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Don Yarber Don Yarber
Recommendations: 42

Wanna Lift?

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She had a friend.

      It was on my 18th birthday.  I was hitchhiking back home after visiting a really cute young lady that I had been writing to while I was in boot camp at Great Lakes, IL.  We had spent a cuddly fine evening together.  She baked me a yellow cake with chocolate icing.  After supper her younger brother and her parents made excuses for going to bed early and left the two of us in the living room.
       I really liked that girl.  I remember a lot about how I felt.  I remember how she could kiss!  And for a guy who had just spent 12 weeks penned up with a bunch of sailor recruits, all I could think of was girls.  I had known her since I was 14 or so, and always liked her.  I probably wrote her a note at some point that said, “I really like you.  If you like me, check yes or no and send this note back to me.”
       I won’t go too much into the things we said and did sitting in her small living room at her daddy’s house, way out in the country.  I had hitchhiked out there and I’d hitchhike home.  It was the ninth of November and the cold winds were whistling down the highway, burrowing their way right through my P-coat.  I had dressed in my official “dress blues” and chose to wear the P-coat rather than the heavier lined overcoat because it wasn’t really that cold when I left home, maybe in the low 40’s.
       But at 11 that night the temperature had dropped to the low 20’s.  
       I wondered how many guys would actually hitchhike 11 miles out a country highway, walk a mile down a gravel road just to eat supper and kiss a girl.  
       As cold as I was, and as dark as it was, and as tired as I was from walking back towards home, I felt it was all worth it.  As I walked, I was thinking of how I had met her at the county fair when I was 14.  I had picked apples to make enough money to go to the fair.  
       I walked slowly down the dark highway, hands in the pockets of my P-coat, sticking my right hand out and facing oncoming traffic about every twenty minutes or so.  I didn’t worry about being cold or tired or the long trip home, I was reminiscing about sweet tender kisses and the excitement that had filled me earlier.
          I heard an approaching car and could see his headlights breaking the darkness around me.  I stopped walking and turned to face the traffic, extended my thumb and was happy to see the car slow down and pull off the road, thirty yards away from the spot where I stood.  I ran as fast as I could to the car.
       “Wanna lift?” A young man asked, his left hand on the steering wheel, his right arm around a pretty girl who sat so close to him they might have been Siamese twins.
       “Yes, Sir,” I said, my breath whistling through my chattering teeth.
       “Lift your feet and walk!” The guy said, and roared away.
       I walked.
The End

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