Apple Pie and Kindred Spirits

A little bit of sloppy flash fiction.

It’s dark. It’s cold. I’m all alone. The only comfort is the sound of a distant train and the occasional car speeding past me on this lonely road. My worn shoes scuff against the hard earth, as I carry on in whichever direction I’m going. North? No, maybe East.

I don’t know for sure, and I can’t say that I really care. I haven’t cared in quite some time. I don’t care about the fact that my big toe sticks out of my right shoe. I don’t care about the holes in my blue jeans. I don’t care that I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care that I don’t care. To me, apathy is bliss.

My shoulders are aching with the weight of my backpack, though I don’t know why since the pack holds next to nothing. My stomach aches with hunger. Last time I ate was yesterday morning, at a small, roadside dinner. I had warm apple pie with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, and a hot cup of coffee. Very Sal Paradise of me, right? Yes, the great Jack Kerouac would be very proud indeed. He might even pen a character after me: Louie Anderson, the boy who never stays in one place for more than a day. Or maybe he’d shorten my name to “Lou”. That has a certain ring of interest to it.

I’m suddenly distracted by the bright dots of lights up ahead. A town. “Thank God.” I mutter to myself, as my stomach growls in reminder of my current dilemma.

But those few miles seem much longer to my poor, starving self. As if he had heard my silent complaints, a man driving a pickup truck pulls up beside me.

“You headed to town, son?” He asks in a rough, smoker’s voice. His face resembles is wrinkled like an old map, but his blue eyes are lively like a well loved book. He wears a faded baseball cap over his graying hair, and his matching mustache hides a faint smile.

“Yessir.” I say in response.

“Jump in.” He replies.

I scurry in and slam the passenger door behind me. Within no time, we’re off headed towards the town and towards my long awaited meal.

“How long’ve you been on the road?” He asks, as the dots of light slowly get larger in the windshield.

“A long time.” I shrug, “I’ve lost count of the days and the weeks and months. It doesn’t seem to make a difference to me.”

He chuckles under his breath, “Ya don’t sound like no normal hitchhiker to me, boy. No man on the road talks as up n proper as ya’do.”

I smile, “Who says hitchhikers can’t be educated?” I like him. He seems to understand me. He seems to care. And for some reason, I care that he cares.

“I s’pose you’re right.”

We’re rolling into town now. The streetlights and store front signs illuminate the otherwise dark streets. It’s small, much like the other towns I’ve stopped in. There are few out and about at this hour.

“I s’pect you want somethin’ to eat?” the driver says.

“You s’pect right.”

He pulls into the parking lot of a 24 hour diner that truly looks like something out of a Kerouac novel. Apparently, it’s frequented by mainly truck drivers at this time. The kindly driver walks in the doorway behind me, as the bell above the door jingles.

“Hey there, Pete.” The waitress at the counter says, “I see you’ve brought a friend again.”

We sidle up to the counter, and he…well, Pete, winks at her.

She smiles back, “What can I get you, boys? The usual for you Pete �" apple pie and coffee?”

“Make that two.” I add.

Quickly, she fills and places two cups of coffee in front of us, and I cup my hands around its warmth.

“So, what’s your story?” Pete asks me, as he raises his coffee cup to his lips.

“I was wondering the same of you.” I say, as I do the same. The coffee is strong and hot �" and I burn my tongue. I swear under my breath as Pete chuckles again.

Two slices of apple pie are slid in front of us, and my stomach grumbles in near excitement. Nothing has ever looked as glorious and heavenly than the way this steaming piece of pie does.

Pete looks at me with what seems to be wisdom and carefully says, “Sure, I’ll tell you about life on the road… but first let me get some pie.”

Author's Note

Thoughts?
What do you think of this style of writing?