Post # 500: The Redhead on the Highway

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Archon just wrote a story about hitchhiking. He mentioned that he got the idea from reading one of my stories (the one about the hitchhiker carrying an axe.) From his story (which was incredible and very interesting), I got the idea to write another. This story happened when I was a teenager and I had my first car, a 1968 Pontiac Beaumont SC. Read on….and give Archon’s story, ‘Hitchin’ A Ride’ a read while you are at it, like everything he writes, his story is a great one. By the way, this is POST 500 for me. Been an honor.

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Mom used to warn us NEVER to pick up a hitchhiker, but of course, I didn’t listen. One time I was driving down the highway and there stood a beautiful redhead. I was seventeen at the time, and without a girlfriend. Of course you know what I did. In no time at all we were cruising down the highway, her in the seat next to me, arms out the window of my old Pontiac. Allison was her name, and she said that she was heading to Barachois Park, a popular Provincial Park here on the island. She said that a few of her girlfriends had tents set up, and that they planned to party all weekend. Then she asked if I would like to share a tent with her. Did I mention that I was seventeen at the time? Of course I agreed to go.

Allison said that she was free, no boyfriends. She said that she was eighteen and living the free life. You have to remember, this was the eighties, and times were a bit different back then. She seemed so carefree, sitting on my black Naugahyde seats, extra short shorts and a checkered top, with the shirt tails tied high on her chest. She was a beauty, but definitely not the kind of gal you brought home to meet mom. The entire time she sat in the seat, she continuously checked the side mirror, as if she was looking for someone.

When I began to worry about whatever she was looking for, I asked her. She said that a few of her girlfriends had went to town to buy beer, and she expected them any time. She said that she was also expecting to hitch a ride with them, but when she seen my cool car and the handsome driver (me), she changed her plans. This certainly didn’t hurt my ego at this time, to have a beautiful redhead interested in me, heading to a park where I was going to share a tent with her. Me, a virgin at the time, the butt of jokes by all who know my name (apparently the only virgin in Newfoundland at the time)…I had to go along with this, no matter what mom and dad warned me about. How could I get hurt here? It was win win for me.

Not a car on the highway except for one about a mile back….When she could make the car out, she screamed that this was her HUSBAND!!!

HUSBAND? I thought she was single. She said that she didn’t have a boyfriend, she was only eighteen, how was I to ask if she had a husband?

Now all my plans were ruined. God knows I didn’t need a jealous husband speeding up behind me, maybe even denting my car (I was so fickle back then), and maybe even denting me! I pulled over and asked her to get out.

She asked why, and I responded that I didn’t think her HUSBAND would approve of me and her sharing a tent. She responded that although things certainly had changed, I could still go, I would just have to stay in another tent, with one of her friends. When I asked if they had husbands too, she nodded her head. I certainly didn’t want this, and continued asking her to step out of my car.

By now her husband was just a few feet behind the car. He was honking his horn and shaking his fist, and yelling obscenities at me (not her) and threatening to kill me if he could catch me. Now instead of hurrying to get to the park, I was hurrying to get away from the park. I never valued the little 283 more in my life, as the car sprung to my foot on the gas pedal and I took off. His crappy import didn’t have a chance against my Canadian made muscle car! I took off down the highway and never looked back…and NEVER picked up a hitchhiker again, even if she may have been a redhead in short shorts and a plaid shirt tied high on her chest. God she was sexy….

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