I have always believed that some things have only a state, such as the way in which some songs can bring memories or how one moment can change their entire life.
But at other times, when you think you’ve seen it all – until something happens, what makes you ask if you really have. That night, when I saw a young hitchhiker standing beside the road, I had no idea that my life was going to turn sharply.
one that would lead to an unexpected meeting, a promotion that I have never seen, and the decision to hang my keys to good. It all started with a simple choice – a choice that would change both of our lives forever.
After two decades on the road as a truck driver, there were not many, which I did not meet on the quiet, endless highways. Lonely nights under the matte glow of trucks stops, rhythmic humming of the engine – these were my familiar comfort. But nothing could prepare me for what happened. As I lifted the hitchhiker, he set out a chain of events that would lead to an emotional meeting, unexpected promotion of work and a decision to change life that would forever take me off the road.
Being a woman in transport was rare, but I chose this way because he offered the stability I needed. Life had a way of leading me on unexpected roads. When my husband left me and our four-year-old twins, Gia and Vinnie, I had no choice but to catch the bike and take over the lead-up.
He grew up, my father was a truck driver until he was fifty -five. I remember watching him as he left for days, I always return home with stories about his routes and places he saw. It wasn’t the easiest life, but kept food on the table. When I found myself alone with two children I could take care of, I knew transport was my best bet. I got my commercial license, joined a reliable company with great benefits, and set out on a journey.
Disadvantage? The time that took me from my children. Weeks on the road meant missing birthdays, school games and simple moments that I would never return. My mother entered to help to take care of them, but I often watched the shaky videos of the milestones I missed. It hurt, but this work ensured that my children never had hungry and were more than I had ever done.
Now that they were grown and lived their own lives, I realized that while they were always grateful, my mother was more mother than me. The blanket – the old father – old – undresses with me every night, quiet passengers on my long loads.
It was a particularly rough evening when everything changed. When I went on the highway, I saw a boy, maybe sixteen, standing next to the road. His clothes were wrinkled, his shoulders were exhausted, and in his eyes there was a look – uncertainty as if he didn’t know where he was going or where he belonged.
Despite the strict policy of my company without Hitchhiker, something told me that I couldn’t just pass it. I slowed down and pulled down and drove down the window.
“Hey, boy. Do you need a ride?” I asked and kept my tone firm but kind.
Hesitated and looked on an empty road.
“I don’t have a whole day, boy,” I said, trying to sound the accident. “It’s darkening and it’s not the safest place to hang.”
Finally he nodded and climbed in and tried to fit into the high cabin.
“For the first time in a big set?” I asked when he was stirred with the seat belt.
“Yeah,” he murmured, clicking on it.
“My name is Julianne, but most people call me Jules.”
He stared out the window and his voice barely whisper. “Alexi.”
We drove in silence for a while, the humming of the engine filled the silence. After a while I asked, “Where are you heading?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Run away from something?”
He nodded, but he didn’t say more.
“I’ve been driving these roads for twenty years,” I said. “I saw all the kinds of people trying to run from all sorts of things. But most of the time, running just worse.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he snapped, but his voice burst.
“You’re right,” I said. “But I know he’s looking into your eyes.”
He turned back to the window and let the silence persist.
Only ahead, a petrol station appeared, and I realized that my fuel breakup was low. I pulled myself to complement and turn to him.
“I’m going inside to pay. Do you want something?”
He shook his head, but the loud growth of the stomach betrayed him.
I grabbed a few sodas, some chips and turkey sandwiches from the inside. When I came back, I threw him.
“You can’t let you starve on your watch.”
He caught it, hesitated, and then whispered, “Thanks.”
When he ate, I asked, “Do you want to talk? It looks like you mean a lot.”
He was playing with the sandwich cover and then finally murmuring, “I fought with my mom. I escaped.”
“It must have been quite a fight.”
“She wouldn’t let me go to France with my class. Everyone else goes, but she said we couldn’t afford it,” he said, and his voice was fat emotions. “I hate that I am the poorest child in the classroom.”
When I finished the fuel, his words hung in the air. When I climbed back into the truck, I asked, “Tell me about your mom.”
“He works in a supermarket,” he murmured. “My dad left when I was small. He always works, always tired and always says we can’t afford things.”
“Sounds hard,” I said. “Things must be difficult for you.”
“Anything,” he murmured, but his indignation masked deeper injuries.
“My husband left when my twins were four,” I said. “I had to figure out how to quickly keep food on the table.”
That caught his attention. He looked at me and blinked his curiosity in his eyes. “That’s why you’re a truck driver? I have never seen a woman who does it before.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I missed a lot of moments with my kids, but you know what? They never were hungry. Your mom does the same for you.”
Sighed. “Sometimes she screams. When I think I sleep, I hear her on the phone with her aunt, I’m talking about accounts and so on.”
“It must be hard to hear.”
“I just wanted to go for one stupid trip,” he said, swallowing strongly. “Now I feel like the worst son in the world.”
“You’re not a bad son, Alexi. And your mom is not a bad mother. Both you do the best you can with what you have.”
He fell silent and chose the rest of the sandwich. After a while he said, “Can you take me to the bus stop?”
“No,” I said, looking at him. “I take you home.”
He moaned. “Kills me.”
“No,” I laughed. “She will embrace you so hard, you won’t be able to breathe for a while. Then maybe he’ll kill you.”
When we arrived in a modest house, the front door opened before Alex even got off.
“Alex!” The woman called and rushed forward. The tears ran down her face as she surrounded him in a solid embrace.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he sobbed. “I was stupid.”
She looked at me and in her eyes grateful. “Thank you. I didn’t know what to think when I found his remark. I called everyone and searched for him …”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I also had teenagers once.”
She insisted that she took a picture of me with Alex, who later published on social media in a sincere post. The post was viral and a week later my boss called me to his office.
I thought I could be released for a violation of corporate policy. Instead, he grinned and said, “Jules, our viral star! I’d like to offer you promotion.”
It was a management position, with double salary and regular hours – not more lonely highways.
That night I helped one boy find her way home. But the truth, he helped me anyway.
conclusion
When I looked back at this unexpected meeting, I realized how much a little act of kindness could wave with life. What began as a simple decision to help the hitchhiker has turned into a transformative experience that has changed both of our lives. For Alex, it was a moment of connection with his mother and realized the victims she had made for him.
For me it was a reminder that the road road was never predictable. I never expected that one night, one act of compassion, will lead to a new chapter – it offers me the stability and the presence I missed in my own life.
From that moment on, I knew that sometimes the most unexpected detours lead us exactly where we need to be. Maybe I was a truck driver for twenty years, but at that moment I discovered a different kind of journey – one where the roads were not just for the people we help, but also for ourselves.