside me and zipped us in.  No room to move, we stared at the stars and shivered in near freezing temperatures all night. Beau was like a baby I had to coddle.

~~~

Mike was still asleep in the Subaru when the sun crested the mountains to the east. The warmth on my face lifted my spirits. Beau unzipped the sleeping bag and jumped out, then tried to straighten his disheveled amber hair.

“Well, that was fun.” He said, wasting no time with the sarcasm.

Mike got out of the car and stretched. “Morning, how’d you sleep?”

“Uh, fine.” I said, not wanting to let on about our misery.

“Great, let’s hit it.” Mike’s positive energy and the fact that he hadn’t ditched us calmed my worry.

As we drove north, the air changed. The fragrance of damp ferns and firs filled the car. 

“You know you’re in Oregon when it starts to smell like Christmas,” I said. 

 “Wow, that's true. I never thought of it that way.” Mike said with a heartfelt smile.

After chatting for several hours, he bluntly asked, “would you guys be interested in jobs?” 

“What kind of jobs?” I asked, trying to conceal my excitement. The idea of trusting a stranger made me nervous, but a job and a warm place to sleep seemed too good to pass up. 

“The mill where I work is hiring. It’s near the Hoh Indian Reservation outside of La Push, Washington. It’s a tiny town near the northwestern tip of the state. Mostly natives.”

Beau laughed. “La Push? That’s a lame name.”

Mike ignored him.

“You mean it’s an actual town?” Beau continued. Immaturity dripped from his question. 

“Yes…… It’s an actual town.” Mike’s tone seemed lightly annoyed.

Very annoyed, I spun my head around and shot a look at Beau to let him know he needed to knock it off. 

“You can stay in the extra bedroom in my trailer. The mill will provide you with your own once you pass the 30-day probationary period.”

“Trailer? Ooh, sounds deluxe.” Beau’s comment embarrassed me. 

Beau was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had probably never done hard work in his life. His hands were silky, like a baby’s bottom. After watching how lazy he was with the backpack it was obvious that he wasn’t interested in carrying his weight. The way I figured - he came with nothing and contributed even less, so this was my decision.

“We’d love to come with you.” I replied.

Beau just mumbled, “sure, whatever.”

~~~

Exhaustion got the better of me as we crossed the Washington state line. As I leaned my head against the window my body felt fluid as the road vibration lulled me into a deep sleep.

~~~

Mike nudged my arm. 

“Hey, wake up. Look.” He said.

Disoriented, I pealed my eyes open. We were surrounded by a dense forest of green velvet trees clothed and dripping with spongy moss. Trillions of glistening raindrops gleamed like diamonds, sparkling in fragments of sunlight on the luscious green. I cracked my window and an explosion of incensed air filled the car with an air tonic of fir, western hemlock, cedar. I felt like I had been transported into a Tolkein novel and elves would burst from the trees. I rolled my window lower and sucked in a long breath. It was the purest inhalation of my life. 

Resting my head on the opened window I marveled at the impenetrable undergrowth of ferns, fingerlike roots and vines that crept like tentacles across the forest floor where water rushed in a thousand directions. Wet, verdant, primal - sacred.

The Hoh rain forest. 

~~~

I loved the rain.

Beau hated it.

I wanted to work.

Beau got the job.

Apparently, cedar mills don’t hire 15-year-old girls. 

Beau was 16, muscular and male so they let him sign a form claiming that he was emancipated.

Whatever.

~~~

The magic dissolved as we quickly settled into a routine. Mike and Beau went to the mill every day, leaving me confined to the trailer. The constant rap-tap of rain on the tin roof reminded me that I was trapped-trapped-trapped. Reliant. Domesticated. Imprisoned in an adventure that had turned into a bad dream. 

I played my guitar, re-read Siddartha, listened to Mike’s albums; Allman Brothers, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and despite the inevitable soggy feet I walked in the wet forest to clear my head. I cooked with the meager ingredients I found in Mike’s cupboards. Canned pinto beans, tomato sauce, black olives, thousand island dressing, yellow onions, random spices. I’ll call it chili.  The strange concoctions that I created steamed up the windows as they simmered on the tiny two burner stove. They smelled strangely delicious. I felt like a 15-year-old housewife, cooking and cleaning and waiting for my two platonic husbands to come home. One gentle, but strong in character, and the other, an emotional weakling wrapped in a muscular façade.

I longed for home. A home. Town. Any town. To interact with someone other than sweaty boy-men.

~~~

Sue and her husband Nick, Native Hoh Indians, lived a few trailers down. Sue was the only woman at the mill. She was strong, yet feminine. She spoke with confidence and ease. Her smooth, vowel-heavy accent and methodical sincerity commanded attention. 

Sue took me under her wing. She would knock the universal 5-tap knock before walking in. “Anybody home? I brought you some bread.” Sue’s nonchalance pacified my angst.  She brought me home baked bread with salted butter almost every day, and Jack Daniels. A few times a week she brought an entire meal. Sue mothered me in a way I’d never known. That mothering along with fresh bread and whiskey became the staples of my sanity.

~~~

As the weeks passed Mike’s single wide trailer became too tight for the three of us. My relationship with Beau was imploding. We barely tolerated each other. He hated his job and I resented him because he got to work. I wanted to stay at Mike’s and tell Beau to hit the road - It was only a month until I would be old enough to work at the mill after all. In the end guilt got the best of me and I decided we needed to move on. Beau quit his job without a second thought. Mike didn’t even say goodbye. 

Go Placidly…

~~~

We rode out on a logging truck, through the lush Christmas-forest, south into Oregon, homeward bound - toward California.

The logger dropped us at a sparsely used onramp in Cottage Grove where he had to turn east.

Beau grumbled beneath his breath.

“What’s your problem?” I demanded.

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing my ass. You’ve been acting like a total fish all day.”

“A fish? What’s that supposed to mean?”

I mimic fish lips. “No teeth.”

As we were arguing a guy in a Ford F150, double cab, 4X4 pulled over. 

I opened the door and told him we were headed south. 

“Me too, jump in.” He replied.

I threw my backpack and guitar in the back of the truck and jumped in after Beau, who had already made himself comfortable in the extended cab. 

The guy looked like a lumberjack; red flannel shirt, work boots, scruffy beard. Something about him rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was how overly friendly he was, or maybe it was the gun rack hanging on the back window, or the buck knife on his belt. Something just felt off.

“I know a great shortcut to Grants Pass.” He said excitedly as he exited the freeway.

The knot in my gut tightened, but before I could respond Beau chimed in. 

“Sounds cool man.” 

As we drove along the a two-lane road deep into the forest the guy bragged incessantly. “I know these woods like the back of my hand. I wanna show you my favorite party spot,” he said as he swung a hard left onto an unmarked dirt road.

“Uh - We’re kind of in a hurry.” I said, trying to conceal my fear.

“Ah come on.  Won’t take long, I promise.”

What exactly won’t take long? I thought to myself.

Beau was oblivious. 

We drove a few miles along the narrow road until it dead ended at a camp site. The guy flipped the truck around and parked facing back the direction we had just come from. He jumped out, grabbed some newspaper, lighter fuel, kindling and a couple small logs from a box in the back of the truck, then built a fire in a pit that looked recently used. 

As the fire started to crackle, he grabbed a Styrofoam ice chest from the back of the truck and handed Beau a beer. 

“Thanks man.” Beau said like a dumb jock as he cracked the tab. The hiss echoed in the silent forest. 

The guy offered me one. 

“No thanks.” 

I pretended to be cold and rifled through my backpack to find my sweatshirt. I grabbed a nail file and slipped it into my sweatshirt pocket. 

I visualized my escape.

“Hey, it’s getting cold and the sun will go down soon, can we please go?” I tried to act calm, but I was trembling.

“Party pooper, we haven’t finished the 6 pack yet.” The guy eyeballed me from my hips to my breasts.

I decided which way I would run through the woods after I stabbed him in the eye with the nail file. 

“We really need to go.” I said flatly.

“OK fine. Let’s go then.” The guy kicked wet dirt on the small fire and jumped in the truck. I reluctantly got in the passenger seat and placed my backpack at my feet, wrapping the straps around my wrists in case I needed to jump. Beau was still outside grabbing the ice chest. 

“Hey man, throw some more dirt on the fire will ya?”  

“Sure.” Beau said. Clueless as usual. 

As Beau kicked wet dirt on the fire the guy turned the engine over and started to drive away, leaving Beau behind.

Shit..

“What are you doing?” I asked assertively.

“Just having a little fun.” The guy’s tone made me want to puke.

“Please stop, this isn’t cool.” A confidence filled my words that surprised me. 

I looked at the side mirror. Beau was running behind the truck trying to catch up, screaming. “Waaaaait!”

The guy watched Beau in the review mirror, chuckled, slowed down just enough to let Beau catch up, then gunned it. 

I scanned the gun rack and knife on his belt in my peripheral vision. 

Should I jump? 

He slowed down again, just long enough to let Beau catch up.

Beau started to grab the door handle and the guy floored it again. 

Beau ran after the truck. “Waaaait! Stop!”

This went on for at least a mile before the guy finally stopped and let Beau in. Beau forced his way into the front seat and pushed me to the middle.

“Hey man, that wasn’t funny. Just take us to the freeway.” Beau begged through panting breaths, sweat dripping from his brow.

“I’ll take her to the freeway.” The guy said with perverse tone.  

I thought I would vomit.

“C’mon man, just take us to the freeway.” Beau said, visibly shaking.

“I’ll take her to the freeway.”

Beau wasted no time. “Hey man, we’re not together, just drop me at the freeway and you can do whatever you want with her.” 

Fear became terror as Beau turned on me.

“This isn’t funny, please just take us to the freeway.” I demanded with a fake calm.

The guy gunned it and sped toward the paved road. He slammed on the brakes, gunned it, stopped again, gunned it, laughing with each taunt.

We finally arrived at the main road. 

“Please, just take us to the freeway,” I asked again.

I regretted not jumping when I had the chance. 

He turned onto the paved road and I counted the mile markers. I felt for the nail file. 

We came around a curve and there it was, the freeway. The same onramp where he picked us up.

The guy pulled over. “As you wish, the freeway. Get out.” He said coldly. 

Beau jumped out and I quickly followed with my backpack. I was barely able to grab my guitar from the back as the guy peeled out. 

We stood there for a minute or two. Shocked, not speaking. I walked as fast as I could down the onramp, toward the freeway. Beau tried to follow. I motioned for him to stay behind and yelled, "NO!"

I caught a ride alone and left him to fend for himself.

Go placidly, go placidly.