Redemption and the Hitchhiker
I’m driving the slick sinuous annoyance named Laurel Canyon Blvd. There had been a driving downpour this dark morning. Coldwater Canyon was slippery with slop. Stuck with traffic due to a landslide that’s blocking and bottling up the lanes. So here I am, driving super slow, caressing curves and keeping my eyes on the clock. I don’t want to be late for work.
My Honda CV4 is a metaphor for my tenuous state. Bashed and battered on the driver’s side, I am embarrassed to be seen in this car. Ashamed at how I look. Everyone can see me and draw quick, uncaring or pitiful judgments. In Hollywood, your car is your calling card. It’s the telltale. “How well you take care of your car is how well you take care of your heart,” I was once told. Well, the car’s not worth enough to get fixed.
At the tip-top of the hill, I see a convertible Karmann Ghia carefully parked in a drenched driveway. A man is hitchhiking next to it. Dressed in casual khaki from top to bottom, hatless and wearing no reliable rain gear, I think “That’s odd,” I pass the schmuck. I don’t have the time for this. As I drive on though, a rule of the road quickly comes back to me. “People who have hitched pick up hitchhikers. Help out. Get their life moving again”.
I make a tight U-turn, hightail up the hill and pull in front of the man.
“Where you headed, brother?” I ask
“To my lawyer’s office” is his reply
He gets in and swiftly shuts the door.
“I wanted to see if there is any humanity left in the world!”
He was quiet and curt with his statement. I am stunned at its immediate intimacy. I turn down my Blaupunkt blasting the film soundtrack to “Paint Your Wagon” Quickly catching his eyes, I see that they are bloodshot. He’s been crying. The scent of his pain is thick in the claustrophobic cab. I take the passport photo of Renee off the dashboard and hide it in the ashtray.
“What’s happening, brother”, I say.
“I have to get to my lawyers to sign personal papers for a settlement with my ex. My name if Jeff Lloyd. I’ve been told that narcissists never keep their mouths shut. I’m a multi-millionaire who manages and owns prime properties throughout Los Angeles. I was on the street starving in my late twenties. Now, I am a rich man in a richer town. You’d think I’d have my shit together, right. Well in some ways it still feels as if I’ve never left the street. I had to do this. I had to see if there is any humanity left in the world”
There is a void. The air has been swiftly sucked out of the cab
We’re in Laurel Village coming onto Sunset.
“So, you think I talk too much?” he asks.
I just want to hold the line right now. In a land of jury and judgement, he’s asking for another verdict. I won’t play. I laugh in reply. Actions will speak louder than words today.
“Drop me off at Wilshire. I’ll take the bus the rest of the way” he says.
Yeah, he’s been street stranded, street starved and street shamed. Only asking for the bare minimum.
“It’s ok, brother. I’ll take you all the way. I don’t mind being late”
