The young couple were seated in the back corner of a cozy tavern. He, (M.J.), was a storyteller who loved sharing his exploits. She, (P.J.), was a young teacher who shared a love of travel with him. They were just at the beginning of their own story which would eventually lead to love and marriage.
Adoringly, the young woman gazed up into the storyteller's eyes as he began telling her about The Great Hitchhiking Adventure, spinning a tale of characters, places, and events which were so much beyond her experiences. Entranced by his stories of adventures in places only her dreamscape had painted, she listened to his deep voice as he brought his exploits to life. He told of a particular trip which occurred in 1979 and involved some unique personalities. It was at the end of this trip, the storyteller explained, that hitchhiking began to lose its allure. He described being on a road (just beyond the middle of nowhere) outside Wallace, Idaho when a beat-up, salt-encrusted, paint-chipped ancient truck sidled up to him. Peering from the driver's side was a semi-toothless, gray faced old man who had to be in his mid-60's. He drunkenly gestured for M.J. (the storyteller) to put his bags in the back and get in. The conversation then went something like this: "Well, young fella', If you're heading east, I'll take you to Butte if you'll _______ my ______ all the way.'"
"Sorry, Mister. I'm only going as far as Missoula!" was his reply as he jumped out and the truck rolled to a drunken halt.
Desperate to get back on the road, M.J. described rounding the corner where once again, he stuck out his thumb. This time, two old geezers pulled up and let out simultaneous low, long whistles. With that, he grabbed his bags and headed into town, hoping that his next encounter would be more "straight". "Not that there's anything wrong with it", Seinfeld would say!
In downtown Wallace, he sought safety and comfort in the only hotel in town-The Wallace Inn-which was, like the town, well-worn and vintage 1950's-America. The next morning, he waited patiently at the bus stop, having decided that he was done with his hitchhiking experience for the summer. The driver of the bus stopped and motioned him on board.
"So, where you going, young fella'?" the bus driver asked.
Feeling in his pocket, M.J. located his meager billfold which now contained only $30. The bus driver explained that since there wasn't a ticketing agency in Wallace, he'd have to pay his fare in Missoula and there he would discover how far his money would take him. So, putting his money away, he settled down into the security of his seat and relaxed, letting his mind drift back to all that he had experienced over these past few incredible weeks.
In Missoula, he paid the $12 charge for his ride from Wallace and then asked how much it would cost to get to Fort Collins, Colorado, where his parents were anxiously awaiting his return. Hearing that it would be an additional $25, he left the counter and sat down to figure out a solution to his current lack of funds. His first step was to look for temporary work, which he sought to no avail at several establishments. Then, he went to a bank to see if they could give him a teensy weensy loan-just enough to get home. Fifty dollars, to be exact.
"Son, we don't give just anybody money for such minor needs. Can't you have it wired to you?"
Not wanting to beg any more money from his parents, M.J. laughed off the suggestion from the bank manager and returned to the bus station.
Standing in line, he took out his billfold and once again began counting. Suddenly, he felt a faint tapping on his tense, tired shoulder. He turned to face a sweet-faced, graying woman whose eyes shown with compassion. Holding her hand was a precious blonde, pig-tailed little girl.
"Young man," she began. "You're trying to get home, aren't you?"
"Yes ma'am, I sure am!" he replied, with a bit of a lump in his throat.
Reaching into her purse, she handed the young man $40.
"No, really, ma'am, I'll be fine..Thanks anyway. Really, please, I'm not sure if I can repay you. You're so very kind to offer but..." His words all spurted out in a jumbled torrent of emotions.
The lady kindly but gently persisted until at last, M.J. relented.
Smiling beneficiently at him, she said, "Really, there is no way for you to repay me--only promise me that some day, you'll do something kind to someone who is also in need."
Once again, thanking the kind lady, M.J. bought his ticket and then returned to the station platform in time to wish her a pleasant trip. With a quick wave, she boarded the bus with her granddaughter, knowing she had given someone a rich life lesson. And, since M.J. now had two hours before his bus left, he went to a nearby restaurant where he found that he had enough money left for a steak dinner.
The conclusion to this story occurred nearly ten years later, when the storyteller (M.J.) and his adoring young teacher, (P.J.), who were by now husband and wife, were beginning a road trip across the West. This particular trip had begun disastrously, with flat tires, wrong exits, no food, and finally, no rooms anywhere in central Montana. Although it was getting very late, they decided to press on, rather than return home since they had already invested two days of driving in the trip. Besides, Missoula was just 100 miles away! Fortunately there was a vacant room there and although they didn't get to sleep until almost 2:00 a.m., things seemed to be looking up. When she finished checking out the next morning, P.J. walked outside to find her husband talking to three transients just next to the car.
"So, what did they want?" she asked.
"Well, all they wantedwas 67 cents for a cup of coffee," he replied. "I felt kind of guilty not giving it to them. You know, this is Missoula."
"HMMMMM....You know, you're right," she said, remembering the kindly grandmother and her $40. "We have to go find those three and at least start partially repaying ..."
He interrupted,"Let's go! I think I see them at the end of the next block."
They drove quickly up to the next corner where the three were just standing next to a corner 7-11. Parking the car across the street, M.J. approached this sad looking little group. The obvious leader was a bearded and tattered-dressed very tall man whose age would be impossible to determine. His all-knowing expression seemed somewhat other-worldly. He was flanked by a pale, thin, ghostly man, who said nothing and seemed on a different plane from the others. The last man was a small, jittery, paranoid critter whose eyes darted around nervously.
Putting his hand into his pocket, M.J. began:"I promised a wonderful woman that someday I would do something kind for someone else. This morning, I broke that promise and now I'm here to make it up!"
The small, itchy man hoarsely spurted, "Are you Fed? Are you Federal??"
But the tall man broke into a wide grin as he was handed a ten dollar bill. In fact, the entire group responded as though they had just won the lottery. Whooping and hollering while thanking M.J. profusely, they almost kissed him. Then waving goodbye, they headed back towards the 7-11, with their gift happily in hand.
An hour later, M.J. and P.J were still reliving the emotions of that moment when they saw the three transients suddenly appear, much like the Holy Trinity, on a distant bridge. That image confirmed that the spirituality of this "Giving Circle" was at last complete, as the trio silently and serenely slipped almost by magic into a halo of sunlight, never to be seen again.