The late afternoon sun spilled gold over the rolling fields as I turned off the highway onto a narrow, county road in southern Kentucky. Dust swirled behind my rented car.
Up ahead, a young man stood by the roadside, thumb out, a small duffel bag at his feet. His clothes were worn, his posture guarded. I pulled over to the side of the road and stopped some fifteen yards ahead of him.
He came running, breathless. I reached over and unlocked the passenger‘s door.
“Hop in,” I said.
“Thanks,” he muttered, sliding into the passenger’s seat.
“Where to?”
“Just keep going this way. I’ll tell you where I have to get out,” he replied, staring out the window.
We rode in silence for several long minutes, the hum of tires filling the space. I didn’t press him.
Then he turned toward me, eyes narrowed.
“You a minister?”
I chuckled. “No. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Ministers… they always want to fix you. Convert you.”
“Well,” I said gently, “I’m just a driver on this road today.”
He hesitated, then spoke. “I just got outta jail in Lexington. Been in and out for years. Step-dad was rough on me and used his belt. My dad left when I was little, and Mom……she just looked the other way. I wasn’t a good student. Got into fights. Started stealing when I was twelve. Guess it just stuck.”
I glanced at him briefly. “That’s a lot for anyone to carry.”
He looked away. “Yeah. Trouble finds me. Or I find it. Either way, I figure I’ll be back inside in two weeks.”
We rode a bit longer in silence. I reached into my bag.
“You eaten today?”
He shook his head. “Not in a while. But I don’t wanna take what’s yours.”
“My wife packed more than I need,” I said, offering him a sandwich and a bottle of water.
He looked at it for a moment, fingers twitching near his lap, as though weighing the dignity of refusal against the pull of hunger. Then, with a slow nod, he reached out and took it. “Thanks.”
For the rest of the ride he talked to me freely, sharing details of his life. He asked me questions and I replied with stories about my life. Before we knew it, he stopped me and told me to slow down, as his stop had arrived. I got out of the car and went to the other side.
I pulled a few dollars from my pocket and gave it to him. “Here, take this.”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t—”
“Please. Just a little something for the road ahead.”
He reached out his hand and took it reluctantly.
I saw his body move as if he wanted to give me a hug. I reached over and embraced him.
“Take care of yourself,” I said.
“You too,” he replied, voice low.
As I drove away down that dusky road, my eyes blurred—not from the setting sun, but from the ache of knowing that life had dealt him such a harsh hand.
“There but for the grace of God, go I,” I muttered to myself.
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