68 Disappearing dreams

I'm not going to try to remember more than I really do. The mind can fill blanks in if you let it, and that stuff is bologna. I know I'm never going to recall more because I definitely remember "Wow. What happened?" at the time. I remember getting in that last pickup truck, the guy saying something about Indian reservations and then walking in an old white house, 30's style, with a wooden screen door opening and slamming. 

Like this house

I think I must have been really out of it from the time with heat, sun and blisters. My thought is this guy was pretty cool and let us "crash" for a bit. It wasn't long. Maybe one or two days. I think I really changed even more over those few days. I looked at everything differently. I'm pretty sure I saw how good it could be. I knew it already, but there were people living relaxed. Old houses, dirty wooden floors and relaxing. Not the eternal road to nowhere. But choose what you want. That's the way.

The next thing I remember is standing in Winslow. I kind of hate saying that because of that song. That's just another commercial venture now. Wasn't there long in town but I do remember looking around and loving the people. Maybe it just stood out to me, but there were a lot of long hairs. Overalls, no shirt. You could tell they did some manual labor. You know the look. Driving in pickups. I didn't notice any chicks, just guys. It was sunny and bright, but I wasn't dying. I was pretty darn happy. 

Still kind of out of it so the next ride is a blur too. Maybe it was another semi because I don't remember looking out the window at all unfortunately. It was Route 66 back then. I guess it's Highway 40 now. Why did they mess that all up? 

The next thing I remember was being in Kingman, Arizona. Another cool turquoise looking town. So different than back east. The buildings were brighter. Different colors. Blues. White. I've said this before, my pupils got bigger.

We didn't have to wait too long for a ride but this was a first. A straight looking middle aged couple pulled over. Your perception of age is a little whacked when you're younger, they were probably mid-40's. Went running up there, the wife was in the passenger seat of course. She had a pained look on her face, wasn't real happy. The dude had this jerk look. I'm going to compare him to the asshole husband in Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore. I kind of hesitated to get in, but they pulled over.

They didn't go too far, I was feeling uncomfortable anyway. I could sense some tension between the two. More than sensing, it was obvious. The husband said they were stopping at a diner. He'd pay. Ok, free food.

We're eating a nice big breakfast. The works. But the pain this poor woman was suffering. She stayed mute. Just sad looks. Practically crying. Not anything angry, just downcast. This fella kept looking at me. No consideration for his wife. Asking me strange questions. It wasn't the "looking," it was the obvious way he enjoyed making his wife feel meaningless. LBJ didn't really notice. He was hungry and eating. I had a little bit of a soul and didn't like to see intentional cruelty.

Here I go again. This guy was a complete asshole. I don't care what goes on in people's bedrooms or whatever, but I'm not into public humiliation. My blood boiled. I stood up and yelled at him. "You're an asshole. Why are you so mean to your wife?" Whatever is going on now, back then many women were just expected to take what they got. I know people in the restaurant looked. The wife finally put her head up. LBJ was thinking, oh no... I just want to finish my food. I grabbed my bags and walked out. I really, really hope that sparked a little something in her. I sure hope it didn't cause any trouble. But sometimes you just can't help speaking.