Free Nothing But Blue by Lisa Jahn-Clough Page B

doesn’t answer. He gets up and starts walking. I wrap the knife in one of the shirts and put it and the rest of my clothes into my pack.
    When I get to the road I look in both directions, then head toward the rising pink sun. East toward the sea.
    It’s too early for traffic, and it’s not a busy road to begin with. The temperature is mild with an autumn nip. Colors are starting to appear in the trees, and everything crackles and glows. Shadow walks ahead but keeps turning around to beckon me onward.
Come on. One step, then another and another. We’ll get there.
    Â 
    Hitchhiking is dangerous. Hitchhiking means crazy people will rape and murder you and cut your body into a million little pieces and bury them one by one or toss them into the sea. At least that is what happens to teenagers who hitchhike in the movies and on TV. So no one hitches anymore. Not like they used to—or like we assume they used to in the old days when there weren’t as many rapists and murderers driving around and hitching wasn’t the dangerous, deadly means of travel that it is supposed to be today.
    I haven’t yet stuck my thumb out, but I have renewed energy, so when I hear a car in the distance behind me I think now is the time to start. The car slows down when it nears me. It’s an old small hatchback, a “safe” car. The window opens and a young woman smiles.
    â€œWhere you headed?” she asks. She has a soft, girlie voice. She doesn’t seem much older than me.
    â€œEast,” I say.
    â€œIt’s awfully early to be hitching all the way out here.” She sizes me up.
    I hesitate. Even though I am talking to this stranger, I still have to be careful what I say.
    â€œI’m not going to hurt you,” she says. As if to prove it she gets out and walks around the car. Shadow sniffs her and wags his sign of approval.
    She is wearing a gray suit jacket and a matching skirt with chunky black platform heels. Her curly hair is desperate to fling free of its tight ponytail. She looks like an art student posing as a businesswoman. She scratches Shadow behind his ear in the spot he loves. She doesn’t seem to mind that her suit gets covered in silver fur. This is a good sign. Don’t people always say you can judge a stranger by how they treat a dog?
    â€œI’m Clara,” she says. “You look like you could use a hot cup of coffee . . .” She pauses, waiting for me to tell her my name.
    â€œBlue,” I say, softly.
    A car comes in the other direction. It slows down for a curiosity stare, decides that it’s not worth stopping, and speeds by. We both watch until it’s gone.
    Clara studies me again. I put my hand up to my head, suddenly self-conscious about my do-it-yourself haircut.
    â€œI don’t care what you’ve been doing, Blue,” she says. “If you’re in trouble or a runaway or whatever.” She sighs. “I have a job interview, but I’ve decided not to bother.”
    I’m not sure if she’s saying this last part to me or to herself. She reaches out her hand. At first I think she is going to touch me, and instinctively I shrink away, but her hand sweeps past me. I get a whiff of apricot lotion. Her perfect nails are painted purple. My own nails have been bitten down, and there is dirt under what is left of them. I clasp them behind my back.
    â€œI can take you to town at least.” She points down the road. “About twenty miles.”
    That’s a day’s walk in less than half an hour. “What about my dog?” I ask. One thing for sure, I am not getting into a car with some stranger, even a nice-looking stranger in a clean car, without Shadow. Shadow peers from me to Clara expectantly, then brushes his head under my hand.
    I’m yours?
he asks. I hear him loud and clear, but Clara doesn’t. I realize it’s only me that understands him. I also realize it is the first time I have