counterbalance:
a weight or influence that balances another
I held up my sign at the highway entrance. I hoped I was doing the right thing. I mean, there were probably people who might have picked me up but didn’t because they weren’t going that far. I was in a hurry, too. At any second I expected the police to pull up and arrest me for stealing the car.
About an hour passed, but it felt like ten. I felt so weak, it was hard to hold up the sign. I was about to walk off the ramp when a car slowed, then pulled into the breakdown lane.
My heart beat wildly. My luck was back. The car had Rhode Island plates.
A woman was driving. She wore a black turtleneck and had equally black circles under her eyes.
“Do something.” She motioned to the backseat, where a little boy was screaming and crying.
I waved at the little boy. He kicked the back of his mom’s seat and howled louder. I got in and slipped on my seat belt. The mother tore back onto the road.
The boy looked like he was about three. My mom volunteered at the Head Start program. A couple of times I’d gone with her. He reminded me of those kids: a runny nose, pale skin like he didn’t play enough out in the sun.
The mom looked at me in the mirror. “This is the last time I ever go to someone’s wedding out of state. They’re so depressing, anyway. The wife-to-be was very clearly flirting with the best man. My cousin, the groom, was half in the bag as usual.”
I nodded to let her know I was listening; then I turned my attention to the screaming kid.
I played peekaboo. He screamed. I made funny faces. He kicked the back of her seat. I was afraid that if I couldn’t calm him down, the mom would kick me out of the car.
I searched around. There were the remnants of a popped balloon, some empty Coke cans, a top, and a roll of kite string.
I spun the string on the front of his car seat. He swatted it away and howled even louder.
Next, I worked at the kite string until it tore off. Then I knotted it and shaped it into a cat’s cradle. But instead of offering it to him, I played with it by myself.
After a couple of seconds, his crying slowed down and he watched. Then he held up his hands like mine. I made an arc of string on his fingers, then looped it away from him.
He giggled, then reached back for it.
“A miracle,” the mom sighed. “Where are you going in Rhode Island?”
I made waves with my hands.
“The coast?”
I nodded.
“South County?”
No.
“Newport?”
Closer.
“Imagine! You standing there with your Rhode Island sign. I would never have picked you up if it wasn’t for that sign. I thought, ‘Well, I’ll take my chances.’ I’m going to Middletown,” she said. “If we’re lucky we’ll make it by midnight. I’ll drop you there. Okay?”
Middletown was about ten miles from where I lived. A miracle, I thought. Yes.