Stupid kind (or Pirates: part one)

It's storming today. There's snow and freezing wind blowing all over the place. I had just dropped a friend off at her house and was headed home (around 11 p.m.) when I saw someone walking on the side of one of the roads in town that turns into a highway.

I've never picked up a hitch hiker, but it was so very cold out. Walking from my car into Tim Horton's was enough to make me feel like my blood had frozen solid, so I had to stop. I offered to take the hitch hiker, who turned out to be a 37-year-old Italian/Swedish man, anywhere in the city, but he wanted to continue on his journey.

I didn't want him to die on the side of the road, so I offered to take him to my house and get him something hot to drink, a bite to eat and a warm blanket. He, having no better options and wanting to warm up, agreed. I had him wait in the car while I grabbed some things for him and told my mom I was dropping him off on the highway and would be back soon.

I took him to the highway but, maybe because it was so late or so stormy, there weren't many vehicles heading the way he wanted to go. He got out of my car and started to walk. And as he headed down that cold windy road, I thought about how easy it would be to lay down in the snow and freeze to death. And if he did, I would never be able to forgive myself.

So, after realizing I had - hopefully - just enough gas to take him to his next destination and to make it back home, I picked him up again.

We talked about how his parents died when he was a teenager, how he has no family and no roots anywhere, how he gets bored with all the places he goes and how he believes the earth and all that's in it couldn't have existed without a creator. We talked about how he always hitch hikes during the winter because his birthday and Christmas holidays are in December and he needs some way to celebrate them.

He told me about how he jumped off a barn roof with an umbrella when he was a kid to see if he could fly. He told me how he sometimes spends the night in mall entryways or bank vestibules. He told me how he scams free food from MacDonalds when he gets hungry and how he's travelled all across Canada, the U.S. and Europe, hopping from one job to another and one place to another.

I feel this odd kinship towards him, like my soul recognizes his. Like we are the same person, just in different circumstances.

He's going to call (collect, of course) when he gets to his next destination, just to prove that he's still alive.