Risk

She was no ordinary hitch-hiker.  Late 50s, greying hair dragged back into a ponytail, she looked out of place on the empty Maniototo roadside.  Curious, I pulled over and rolled down the passenger window.

-    A bit hot to be walking today.  Where are you headed?

She smiled and shrugged.

-    Not sure. Where are you going?

 The accent was a languorous Southern States drawl.

-    Wanaka.
-    That works for me.

I popped the boot for her pack. She climbed in beside me, stowing a small Aztec carryall at her feet.

-    Thanks. I sure do appreciate this. I’m worn slap out.

I put the car in gear and looked over my shoulder.

-    We're getting a real Indian summer.
-    I reckon.

I waited for a campervan to pass, then accelerated back on to the road. Dry gold paddocks stretched to the horizon, dotted with round bales of hay, pink-wrapped like little girls’ gifts.

-    If you don’t mind me saying, you’re not the normal hitch-hiker.
-    I hope I’m not the normal anything.  Trying to escape normal life, truth be told.
-    Normal life being?
-    Corporatisation, academic game playing, funding cuts, doing more with less. Sorry you asked?
-    Not at all. Sounds like quite a story. What’s the alternative?

She reached down and unfastened her bag, extracting a small pink ball.

-    Magic. Storytelling.

She enclosed the ball in her left hand, blew on her fist, then opened her hand, now empty.

-    Wow, very impressive.
-    I’ve always loved this stuff. Waved a pencil like a wand before I could hold it right.

She retrieved the ball from her shirt pocket and continued to roll it around in her hands as we drove.

-    I’ve done tricks and made up stories as long as I can remember.  I love it more than pretty much anything.  Left my job to do this, for a few dollars or a bed and a meal.

She swiveled in her seat and looked straight at me.

-    Life’s short. Sometimes you have to take a risk.

I glanced at her and turned my eyes back to the road.  We drove on, me pondering risk, while the disappearing and reappearing pink ball flashed in my peripheral vision.

-    I need to make a short stop in Alexandra. Do you mind?

We slowed at the 50 sign, passing the motor camp and the fall of the land to the Manuherikia.

-    You know what, this looks nice. I might get out here.

I pulled over just before the War Memorial on the roundabout.

-    Can I buy you a drink? An appreciation for the ride?

For a moment, I was tempted.

-    Thanks, but I’m expected by 5.  Good luck with the magic.
-    So far so good. It’s all around. Maybe you’ll find some too.

I watched her in the rear vision mirror as I pulled away, shouldering her pack and pausing to choose her direction.


Rosemary McBryde