Thirty Six

June 16, 1974 Father’s Day  

I settle into the diner on the main street of Gallup. I’m still trembling as I slump into the booth.  I play back the events of the night and the memory does nothing but ratchet up my anxiety.  Add to this that I have not slept for 24 hours and I’m not ready for a photograph. What was I doing in a car with that maniac?  

The waitress comes over to take my order and I ask for a few minutes. I’ve got to check and see how much money I have left.  I dump the contents of my wallet on the table and count. There’s not quite 40 dollars, thirty of which are in traveler’s checks. Having a credit card was not even on my radar screen then.  The diner had a breakfast deal for 1.99 which I could manage and was considering, but I was not sure if my stomach was up for it.

I begin to return the checks and bills to my wallet and notice two other items: Maurianne’s phone number that she’d scrawled and given to me before I left Pacifica, and the photo that had been posted at UCLA. I look at the photo again. It appears as if it is the kind you could get at a drugstore. Go into a booth and for a quarter you pose for a string of four shots.  There are what looks like scissored cuts at both the top and bottom of the picture.

I could use a comforting voice after last night’s turbulence.  My parents were not an option; they would detect my anxiety and urge me to take a train or plane back.  I was still hell bent on finishing the journey with my thumb.  Calling Becca would also not be smart or fair. She too would insist that I call it off and take a bus. When I’d balk, she’d fume off the phone. I did not need an argument.  Maybe I’d phone Maurianne.  I did have something I wanted to tell her.

It had been close to two weeks since I left Maurianne’s house in Pacifica.  She could have already forgotten me, but the impulse to reach out to her got traction.  There was a phone booth in the diner. I go up to the counter and ask a cashier for change.  I enter the booth and lay out the coins and the scrap of paper with the phone number. I start dialing but before I complete the call, I realize that it is only about 7 in the morning in Gallup so that would be 6 for Maurianne in Pacifica.  Too early.  I scoop up the coins. On the way out of the diner I tell the waitress that I am not ready for breakfast.  By 715 I am back on the main street of Gallup with my thumb out.

***

Getting out of town, I figured, would not be difficult.  The 40 stopped being an interstate in Gallup. All traffic that had been going east on the highway would have to slow and slog along the main street.   Once through town, the interstate resumed.  Even at this early hour there were hundreds of vehicles coming my way and several lights at which motorists needed to stop.  Many opportunities for stationary drivers to be a sport and pick me up.  

I stood out there for an hour and there were no bites.  While it was only 830 it was getting hot.  Not Needles hot, but hot enough.  I walked up the main street thinking I might have better luck at a different location.  Another hour and nothing doing.  I returned to the spot outside the diner and waited yet another hour.  Nothing.  It was now close to 1030.  

I went into the diner, parked myself at the counter this time and snorted the 1.99 special.  At 11,  I was finished with my meal and decided to try Maurianne. No luck there either. No answer.  I left the diner and stood outside with my thumb out wondering if I would ever get out of Dodge.  At noon I was still luckless and it was becoming Needles hot in Gallup.  I went into the diner restroom and removed a towel from my knapsack. I soaked it and my hat in the sink, wrapped the soaked towel around my neck and jammed the wet hat on my head. I trudged back outside. At one o’clock the towel was completely dry as was my hat.  This was just like Needles. I went back into the air-conditioned diner, sat in the phone booth, and tried Maurianne again.  This time she answered.

***

“Maurianne?” I said.

“Yes, this is Maurianne.”

“I hope you remember me. You picked me up in Salt Lake a couple weeks ago and drove me all the way to Pacifica.”

No sound comes from her end.

“You remember we stopped at your friend Barbara’s”

“Alvin? From Buffalo.”

“Alan. Yes. Alan from Buffalo.”

“Alan, right. ‘Alvin’? what am I thinking.  Alan.  I remember you, Alan, of course. Family in Santa Rosa; trying to get out and back east in no time; horny but thorny girlfriend. I remember you.”

“Good. That’s good.” I said. “Uh. Just for the record, Becca, my girlfriend-she’s not that difficult. I didn’t do justice to her when we were riding.”

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that. Just joking. Forgive me. How are you?” 

“Good. I’m Good.”

“You in town?  Need a place to stay?”  

“No. Not in town. Actually, In New Mexico on the way back.”

“Oh. Everything all right?” She asks.

“Everything’s fine. Have had some challenging rides. But okay.”

“Be careful” she said. “Uh.  So. What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to tell you about something strange that happened in Los Angeles”

This must sound bizarre to Maurianne. She just says “Ok. What happened in Los Angeles?”

“I was in a student lounge at UCLA, a place set up for kids to be comforted or get counseling if they’re strung-out during finals. It was finals week there.  End of finals.”

“Yeah, okay.” She must be wondering where I am going with this.

“The lounge” I continue, “is also a place for students or anyone looking for rides at the end of the semester. There’s a big map.  Students post on it like, “John M needs a ride to…call at such and such a number”

“Yeah. Uh huh. We had a ride board like that when I went to Chico.  Did I tell you I went to Cal State Chico?”

“I think you mentioned that.”

“Never mind.  Chico?  Why am I bringing up Chico? What happened at the student lounge?

“Do you remember when we were visiting your friend Barbara, that a kid from next door came over because there had been a mix-up with mail delivery.”

“Oh sure. I remember that.  Barbara’s husband had a thing going with her.”

“Well, Barbara told you she thought that might be the case.”

“That was the case.” said Maurianne.

“It’s been confirmed? How do you know.”

“I spoke to Barbara last week.  Tell you about that later. What happened at UCLA.”

“Well, I was in that room with the map looking to see if I could find a ride.”

“Yeah.  So.” Maurianne gasped. “Wait. Tell me you saw her? You saw her at UCLA”

“No, I didn’t actually see her.” 

“Oh. Ok. So.”

“She had posted a note on the map looking for a ride.”

“The kid neighbor?  You said you did not see her.”

“I didn’t.”

“So how do you know she posted the note?”

“Whoever posted the note also posted a photo.”

“And you recognized the picture? I mean you met her only once for like twenty minutes.”

“In the photo, she was wearing a low-cut top.”

Maurianne paused. “Oh” she said.

“Oh.” I repeated.

“You saw the tattoo.” 

“I did”

“Wow. Wow.  Barbara will be…I don’t know. Are you sure? Of course. How many people have a tattoo there? That tattoo. There. Oh My. I knew the kid ran away from Elko.”

“She did? She ran away? How did you know?”

“I told you I spoke with Barbara. She called up crazy hysterical one night.  Shel was going nuts. Slapped her. Slapped Barbara, that bastard. The kid neighbor, according to Barbara, told Shel that she was done doing him and Shel reacted like a lunatic. So the kid, afraid of Shel, took off.  The parents don’t know anything about their shenanigans, but are frantic about their daughter who disappeared. No note. No nothing. They asked all the neighbors if they knew anything about the kid leaving. Barbara and Shel played dumb. Shel was so bonkers that he tried to chase after her.”  

“Must have been quite a scene. No wonder Barbara was upset.” 

“Do you know if she got a lift? The kid. Do you know if she got a lift?” Maurianne asked.

“She did. An attendant in the lounge said a guy came in and talked with her, and they left together.”

“Do you know where she went? Where she is?”

“No. Not sure.” I say.

***

Maurianne relays more details and we finish our conversation.  We’ve said all we need to say and besides I’ve run out of coins. 

I still cannot get out of Gallup. I walk up and down the street hoping one spot will be better than another. No luck anywhere.  Earlier in the day, I had noticed a Greyhound mini terminal on the main street. I consider taking a bus to Oklahoma City. The bus leaves at 415 pm and arrives the next morning.  Typically, I can’t sleep on a bus but tonight I figure I could sleep on the bus roof if I needed to.  From Oklahoma City it will be two days hitch hiking back to Buffalo and I have just enough cash.  It will bug me not to finish the entire trip on my thumb, but I cannot bake another day in Gallup.

I give the thumb one more chance.  My promise to myself is that I’ll stand outside by the bus terminal until 4.  If I don’t get a ride by 4, I will buy a ticket and take the bus.  

Someone had left an empty cardboard box in the terminal.  I ripped off a section of cardboard and ask the Greyhound attendant if I can borrow a marker.  On the cardboard I write, HAPPY FATHER’S DAY.  It was 3 pm when I stood outside with the sign.  For forty five minutes, the sign does not work. I was ready to quit, but reminded myself that I said I would wait until 4.

At one minute to 4, a huge truck pulled up at a red light.  One minute to 4. The driver signals to me. I open the cab door.  A scrawny sourpuss of a truck driver says. “Get on in.”  

It does not look like a smile has crossed this guy’s face in the last decade. The driver appears to be about 40 but probably is no more than 35. Smile or no smile, what do I care?  I am getting out of this miserable town--one minute before I was going to take a bus!  At the time I thought this was terrific good fortune.

“Happy Father’s Day” I said.

The skinny guy grunts. “Throw your pack in the back and buckle up.”

I’m familiar with the layout of truck cabs by now. Behind where the driver and any passenger sits is a curtain. Behind the curtain is a mattress where drivers can snooze when they can’t keep eyes open on the road. I pull back the curtain, toss my pack at the base of the mattress, turn around and buckle up.  

We take off through the main street of Gallup and merge onto the interstate on our way to Albuquerque.