My Dad, The Hitchhiker
I pulled over because he looked like my dad, but the resemblance turned out to be more than superficial. The dusty trucker hat. The way his mustache curved around his lips because the sides were always too long. The smell of his Old Spice aftershave. Everything was the same.
I know, I know you aren't supposed to pick up hitchhikers. It's the cardinal rule for travelers. "What if he's a serial killer?" and all that nonsense. But you don't understand, he just looked *so* much like my dad. I had to pick him up.
We buried my dad five years ago in Silent Acres cemetery. Liver failure. I always felt that it was too good of a death for that man, that monster. That's why I had to pick him up.
He said I was crazy, said he had no idea who I was talking about. I'm not crazy. I just needed closure. Maybe he wasn't my dad. But I finally have closure at least.
I left him off to the side of the road, out of sight. Maybe the vultures will eat him. I smile as I leave. Closure.
As I continue driving my headlights catch the silhouette of a hitchhiker. I pull over because he looks like my dad.
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