Being a truck driver is not the most conventional career for a woman, but I’ve never been one to follow the beaten path. I love the open road, the solitude, and the ever-changing scenery. It’s not always easy, and there are nights when loneliness creeps in, but there’s something liberating about watching the miles stretch endlessly ahead of me.
One particular night, as I was making my way down a long and desolate stretch of highway, something caught my eye. A boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen, stood on the side of the road with a backpack slung over one shoulder. His clothes were wrinkled, his face weary, and his posture screamed exhaustion. More than that, though, there was something in his expression—an uncertainty, a deep sadness, as if he wasn’t entirely sure where he was headed.
I know the rules. Truck drivers are advised against picking up hitchhikers for safety reasons, especially women driving alone. But something about this kid made me pause. He wasn’t holding out his thumb, wasn’t actively asking for a ride. He just stood there, looking lost.
Before I could overthink it, I pulled over and leaned out of the window. “Hey, you need a ride?”
He hesitated, his grip tightening around the straps of his backpack, then nodded slowly. Without a word, he climbed into the passenger seat, his movements careful, as if he expected me to change my mind at any moment.
As we pulled away, silence filled the cab, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. After a few minutes, I glanced over at him. “Where you headed?”
“I don’t really know,” he murmured, staring out the window.
I took a deep breath. “You running away from something?”
A slight nod, but no further explanation.
I didn’t push him. If there’s one thing I’ve learned on the road, it’s that people will talk when they’re ready. Instead, I focused on the road ahead, letting the quiet settle between us like a blanket. After about an hour, I pulled into a gas station to refuel. He sat motionless in the truck while I stepped out, giving him space to gather his thoughts.
When I returned, I handed him a bottled water and a snack from the station’s convenience store. He looked up, startled, then accepted them with a small nod. It was the first sign of gratitude I’d seen from him.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you,” I said, settling back into the driver’s seat. “But you seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
He stared at the bottle in his hands for a long moment before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. “I had to leave.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“My stepdad…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply. “He’s not a good guy. He drinks. A lot. Gets angry over nothing. My mom, she just lets him.”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, a familiar anger bubbling inside me. I’d heard stories like his before, met plenty of people running from something—or someone.
“So, you just up and left?” I asked.
He nodded. “Had to. Didn’t have a choice.”
I could see his hands trembling slightly, and for the first time, I realized just how young he looked. He was barely more than a kid, out here on his own, with no real plan and nowhere to go.
“Where were you planning to go?”
“I have an uncle in the next state over,” he said. “Haven’t seen him in years, but he was always nice to me when I was little.”
I sighed, weighing my options. I couldn’t just leave him at a random stop along the highway. He was trying to escape a bad situation, but the road was no place for a kid with no money and nowhere to stay.
“You sure your uncle will take you in?” I asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. But it’s the only idea I’ve got.”
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, debating what to do. “Listen,” I said finally, “I think you need to go back home.”
His head snapped up, eyes wide with panic. “No way. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“I don’t,” I admitted. “But I do know it’s dangerous out here, especially for a kid with no plan. If you want to get away from your stepdad, you need to do it the right way. Have you talked to a teacher? A school counselor? A relative who can actually help?”
He slumped in his seat, rubbing his face with both hands. “I don’t know,” he muttered.
I sighed. “Look, I’m not telling you to stay somewhere that isn’t safe. But running away like this? It’s not going to fix anything. There are people who can help you—people who care.”
For a long time, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Maybe I should call my aunt,” he admitted. “She hates my stepdad. Always said if I needed her, she’d help.”
“That sounds like a plan,” I said. “But first, let’s get you a meal.”
We pulled into a diner a few miles down the road, and over a plate of pancakes, he called his aunt. From the relief on his face, I knew she had agreed to take him in.
I drove him back toward town, back toward the safety of someone who could help him, and as he climbed out of my truck, he looked at me with genuine gratitude. “Thanks,” he said. “For not just leaving me out there.”
I nodded. “Take care of yourself, kid.”
As I pulled away, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. I had taken the right road that night—both literally and figuratively. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had truly made a difference.
