When I was in high school, all the cool kids hitchhiked. Girls would stand on the side of the two-lane highway, the sun-browned-S of their hips thrust out along with their thumbs.

The sight of these girls sent my mother into paroxysms of rage.

“If I ever, EVER, catch you hitchhiking, I’ll rip out your heart,” my mother would say, jabbing a finger at my chest. “Before some maniac does it first!”

“Oh, Tammy,” my father would sigh. He was a happy-go-lucky sort, always with a smile and a kind word. It drove my mother nuts.

“All I’m saying,” she’d insist, “is that a young girl on the side of the road? Anything can happen! Anything!”
And turning my head to watch as we passed these girls, laughing, jostling each other for space, I’d think…yeah, but isn’t that the point?

When I turned 18, I moved from my home in California to Hawaii. I was on my own, and eager to test the waters.
Still, standing on the side of the road on that sunny October afternoon, I was nervous. What if my mom was right? What if one stupid mistake could ruin your whole life?

But after a minute, a truck slowed, and then stopped. The driver was about my age, with shaggy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a sweet, sleepy, smile.

As if on cue, I could hear my mother’s voice, low and ominous, “Ted Bundy looked like the prom king too…”
But the surfboard in back, NPR on the radio, and the Buddha affixed to the dash all told me this guy was harmless.
I wasn’t going far, and we chatted amiably – we were both 18 and we were both from California, though I was from San Francisco and he was from L.A.

When we reached the filling station near my house, I thanked him and climbed out, feeling oddly elated. I’d done it! I’d hitchhiked! And not only that, but I’d lived to tell about it!

I was about halfway across the parking lot when I heard the guy shout something. I turned, and saw that he was smiling, clearly excited.

“Hey…San Francisco, right?”

I nodded, feeling something quicken in my chest.

“They just had an earthquake! The guy on the radio said some freeway collapsed.” He laughed, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. “Like a billion people are dead!”

It’s funny how sometimes you just know. Not the particulars maybe – not that my father was on that freeway, and certainly not that he was dead – but simply that life as you’ve known it has already changed.

As I walked to the pay phone and numbly punched in my parent’s phone number, it occurred to me that my mother was right. Sometimes, the Boogieman has the loveliest smile. And if you stand on the side of the road with your thumb out, anything can happen. Anything at all.