September 24th

Hitchiking

Alex walked alongside Route 89. What a stupid idea taking a plane to Mexico had been. It had been great in theory, but in reality this may have been the worst decision he had made. The plane had to land in an obscure Arizona airport, and he had just barely snuck away from the plane. Now he was trudging south on Route 89, with nothing in front or behind him except for the open road and various types of desert vegetation. Alex hadn't realized how hot it truly was in Arizona. It must have been at least 110°F. He had shed his heavy jacket a long while ago, but he was still soaking in sweat. The hot desert sun baked down on him. Alex could already feel a sunburn starting to form. His skin was going to go from white bread to cooked lobster in a matter of hours. He made a mental note to pick up some sunscreen at the next town.

"If there is a next town," he muttered to himself. His brain was already coming up with all the ways he could die a horrible death before he reached civilization again. Alex took another long swig of his water. It was almost gone. Dammit. He would die out here, in the desert, and it would be days before anyone came across his decomposing body. He heard a car in the distance. Alex glanced back. An old, beat-up truck was rumbling down the road. Alex stopped and stuck out his thumb, desperately hoping that finally someone would stop for him. Every other car that had passed him didn't even think twice about driving by. Just as Alex thought that this driver, too, would leave him, the rickety truck slowed to a stop in front of him. The man leaned over and cranked the window down. "Hop in, kid."

Alex didn't question the man, he just jumped in. The driver, a burly man who probably was a ranch hand, shifted the old beast of a truck into gear. As they rumbled away down the road, the man made no attempt to talk except to ask where he was going. "The next town is fine," Alex responded, not wanting to get on this guy's nerves. He seemed like someone you didn't want to piss off, especially when he is your only ticket to civilization. Alex sat in silence, listening to the growl of the truck's engine. He watched all the desert vegetation pass by his window. The old truck didn't have any air conditioning, but it was okay because the sun wasn't roasting Alex like a lobster. The man and Alex sat in silence as they traveled down the highway.

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Alex had almost fallen asleep when he heard the man clear his throat. "We're here." He sat up immediately and opened the truck's door, then stepped out. Before he could thank the man and leave, he handed Alex a bottle of sunscreen and gave him a canteen of water. "You'll need it, kid. The best time to travel is at night, when it's cooler. Just watch out for the coyotes."

"Thanks for everything, sir," Alex replied. The nameless driver tipped his cowboy hat and rumbled away yet again, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake. When the dust cleared, Alex surveyed where the man had dropped him off. It was a small town, in the middle of nowhere, a quintessential Western town, although it had been modernized a bit. A few houses clustered together, as if huddling together for protection against the desert wind. One of the houses, on closer inspection, was actually the public library. There was an old-fashioned diner and a saloon next to each other. A motel called the Desert Sun, with the sign proclaiming vacancies, was a stone's throw away from the other two businesses. A mom and pop garage and general store sat a hundred yards away from what you could consider the center of town, if town was the right thing to call it. It was small, yes, and it looked extremely old, but to Alex it was all he needed. Maybe he could lay low here, figure out where he was and then make a break for the border.

Alex strolled over to the Desert Sun motel. It didn't look too bad, for a motel in the middle of nowhere. The sign was in slight disrepair, the neon letters flickering and some not lighting up at all. The motel itself was small, and the white paint was faded and, in some spots, was peeling away to show the wooden walls underneath. Alex walked to the door with the sign over it proclaiming OFFICE in bold lettering. He pulled open the door and stepped inside. A reception desk that looked like it had been there since the dawn of time greeted him. Strewn across the wooden surface were various papers and knickknacks. A small fan occasionally rustled the papers as it swept from side to side. A door, presumably leading to a back office, was open, but Alex couldn't see inside. An old arcade game, probably Pac-Man, stood into the corner, unused in a long time. Alex waited patiently in the small space for a while to see if anyone who worked there was going to show their face. Finally, Alex called out. "Hello? Anyone there?" Just as he was about to leave and see if anyone was in the diner, a man emerged from the back room. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed. "We don't usually get a lot of business. Are you interested in a room? Who am I kidding, you are," the frazzled worker babbled.

"Yeah, I'd like a room for a night." Alex responded.

"Sure! Just sign here, and then I'll need cash. We don't take checks," he explained, pushing the clipboard towards him. Alex thought for a second, then signed his name as Giovanni Sciacca. No reason to use the same fake name twice. "Okay, Mr. Sciacca, I'm going to need $50. Then I'll show you your room," the motel guy said, clearly happy that someone was finally staying there.

Alex fished around in his backpack for a couple of bills, then placed them on the counter. The helpful man from behind the counter at the Desert Sun grabbed a key from the rack behind her and walked out of the office, expecting Alex to follow. He did so, half eager to see what the room was and half dreading it for the same reason. The bespectacled motel worker stopped in front of room 3. "Here you are, Mr. Sciacca. Enjoy your stay!" The enthusiastic man handed him the key to number 3 and scurried away happily. With some amount of excitement and dread, he unlocked the red door and stepped inside. The room was neat and orderly, a complete opposite of the office. The bed was neatly made. A small night table stood next to the bed, and a chair sat in the corner. Alex turned on the light on the table. It gave off a pleasant glow, adding to the light coming from the big window near the door, which was currently covered by blinds. Alex dropped his stuff onto the bed. He didn't know where he would go from here, but he knew that he was already closer to freedom than when he started.

And that was when it all came flooding back. Alex sat on the bed miserably, with his head in his hands, as he tried to comprehend what he had done.

What if he hadn't picked up that gun?
What if he hadn't went to the party?
What if...

He remembered that Jake once said that you need to forgive and forget, but how would he ever do that? He shot his best friend, and he could never forget that. Rationalize, make excuses for, or maybe even forgive himself, he could do. But forget, nothing could ever make him forget what he did that night. Alex was pulled from his reverie when his stomach growled ferociously. Maybe now would be a good time to try that diner.

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Alex ended up staying at the diner until closing. He enjoyed the old bar stools, the burger, and the waitress's company as she talked to him. He ended up finding out that they were in George's Plateau, Arizona. He had no idea where in the world it was, but at least he had a name. He consumed many cups of coffee and several burgers over the course of a few hours, chatting to the waitress, Alice, the whole time. She really helped him get his mind off of things. Poor Alice, she practically had to drag him out of the diner. He smiled fondly at the memory. Alex would definitely go there for breakfast the next morning before he left. He sank into the motel bed, exhausted from the long, hot day. It was only a matter of minutes before he fell asleep.