Short Story / Garbage (Part One)
As Anna drove, the endless monotony of the highway stretching before her like a great river of tar, her mind wandered ahead to her destination – Los Angeles, California, the City of Sand. She was eighteen, fresh out of high school, and looking forward to a summer of fun and relaxation before starting college at Sacramento U in the fall.
Keeping one hand steady on the steering wheel, she began to fish around in the passenger’s seat for a granola bar. Her car was what she liked to call “comfortably cluttered”, meaning that, although it was a four-door Taurus, there was only one place to sit – the driver’s seat. After sifting through the Skittles wrappers, gym socks, and a leftover Happy Meal Carton from who-knows-when, she emerged victorious with her snack. She ripped off the wrapper, which slowly drifted to rest with all the other fallen soldiers littering the floor of the vehicle, and took a bite.
Shania Twain was on the radio, “Feel Like a Woman”, so suddenly the half-eaten granola bar was transformed into a microphone, and Anna began to belt out the chorus in a horribly off-key alto. She began to bob in her seat, doing what her friends laughingly called “the turkey dance”, because she so resembled the bird when she did it.
It was in the throes of her song and dance routine that she noticed a thin, dark figure walking alongside the road. From the distance, it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, but it’s hand was outstretched and its thumb was pointing in the same direction she was going.
Her parents had warned her many times not to pick up hitchhikers. She knew it was stupid – this person could be an axe murderer, or rapist. But as she drove past, there was something in the defeated slump of the hitchhiker’s shoulders, a slight drooping of the arm, which touched her heart. In a cloud of dust, she pulled over to the side of the road, muttering, “This is stupid”. The hitchhiker ran to her window, which she rolled down partway.
It was a boy; he couldn’t have been more than sixteen. His hair was grimy and dark blonde, and he looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. His body was hidden under a long, dark coat, and he carried a threadbare backpack over one shoulder. The other hand clutched a battered maroon guitar case. His eyes were his most striking feature – they were large and brilliant, a strange turquoise color. Anna noticed he was trembling.
She turned the radio down. “Where can I take you?”
He gave a silent, rueful laugh. “Where are you going?”
“L.A.”
“That’s as good a place as any, I guess.”
She surveyed him one more time. Although he was only a few years younger than her, his frame was thin and looked malnourished. He didn’t look very strong, she was sure she could overpower him if he tried anything. “Get in.”
He ran around the front of her car, and then looked uncertain as to where to put his things. “Just shove the guitar in the back. Wedge it between those boxes. Just throw the stuff on the seat to the floor.”
He did as he was told, then, clutching his backpack in his lap, slammed the door and buckled his seatbelt. Soon they were on the road again. They drove for a few minutes. The silence was deafening.
“I’m Anna. What’s your name?”
He looked at her sideways. “Andrew… Andy.”
Well that was a lie. “Nice to meet you.”
More silence. “Mind if I turn on the radio?”
A shrug. She took that as a no, and flipped the dial. “What kind of music do you like?”
“Rock, mainly.”
She turned the dial, trying to get a good rock station. She caught the telltale moan of Kurt Cobain. “This good?”
Shrug.
“Right then.”
A few more moments of silence passed, the Nirvana song ended and the two male DJs began to bicker about something. Anna turned the station and found a pop one – she began to hum, softly under her breath, and tap her thumb on the steering wheel until her passenger gave her a look. She grinned in embarrassment.
“So,” She began, trying to change the subject, “What’s a teenage kid doing hitchhiking in the middle of the desert?”
“Same as everyone else, I guess. I’m just trying to get somewhere.”
She shot a glance to the back seat where the guitar case was wedged between a box of clothes and a blow-up chair. “You play?”
“Yeah.”
She laughed uncomfortably “Of course. I mean, why else would you take the trouble to lug that thing all the way out here?”
He nodded.
She turned up the music as they passed a sign that read ‘Los Angeles – 50 miles’.
About forty-five minutes later, the landscape changed from desert to thriving metropolis. Anna had offered Andy a granola bar, which he had devoured like a starving wolf. After that, he had slumped against the seat, his head pressed to the window, and appeared to be drowsing in the sunlight. The kid was creepy, Anna decided. She wasn’t sure that she wanted him to know where she was living. “Where can I drop you?”
He grinned softly, not opening his eyes. “Wherever.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Andy sat up and opened his eyes – they were still clear and alert, despite his apparent sleep. “Right here’s fine.”
Anna looked around uncertainly. The buildings were huge and graffiti-covered, and trash littered the sidewalk of the area they were driving by. A couple of thugs were leaning against the wall, and a drunk was slumped over in an alley. “You sure?” She asked, “The sun is starting to set, and this looks like a kind of rough part of town.”
“It’s fine. I’m staying with my aunt, right over here. Just pull over.”
Anna didn’t see what other choice she had, though the boy was obviously lying about his aunt. She couldn’t take him to her apartment, and she certainly couldn’t stop him from leaving if she wanted to. She pulled over, unlocking her doors. The thugs lost their drowsy lean, and perked up their interest. Andy snatched his belongings and stepped to the curb. “Thanks,” he said, leaning his head back into the car. “For the ride, that is.”
“Andy, wait,” Anna said, laying her hand on the boy’s rail-thin arm. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. She shot the thugs a glance. “Are you sure this is where you want off?”
“I’ll be fine.” He grinned, trying to seem confident. “Jeez, you sound like…” A shadow passed over his eyes. “Like someone I used to know. Thanks, though.”
He turned to go, and Anna spied the guitar in back. She discreetly tucked a $20 bill into the case. “Wait, don’t forget your guitar.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He grabbed it, throwing it over a shoulder, and then he disappeared into the alley, stepping over the drunk. Anna locked her car and drove off. The thugs waited a second, then followed the boy into the alley.
Danny had lost track of how long he had been away from home. He hadn’t showered in over two weeks, and he was running low on H. After he hitched a ride with that college girl he was just about as far away from home as he could have been, while staying in the U.S. He thought he would have been happier about that…
He wandered around downtown L.A., trying to look purposeful and in charge. He knew he seemed like an easy target – young guy with a guitar, no place to go. But he had learned how to get what he wanted. Andy’s tutelage hadn’t been a complete waste.
Danny turned around, setting his jaw in a way that he knew made him look years older. “Hey,” he greeted the two thugs that had been following him. “Anything going on?”
One of the thugs, a short, muscular Hispanic man, grinned at his companion. “Yeah, something’s going on. But it depends what you’re looking for.”
The other thug, a tall Caucasian with a shaved head, laughed unpleasantly. “And how much you’re willing to pay for it.”
Danny shook his head slowly. “I only got a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty at best.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the twenty with surprise.
The two thugs’ eyes focused on the money. The Caucasian looked at his friend, who nodded. “I think maybe we can help you out.”
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This is a good piece of narrative. Your grammar and spelling are excellent, your characterisation is good and subtly rendered. I like very much that the reader is to infer that Danny lies about his name to Anna. This is clear without being stated, and well done. I also find your use of imagery light but compelling. Not bogged down by lengthy description, the story doesn’t seem bare, either. It’s a fine line that you have walked well.
I have some questions, but the story itself may answer them in its completion, so please bear with me if my concerns are unfounded. My first concern is your opening paragraph. This seems broad and explanatory in a story that is told in very fine detail throughout the rest of the piece. I would lose or change it.
I also wonder about opening with Anna. If she reappears as a major element in the rest of the story, then this might work well structurally, to frame Danny’s section in the latter part of this installation. But if she fails to return, her focus here is lost. The story itself will answer these questions, but as it stands I wonder.
I also had one particular nit to pick with the line, ”...silent, rueful laugh.” I like the image here, but how does this laugh convey “rueful” when it is silent? They are not mutually exclusive, but the verbiage feels unclear here.
Thanks for the read. Nice work.
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i don’t know if this really goes under plot, but you do need some character description in here. I like the story, but for the drug tips I couldn’t help you with sense I have never done anything like that myself. JUST some beer/wine and cigarettes for me. But good work and ifyou add the character description, you have a 10
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