Neither Shirley nor myself had ever hitch-hiked before. For three days we’d raise our thumbs and our hopes and for three nights we would return to the Manor House disappointed. Down the road from us was a couple of guys trying to do the same thing. I recognized one of them as the strange fellow I avoided at the school whose name was Charles. They would perform a little show every time a motorist drove by, like clowns begging for a ride. They too returned every night.
At the end of the third day, the boys approached us with a proposal. Charles flipped his lucky ten-pence into the air, “Heads travels with me, tails with Greg. The only way we are going to get out of here is to pair up as male/female, you know, not frighten the motorists.” I can still hear his snotty accent splitting the air.
Not frighten the motorists? Are you kidding? Here spoke a guy whose looks had shock value. While the general English population stood in the five foot range, Charles was reaching for the nose bleed section. His long, brownish gold locks of tangled hair shot over his shoulder in every direction from a black foreboding hat. Hair and hat hid his face. When you did get a glimpse of the face, you could not see cheeks or lips or brows, for the piecing, curious eyes absorbed your vision. There was an intelligence that consumed me, and without my permission. His heroes were Merlin the Magician and Bertrand Russell. Was he a hippie? The hat and hair is all one ever saw. After avoiding him for months, at the school, I realized that there was something very curious about him. I think he was trying to dress and hide in the persona of a hippie but when you looked closely, he was not. He had no rough edges like the men I knew. He put out a real icy feeling of distance, unconquerable distance, coupled with an insatiable need for attention.
Then there was Thaddeus. I was introduced to “Thed” in the library, my very first day at Greatham Manor House. He was a tiny crocheted doll, that went everywhere Charles went. While I was trying to covet my anonymity, Thed was trying to covet my attention. The two were a pain in the butt. Whenever they approached me, I fled. Now I was going to be traveling with the two? Shirley was convinced of the necessity of pairing up.
“Of course, Shirley! I am to be the companion of Charles and Thed, not you.” I protested then gave into the decision. Maybe it was just a familiarity I had with self-destructiveness.
The plan was to travel in this pairing to a pre-chosen town that had a hostel. Because a hostel had gender dorms, a free dinner and cheap price, the plan seemed like a good one. Greg and Shirley had no problems. Charles and I did. Together our looks were lethal. We learned quickly that certain parts of England were taboo for hippies. We were escorted out of towns before we had a chance to take our packs off our backs. No food, no drink, no smiles. We were the object of intolerance, suspicion and hatred for no reason.
One night, over dinner, I had my limit of Charles and his snooty ways. I did not know yet who he was, but I had my suspicions. Too often he made a snide remark about my lack of proper training. In other words I ate and drank like a pig. There apparently is, in his world, a proper way to put milk and sugar in the tea or was it coffee? I still don’t give a damn. On one night in particular, when he put his long accusing finger in my face, I smashed it and his entire long skinny hand into a warm plate of butter.
“Who are you?” I screamed. “And why are you wasting my life worrying about the ‘proper’ way to eat? We’re lucky to be served at all!” My frustrations were vented on him using yellow, oily, greasy butter. I stared at him in anger as his brain searched for the ‘proper’ reaction. His eyes and his mouth were both gaping wide and open, searching, but not finding.
“Show some emotion you bastard!” I wanted him down on my level: base, wild and real. “Say something, say anything!” His mouth closed, silence was all he purposely gave me.
He retrieved his hand from more danger, cleaning it off, ever so poised. I broke out in a very loud, crowd magnetizing laugh. The quieter he stayed, the louder I laughed. Soon everyone in the cafeteria was infected with laughter. He slowly and quietly pulled himself up to standing position, turned from me and walked away.
I didn’t see Charles until the next morning. He acted as though nothing had happened. I too, pretended that nothing had happened. He never again made fun of me and I quit hating him. Somewhere inside I began to realize that I respected this man. He was calm beside my rage, he was proper beside my wildness. He had strong convictions, strong beliefs and a destiny. Beside him I was learning, I was growing and it felt good.
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