Red

Her backpack cut into her shoulder as she kicked rocks down the deserted road.  She had been walking for days and all that was left of her food supply was half of a smashed peanut butter sandwich and wheat thin crumbs.  The thin layer of sweat under her hair cooled every time the wind gust but last time she felt the wind was about a mile back.

She heard the pickup before she saw it.  It rattled louder than brass cymbals in a mediocre middle school band.  She considered hiding behind a tree so she wouldn’t have to endure another overly hospitable hippie, but the long road she was on wasn’t likely to end anytime soon.  She hiked up her jeans and loosed her top shirt button.

The vehicle didn’t look as old as it sounded but the woman driving it sure did.  It pulled up and stopped with a lurch.  The old woman raised a brow while unrolling the window. 

“Who did you think I was the highway patrolman?” looking at the young woman’s blouse.  Self-consciously she clutched her shirt together again. 

“Well, come one.  What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?  I’ve got things to do.”

With one eye steadily kept on the old woman she slipped her bag off her sore shoulders and threw it into the back.  A cloud of orange brown dirt puffed and sat mid-air for a brief second, then dissipated.  Before she opened the door to the cab she took in her reflection in the window.  Her strawberry blond hair dye was nearly faded away, but the orange dust that was always in the air muted all the shades into one.  Her face was dirty too with streaks from where the sweat dripped down her face.  At least it hid all the freckles. 

“You look like you could use a ribbon to pull all that hair up darling.  In the glove box, you’ll find one in there.  Go on.  I have no use for it anymore.”  The old woman chuckled and pointed at her cropped thinning locks.

“Thank you ma’am.  I was just thinking how…”  Her words were cut off as the old woman sped up too quickly and zigzagged a moment before heading down the proper lane.  Her elbow bumped and pressed into the side of the door to keep her from tipping over in the seat.

“What’s your name missy?  What has you so muddled up inside that you ended up out here in nowhere land?” The old woman eyes her as best she could while trying to steer.

“How do you know I’m running?”  She slid her fingers over the hole in her jeans.

“Oh, because there ain’t no other reason to be out here is all.  I’ve run before you know, back before they all called me Opal.  I had think hair like yours back then and troubles as thick as this dust.  So, what is it, boy trouble?”

“No ma’am, no big thing really, it’s not important now.”  The old nodded her head to that, a far away look mixed with understanding. 

“You see that fence that runs along the road here.  It goes on for miles and miles, but one day my granddaddy; he showed me that just beyond the lake it ends.  He took me out in this very truck to the end of it and you know what he said?  He said, he told me to go hang my troubles on the post, the last one and leave them there for the crows to nibble on.  I thought he was crazy, maybe he was, but I did it and it was a relief.  We drove on from there and I left my troubles behind.”

She smiled at the old woman’s memory and thought it was worth a shot.  Why not?  She was leaving everything else behind, why leave her troubles too?

“They call me Red.”  She ran her hand through her fading hair.

“Red huh?  I don’t see much red; maybe you need a new name too.”