Finn Huckabee

We slept most all day, and started out at night, in the pull along of an over-aged hippy.  He and his wife would only give us a ride if we were safely apart from them in the little camper that looked like it had been around since the sixties.  Not that I blamed him, Juan was an illegal after all.  We were cruising along in the slow lane of Interstate 35 behind one of those King of the Road RVs, the kind that have half a dozen pull outs and cost a cool quarter of a million at least.  There was a power and style to such an RV.  It was like you were a one percenter being on an RV like that, not skulking in the borrowed tin can of another.

We went drifting past mile marker after mile marker, and the night clouded up and got hot.  The interstate looked wide through the dirty window we peered through, and all there was to see was mile and miles of mile and miles.  We talked about Missouri, and Illinois, and most of all, of the Constitution Free Zone, and wondered whether we'd know it when we left it.  I said likely we wouldn't, because it's not that they mark a thing like that, but if we made it past San Antonio, we'd be pretty clear, and past Austin we'd surely be golden.  Of purely random stops, anyway.

Juan said that all we needed to see were the bright lights of a big American city, but I warned him that unlike Guatemala, lots of lights could just be a regular old town, or even just a strip of restaurants, hotels, gas stations and tourist traps lined up on either side of the highway.  That disturbed Juan - and me too.  So the question was, what to do?  I said that for the moment, there was nothing to do but hope the old couple took us as far as they were going and that we didn't get stopped at a check point.  Juan thought that was a good idea, so we had a vape and waited.

There wasn't anything to do now but wait for San Antonio to pass, if we recognized it.  Juan still said he'd be very sure to see it, because he'd be free from the Border Patrol and ICE when he did see it.  Every few miles he'd tense up and say:

"¿Es asi?"

But it wasn't.  It was strip malls or truck stops or rest areas, so he would sit back and go to peering out the window as before.  Juan said it made him tremble he was so close to freedom.  Well, I can tell you it made me tremble, too, to hear him, because I was beginning to get it through my rebellious teen head that he was almost free - and who was the accessory to that criminal act?  Me, that's who!  I couldn't get that out of my conscience, no how and no way.  It got to troubling me so I could not rest, I couldn't just relax on the well broken in cushions of the little couch.  

It hadn't hit home to me before, what this thing was that I was doing.  But now in the wee hours of this endless early morning it did, and stayed with me, and worried me more and more.  I tried to make out to myself that I wasn't to blame for Juan escaping the Laredo Processing Center, because I wasn't the one who engineered what was already being called a "terroristic act".  But it wasn't any use, my conscience up and said each time, "But you knew he was running for his freedom, and you could have just called and turned him in, probably got a reward to boot."  That was so - I could not get around that no matter how I tried to spin it.  Yes, I had only met him a couple of days ago as he heard me being mugged and waded in and beat one and chased the others off.  But still.

My sense of honor, instilled by my good Christian parents, said to me, "What has anyone in America ever done to you that you would see an illegal, a job stealing, disease carrying illegal, break out and flee, and never say a single word?  What has anyone in your nation done to you that you could put them in such danger?  Free education, clean water, plenty of food, the internet, the best that upper-middle class parents had to offer, the beautiful suburban life free of pain and fear and worry - that's how your family and country treated you!"

I got to feeling so mean and so miserable that I was wondering if suicide might not be the answer.  And yes, a large part of this was fear of what would be my fate if I were caught by ICE aiding an illegal.  No, aiding a terrorist now, because that's what an illegal who doesn't want to be shipped back home to die is.  I was restless in that confined space, and rocking back and forth in nervousness, and Juan was also.  Neither of us could keep still.  Every time he said, "San Antonio" it was like a punch in my gut, and I thought if it was San Antonio I'd die of miserableness in my moral dilemma.  

Juan talked out loud all the time I was pondering this.  He was saying how the first thing he'd do when he got to a Sanctuary City in a non-border State would be to work and save up enough money to buy his wife's passage up here.  She being in Guatemala near the same drug wars and violence he'd escaped.  And then together, they'd work to buy passage for their children, and if they couldn't have them flown in like tourists, they'd just pay a Coyote to smuggle them in!

It made me freeze up to hear such talk.  He would not dared have talked that way if he thought I was a normal American, instead of a runaway kid who was not wishing to encounter the authorities.  I could see that his feeling of almost being safe was making him bold, like he was a man with rights already.  It was according to what my church Youth Minister had said about illegals, "Let just one in, and they'll be on welfare with 10 kids before you know it!"

This is what comes of me not thinking through my rash decision to "stick it to the Man" by helping this fugitive.  Here was this illegal which I had as good helped escape from Federal custody, coming right out and saying that he would bring his children in as soon as he could, to take jobs from people that had done me no wrong.  And from what the President had said, maybe to rape and kill.  

I was sorry to hear Juan speak of this, it lowered my opinion of him.  My conscience was stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I could only quiet my anxiety by assuring myself, "It's not too late yet, I'll say something as soon as we hit a rest stop or gas station!"  I'd have called right then, if the muggers Juan had drove off hadn't got my iPhone.  At once I felt easier and happier.  My troubles were gone, I could look for any lights now and not be nervous!  By and by the couple took an exit ramp to a gas station and Juan was calling out, "We're safe now, this is San Antonio, I know it is!"

I said:

"I'll step out and see, Juan, it might not be, you know."

He sat up and got my jacket and handed it to me, and as I moved to open the door of the camper he said:

"Soon I be shouting for joy and I say it's because of you, Finn, that I free man, and that I would no be free if not for you, Finn.  I will say that Finn done it, and I never forget you, Finn, you best friend a man could have, you only friend I have now."

I was stepping out, all in a sweat to report him before getting in trouble myself, but when he says these things, it made my heart sink.  I walked towards the gas station slow then, and wasn't certain I was glad to be heading to it or not.  I wasn't five steps from the door when Juan says:

"There you go, my good friend Finn, the only American that ever kept his promise to help me!"

Well, I just felt sick.  But figured I have to do this - I can't get out of this.  Right then along comes a San Antonio squad car, and it stopped and I stopped.  The window rolls down and the cop says:

"You just get out of that pull along?"

"Yes", I said.

"You hitchin'?"

"Yes", I said.

"Anyone else in there with you?"

"Only one, sir."
"Well, there's five illegals that busted out of a facility down in Laredo, is your friend American or not?"

I didn't answer up promptly.  I tried to, but the words wouldn't come.  I tried for a few seconds to muster my courage and just report him, but I wasn't man enough.  I saw I was losing my nerve, so I just up and said:

"He's an American."

"I reckon I'll go and see for myself."

"I wish you would," I said, "because he's really sick, and the guy giving us a ride said we had to get off here as soon as they're finished eating in that restaurant over there.  I think I need to get my friend to the hospital."

"Crap! I'm in a hurry, but if he's really sick, I guess I can tend to him till the ambulance gets here." 

I turned as if to go to the camper and he started to reach for his radio to call an ambulance, and I said:

"I'm really relieved, I think if he'd just been withdrawing from...well, I mean, if he hadn't..."

The cop stopped and said, "Is he suffering withdrawals?  Heroin?  Be honest now, I don't have time to deal with some junkie puking on me and crapping himself."

"Yes, yes, sir, I'll be honest, I just didn't want him busted, but he ran out of the stuff yesterday and he's been sweating and moaning and retching something fierce.  He held it together long enough that the couple didn't know, or at least weren't sure, but I can't get him to the hospital on foot."

"Okay, look son, I'm sorry for you, but I've bigger fish to fry tonight!  But I'll tell you what, I'll send an ambulance out this way anyway, and so if you just wait with your friend twenty minutes or so, they'll get him taken care of!  And if you see any illegals in the meanwhile, you call 911, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," I said, "If I see something, I'll say something!"

"Good," he said smiling, "And take this card, it's a local church my wife and I attend, if you can get your friend cleaned up, come on by some time, I won't have you thinkin' we're inhospitable!"

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir!"

The officer drove off and I walked back to the camper, grateful that at least in all this the old couple had been inside the restaurant the whole time.  But I felt even lower then, as I knew very well I'd done wrong, and I saw now that it wasn't any good for me to try to learn and do right, if my good upbringing hadn't took hold by now, I really had no chance of ever becoming good.  Then I thought for a minute and said to myself, wait, what if I had given up Juan after how he saved me from a brutal beating and losing all my stuff, would I feel better than I do now?  No, I thought, I would not, I'd feel as bad as I do now.  So I figured then that what's the use for me to do right when it's trouble to do right, and no trouble to do wrong, and I'll feel as bad either way?  I was stuck.  I had no answer for that.  So I figured that after this I wouldn't bother about it any more, but just do whichever comes handiest at the time.

Getting back into the camper, Juan wasn't there.  I looked all around, he wasn't anywhere.  I said:
"Juan!"

"Here, Finn, is policia gone?  Don't talk loud!"

He was behind the camper with just his face now peering into the window he'd crept out of, I told him the cop was gone so he came around and got back in the camper.  He said:

"I went out the window when he arrive and I stay still.  But I listen.  I was going to run if he see me.  But blessed Mother Mary how you fooled him, Finn!  That was smart story!  I tell you, I know in heart that you save me with that, and I never forget you for that!"

Then we talked about the old couple and how they were likely to bring us a doggy bag and how much further they were likely to go.  San Antonio this was, but as the cop had proved, any Constitution Free Zone was probably extended a bit for when they could jam the nearly inevitable "terrorist" label on someone.  Getting to Oklahoma at the least would be good, but Missouri or Illinois would still be for the best.  I discussed with Juan different levels of safety, and he agreed that while we may be one level better, almost, there were plenty of more to go.

Towards daybreak the couple pulled into a Walmart on the far side of Dallas, and the couple made like this was their destination but I knew it was a lie.  Having been on the road nearly a year before meeting Juan I knew they might be guilted into going further, but the man looked oddly at Juan, and I couldn't know what he might have heard on the radio.  And it was a sure bet that they each had cell phones.  Trouble was as near as his shirt pocket.

Juan was mighty insistent on pressing on, though I was dying for some sleep.  We compromised by taking a four hour cat nap under an overpass, near the very top just under the road so that passing cars wouldn't notice us.  Coming down six hours later, because Juan said he felt bad to wake me when I was so tired, we caught a ride from a Christian lady, and the price was only to hear her preach.  Three plus hours later we were dropped off at a massive truck stop outside of Oklahoma City, and the kindly woman had made sure we were on the side for getting to Interstate 44, though that was out of her way.

I wanted dinner, but Juan was all for pressing on, so I stuck out my thumb while he pretended he wasn't there.  Folks being more likely to stop for a lone white boy then two guys.  Especially when one was as rough looking as Juan.  If by rough looking I mean "brown looking".  Not so easy to pull that at a truck stop though, and what with not wanting to ask the wrong person, and those we did ask invariably noticing Juan's color, it was several hours before getting a ride from a salesmen who seemed overly interested in me.  I declined the offer he made when we were a few miles out of town, and he wanted to put us out right there, but Juan persuaded him that it would be kindly to at least take us as far as the next city.  I made sure that "call me Bruce" knew I was 16, so I think it's safe to assume that he won't call anyone about us.  

There we were at 10pm, just past what I was pretty sure was Tulsa, and as I told Juan, it was too dark to think about more travelling.  So of course Juan was still up for travelling.  I told him to wait under the overpass while I went to the gas station a mile in to see where we were and maybe get some food.  Pretty soon I got to the gas station and seeing the clerk said:

"Sir, was that town back there Tulsa?"

"You don't know what city you came through?  What are you, a runaway?"

"Please, sir, I'm not looking for any trouble."

"If you don't want trouble, then get on out of here, if you stay here trying to panhandle, you'll get something you don't want."

I walked back to the overpass.  Juan was disappointed at us not knowing for sure how far we'd come, but I said never mind, Missouri would be coming soon enough.  

We got another ride and passed some small towns before daylight, but I didn't ask the quiet man who was giving us a ride anything about where we were, and he had nothing to ask us.  Odd how so many want to talk, and then some few are just giving the ride, and don't want a conversation.  I had known for awhile thought that not all broken people were the ride takers.  

We decided to hide out before sunrise in a small wooded area to get some more sleep, and before drifting off, we were suspicious about how far we'd come.  So I said:

"Maybe we got into Missouri last night."

He said:

"No talk about it now, Finn.  Poor illegals can't have no luck."

When it was daylight, there was a big green sign half mile behind us saying, "Welcome to Oklahoma!"  We talked it over and figured that it wouldn't do to get sloppy now.  So we slept all day in the woods, so as to be fresh for the journey later.  But when we woke up, my backpack was gone!  We didn't say a word for a bit, because there wasn't anything to say.  We both knew that our luck had been nothing but bad since he'd been picked up by those volunteer "border protectors" and gave to ICE, and since I'd got tired of my alcoholic father's public piety and private punches.  

So what was the good of speaking of it?  We both knew that it would only serve to dampen our spirits further, which would be bound to bring us even more bad luck.  That being the usual way of things.  By and by we did talk about how to handle this set back, because a young man with a backpack looks like he might be okay, no gear at all usually meant no ride.  Or so I had heard from the old timer hitchhikers who had told me all about these things back when I was first starting.

But there were no places close to get another backpack, and had there been, stealing one would have done no good as it would have only drawn attention to us.  So we walked down a state road that ran along side, or near enough, to the Interstate, and mercifully a truck stop off the Interstate was only a few miles away.  We found only a few trucks there, and knew the odds of a ride were small, they were all company trucks, and really only the old Independent truckers give rides nowadays.  

One 18 wheeler was a flat bed with 10 giant spools on it, two rows of five.  Juan and I glanced at each other and gave each other a nod and were up in between those spools in seconds!  From the parking lot no one could see we were there unless they climbed up on the flatbed, and so with luck we should get much further into Missouri now.  Maybe all the way to St. Louis!

Well, the night got gray and thick, very foggy, and we while we didn't plan on it, we were both more tired than we thought so fell asleep without further discussion.  I woke up in time to see us going down a long gravel road, not the Interstate any more, and heading towards a very well lit factory, with a guard shack rapidly approaching!  Generally guards don't inspect anything too carefully, but knowing our luck we were very soon to be caught!

Juan woke up to the danger, too, just as the truck geared down to stop at the gate where two men - armed! - were looking grim.  There was a yell at us, and a jangling of an alarm, and Juan jumped off one side of the flat bed and I the other, as the guards came straight to the truck.  I dived into the woods on my side, and wasn't planning on stopping soon, but I made sure to curve around so I could scamper across the road 50 yards behind where the truck was stopped and get to Juan's side.  

Of course there were still alarms going off, and guards running about with flashlights, guards have never cared much for teenagers, let alone hitch hiking ones, let alone ones with illegal terrorists!  Illegal terrorist?  Terrorist illegal?  Not sure.  But guards don't like them, I felt sure.  I called out Juan's name tensely about a dozen times, but I didn't get any answer.  So I set out to find the far end of that woods not knowing what was there but knowing what wasn't.

It was long, at least two miles, so I was a good long time in getting out.  I made a safe exit into a barren field, and while I couldn't see very far, went along that rough semi-even ground for another quarter of a mile, and then ran across one of those fancy log cabins meant to look old and quaint, but really looking like the megabucks a person has to have before having one built.  I was going to rush by and get away, but a ton of security lights came on at once, and I knew better than to move another inch.

From "The Adventures of Finn Huckabee" by M.T. Clemens, New Revised Version, copyright 2144, Chapter 16, "In which Finn learns that those not of his color still deserve freedom, even if that goes against the barbaric morality of that time."