Lazy Letter: Hitchhike

Lazy Letter: Hitchhike

I was standing on the side of the road. It was the second ride I was supposed to take. My right arm felt a bit sore. I had already kept my arm up for more than half an hour, and I had to do it again. Maybe longer this time. The second ride seemed to be more fun; it wasn’t the highway, just a narrow road. A long path to the villages and farms and valleys. I was alone.

Different cars passed me by. The drivers reacted differently. They were all funny. Even the ones who didn’t bother to take a glance. I was playing with the snow on the ground with my foot. Looking around every few seconds. Nothing happened. I was trying to stay under the afternoon sun, and escape the shadows of the trees along the yards of the houses of very small villages.

I was thinking about Yasi. Where was she now? At the airport? I was trying to keep a rhythm as the cars passed by. I counted numbers and jumped from one foot to another. This car would pick me, I kept my arm up as I saw a car from a great distance. They ignored me and I entertained myself.

I was listening to DJ. Yeskim Ketabi. At first, I thought I was listening to Mr. Ketabi, but then realized it was actually Mr. Yeskim’s list.

Why wouldn’t these drivers pick me up?! I thought out loud. Some of them were sweet. They waved, smiled, pointed they had no room in the car, or did something funny. Would they pick me up if they knew where I was going? I had my sign in my backpack. But I was just not feeling like holding it up. It wasn’t cold. All those little dances, with a touch of late winter sun kept me warm. I knew where I was going, no need to hold a sign.

Home wasn’t that far away anyhow.


Iceland, Laugarvatn, 5.03.17