This is his story.
Bryan was walking along the Arkansas highway shoulder with only the moon to guide him. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder. It was cold. Blisteringly cold.
He was a kid, 23 years young. This was not a friendly evening, weather-wise. Tonight it was colder than a brass toilet seat in Nova Scotia. And it was sleeting.
He had a long way to go before he hit the nearest town. He was wet. His feet hurt. His back hurt. His whole mind hurt.
His family was a downright mess, and his homelife was a wreck. He had decided, tonight on this walk, that he was going to end it all. He didn’t have the details worked out, but he’d made up his mind nonetheless.
A pickup truck practically materialized out of nowhere. The headlights were blinding. The vehicle pulled over, crunching on gravel.
Inside was an older woman. The heater was blaring.
“Get in,” said the lady.
And she didn’t say it as a question.
Bryan piled into the bench seat. The heat felt good on his wet body. They shook hands and swapped
names.
“Where you headin’?” she said.
Her hair was gray and messy, like it hadn’t been combed since the Crimean War. Her eyes were wild.
“Don’t know,” said Bryan. “I’ll go anywhere you’re going.”
She just looked at him.
“Are you an angel?” she said.
He laughed. “What?”
“Tell me the truth.”
He wasn’t sure if this old woman was pulling his leg.
“I’m no angel,” he said.
She stared at him like she was boring a hole through limestone.
“I can take you as far as Little Rock,” she said. “That’s where I’m going, I’m meeting my granddaughter tonight.”
“Little Rock would be great.”
In a few moments, they were careening down the highway. Bryan noticed the woman kept staring at him with an odd look on her face.
The…