As he drove down I-76 in his rusted old car, Ernie noticed a blue van on the side of the road. Nothing unusual, he thought. He flipped his turn signal on, and it began clicking every half second while he twisted his neck to look out the long window to his left. It was a weekday and between rush hours. There weren’t many other cars on the road, but in the busy outskirts of Akron, he always checked to be safe.

Ernie looked through the windows of the abandoned van as he passed it. The old man’s upper lip vanished underneath the lower one to make a deep, scowling frown. Whoever owned the car was probably arrested, and the police must not have sent a tow truck yet. With the way the world was anymore, he thought, it was the most probable explanation. Ernie lingered in his disapproval a little too long and noticed a Nissan driver starting to tailgate him for not getting back in the right lane.

The Nissan flew past him, and his turn signal stopped clicking as he got back over. The quiet revealed the sounds of Elvis filling his car with rockabilly gospel music. Ernie sighed, realizing he had turned into the old man who drives too slow and listens to old music.

Down the road, Ernie saw a young man walking on the grassy shoulder of the interstate. He had his hands in his jean pockets, and his hoodie was zipped up to cover his face. He was struggling to move quickly on the slanted ground to the side of the road and keeping his head down to shield his face from the wind stirred up by passing cars. Ernie realized, then, that van he’d seen hadn't been the remains of an arrest. Rather, this young man had foolishly run out of gas.

The old man let out a deep sigh, cracked his neck, and popped the turn signal switch back up. He pushed the brake, and his car came to a stop, the rumble strips warning him as he veered off the road.

Austin was biting the inside of his cheeks and looking down at his feet, paying no attention to the cars that flew past on his left until he heard the rumble strips. An old Pontiac Sunfire was pulling over to the side of the road. It was dark red and had twelve years of rust around the back wheel and under the doors. He kept his hands dug deep in his pockets with his shoulders slouched as he slowly approached the car. The elderly driver was cranking down the passenger window, and Austin nonchalantly approached.

“You stay right there,” Ernie said suddenly, speaking through the half-open window. “Is that your van?”

“What?”

“The van back there. Is it yours? Yes or no?”

Austin had trouble making out what the old man was yelling; the passing traffic was too loud. Once he understood, he explained that the van was not his. He didn’t even know what van the man was referring to.

“Ok,” Ernie said. He stared at his dashboard, unsure of what to do. “I thought you might need a ride to the gas station. But.” He kept staring at his dash and trying to think of what his wife would have done.

“Can I use your phone?” Austin asked. “I don’t have mine. But if I could just call my friend, Jim, he could—”

“What would I give you my phone for? You’d run off with it!”

“I’d what?”

“I don’t have a phone. Do you need a ride? I can give you a ride.”

Austin looked at the old man, surprised at how quickly he’d thrown aside his quiet pondering. But Austin assumed the outburst was just a typical grandpa-moment, harmless. There wasn’t much hesitation in the young man as he reached for the handle of Ernie’s car door. The door was heavy and long since it was made to let passengers into the backseats. It swung out so far that Austin had to step back a little to get around it. Austin sat down gingerly, keeping his back straight and trying to keep a proper and polite posture. Meanwhile, the old man was reaching behind him, fumbling to get something from the compartment on the door.

“Keep your hands on your knees,” the old man ordered.

Austin complied, putting both hands on his knees after closing the heavy door. Ernie never took his eyes off of the passenger as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from the door and quickly slapped them on the young man’s wrists.

“What the fuck?” Austin had been cuffed before he even realized what the old man was doing. He never expected such a withered grandpa to move so quickly, let alone to pull out handcuffs. He jerked around in his seat and started searching for the door handle again.

“There now.” The old man said, “Settle down. Don’t have a heart attack.” He put a hand on Austin’s shoulder and pulled him away from the door. “I’ll uncuff you when you get out. But, if you want a ride, you wear the cuffs. You do want a ride?”

Austin stopped squirming and stared at the old man with a gaping mouth. He blinked a few times and nodded absentmindedly, not fully realizing what the old man was after. Was he being kidnapped, or what?

"No one else has offered to drive you, no?" Ernie said while he started to put the car in drive.

“No. You. You’re the first.”

“Yeah, of course I am. No one else has the decency. All the good people are gone. Gone like. Nevermind.” He looked at the young man in his car and regained his rough composure, “If you want to take your chances with them, go ahead and get out now.”

Austin looked down at the shackles the old man had slapped on his wrists. They were legit, he thought, and a little too tight on one wrist. But, if he used his thumb to press the cuff away from his wrist bone, it would be tolerable. It would only be a twenty-minute drive. He could put up with the old man until he could get another ride. He didn’t trust the man who cuffed him, but the frail geezer wasn’t much of a threat.

“You’re crazy, old man. But I’m in a hurry, so whatever. Just drive. Can you take me into Medina?”

“I'm going there anyway,” Ernie said as he pulled back onto the road.

Ernie didn’t like how confident his passenger was. Arrogant, even when he was cuffed. Deep down, he knew the cuffs were probably over the top, but he wouldn’t take the chance. Elaine had always told him to trust people, and she could always get along with anyone she met. She might even have gotten along with this kid in the hoodie who sat too straight and thought he was in charge.

“You know why I cuffed you?” Ernie asked. “I don’t want some punk like you getting in my car and then trying to hold me at gunpoint. It happens. People let in a hitchhiker, and they pull a gun. Hold it low so no one can see they're being held hostage. Get you to rob a bank with them. Or liquor store. Or whatever. They make you the driver, so the police track your license plate. And when they're done, they just kill you and take your car. I won’t have you hijacking me like some gang—”

“I get it.” Austin didn’t doubt that what the old man was saying had happened at least once. But it certainly hadn’t happened around Akron. The people weren’t smart enough or organized enough. “I'm not going to do any of that.”

Ernie looked away from Austin and kept his eyes on the road for most of their journey. “You get your seat belt on, you hear me? You can still reach it with the cuffs on. I know you can.”

Austin did so, wondering if the old man had done this to someone before. It was awkward and uncomfortable trying to reach over his right shoulder with the cuffs, but the chain was just long enough to let him.

The men exchanged names while the car groaned and sped up to seventy. They talked about where Ernie would drop Austin off, agreeing on a grocery store near the highway exit where Austin had a friend working as a cashier.

“Why were you on the side of the Interstate, Austin? Do you have a death wish? Are you crazy?”

“You’re the crazy one. Who handcuffs a hitchhiker?”

“It’s called self-preservation, young man.”

“It’s called criminal.”

“You want out?”

“Oh God!” Austin screamed because Ernie had, without warning, swerved his car back to the side of the road. “No! I’m good.”

The old man smirked. “A thank you would be nice,” he said as he got back on the road and kept moving forward.

“Thank you for not getting us both killed.”

The old man scoffed and kept his eyes on the road. He hadn’t noticed that Austin never mentioned why he needed a ride, and Austin was just fine with not having to say. The Elvis music jumped in to fill the silence. The CD was a collection of gospel music, singing “rock my soul” and “how great thou art.” The swinging, jazzy tune of it made Austin a little sick, and he wondered why Ernie even had it on since he seemed to be ignoring it.

“Your logic doesn’t even make sense,” Austin said. “With the handcuffs, I mean.”

“How’s that?”

“If you don’t want me to pull a gun on you, then you should have cuffed me behind my back. Or patted me down first, or something. If I can reach the seatbelt what makes you think I couldn’t reach my gun?”

“So you do have a gun?”

“No! A hypothetical gun.”

“You start reaching behind you. I'll bust you in the nose. You remember that.”

“I’m not saying that’s what I’ll do.” Austin tried not to laugh at the idea of the frail man trying to hit him. “Besides, just because you hit me doesn’t mean I can’t still get a gun out. If I had a gun in the first place.” Ernie looked him in the eyes. “Which I don’t.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. This is completely unnecessary.”

“You know a lot about all of this. You been handcuffed before?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

“You don't believe me?”

"No. And I'm not uncuffing you until you're out of my car. Now stop asking and be grateful. Not that you know how, I’m sure.”

Austin kept his shackled hands in his lap and watched the cars pass them. They were going the speed limit, but that didn’t matter. Everything but the occasional semi-truck was going faster than them. It was best not to argue, Austin thought. It didn’t matter if the old man understood how stupid his handcuffing plan was. He tried to stay silent and let the issue drop, but it wasn't as easy to stay quiet as he hoped. Ernie wanted to have a conversation.

“Do you have any kids?” Ernie asked.

“I’m twenty.”

“I didn’t ask how old you are. I asked do you have any kids.”

“No. I’m only twenty.”

“Does that mean you can’t have kids? People have kids younger than that these days.”

“If their condom breaks or something. No. I don’t have kids.”

Elvis stopped singing a moment after the men stopped talking. The CD spun around before it started playing from the beginning.

“Are you a fan of Elvis?” Ernie asked.

“Not really.”

“Of course not. You must listen to rap and hip-hop.”

Austin said nothing. He just looked out the side window and let the old man talk.

“This CD belonged to my wife,” Ernie said

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Your wife. She’s—”

“Dead? No,” he looked over at the youth sitting in his car. “You think just because I’m old that my wife must be dead?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, I’ll have you know my wife is perfectly alive. So are my kids and my grandkids. And they all know where I am and when I should be home. If you pull anything—anything at all—they’ll know something happened to me and you won’t make it anywhere before the cops come for you.”

“For the love of God, old man, I’m not trying to take you hostage.”

“Sure you’re not. Just want to steal my car.”

“I don’t want your beat up old car.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t.”

Ernie just frowned and kept his eyes on the road. He was insulted that Austin assumed Elaine was dead. What arrogance, he thought. The old man avoided eye contact, though, in case Austin could catch his bluff from facial cues.

The men stopped talking again while Elvis sang “Swing Down Sweet Chariot, stop, and let me ride” in his trademarked southern-gospel fashion. Austin let the music pass through his ears. He was too focused on the feeling of his gun rubbing on his back, making it hard to sit normally. He never intended to shoot Ernie, but now he was considering it. He never planned to take Ernie’s car, either. It was all too much drama. Go to jail for murder or grand theft auto. He thought he could probably get his gun out and shoot the grumpy old man right there and then, but what good would that do? He'd wreck the car and kill himself too.

Austin tried to forget about Ernie's abrasive attitude and started thinking about how he'd been thrown out of the car by his girlfriend, Mandy. She learned he'd been selling drugs to her classmates whenever he visited her. He called her a bitch. She called him a bastard. She kicked him out of her Land Rover and drove away with his phone in her car. The last thing she said was that she'd call the police, and he was so angry that he was starting to imagine everything he’d do to stop her. Win her back? Makeup sex? Threaten her family? Shoot her? Whatever worked best. When Ernie came along, he had more immediate problems.

As soon as this old man uncuffed him, he thought, he would take the car and drive down to see Mandy. He felt the old man deserved to have his car stolen now. Deserved to be shot—more so than a bitchy girlfriend anyway.

“Do you want a butterscotch candy?” Ernie asked.

“No thank you.”

“Well, there are some in the center console there.” Ernie bumped the shared armrest with his elbow. “My grandkids love them,” he added. “Grab me one.”

Austin opened the console with his cuffed hands and awkwardly reached in to dig out the hard candy. When he looked in the compartment, he saw the Elvis CD case with an orange sticky note on it. “Be nice – Elaine.” It was signed with a heart next to the woman’s name. Austin pushed the case aside and grabbed a butterscotch to give to Ernie.

“Take one for yourself.”

"I don't want one," Austin said.

“I insist. I’ve been rude, now take one.”

Austin unwrapped a candy and put it in his mouth.

“What? Did you think it was poison or something?” Ernie asked. He expected to hear a laugh, but none came.

“Why would I, old man?”

“You don’t trust me.”

“You don’t trust me!”

Ernie smacked the turn signal up as he pulled the car’s wheel to the right and into the exit lane. He had nearly missed the turn while Austin was fussing with the candies.

“You’re going to kill us driving like that,” Austin said.

“Shut up.”

“You're one hell of an old bastard. You know that?”

“Oh am I?”

“What kind of person cuffs a hitchhiker only to kill him in a wreck?”

“The kind of person who isn’t going to let you shoot him, steal his car, or take him hostage.”

“The way you act I’m surprised someone hasn’t shot you already.”

“You keep talking. Shoot me, you won’t make it three feet. My wife will have the cops on you in no time. See how the cops treat you when they let you in their car.”

He tried not to think about his wife, but couldn’t.

“I’m not going to shoot you. I don’t even have a gun.”

Elvis kept singing gospel songs while the two sat in silence, looking at each other from the corners of their eyes. Austin kept his hands in his lap, knowing better than to try anything before he got his cuffs off. Ernie kept both hands on the wheel, ready to stop the attack he thought was imminent. Ernie said the only thing he could think of.

“Do you go to church, kid?”

“With my grandmother.”

“Sure you do.”

“If you don’t believe me, then why did you ask?”

“Why did you lie?”

“That was the truth. I go to church enough to know Jesus wasn’t going around handcuffing people who needed a lift in his horse carriage or whatever.”

“He didn’t go around shooting people either.”

“Why can't you believe that I wouldn't want to kill you and steal your car to rob a bank with?”

“Because I know that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

“Then why did you let me in in the first place?”

“Believe it or not, there are still some decent people in this world.”

“And you’re one of them?”

Ernie didn’t respond.

“You think you’re being nice because you let me into your car and gave me a piece of candy. You’re a crazy old bastard. Let me out here. I’d rather walk than accept your help.”

“Hold your horses, kid. I’m letting you off in town where there are witnesses.”

They were getting closer to their destination every second, and they finally gave up talking. Ernie tried to think of the safest way to get rid of the hitchhiker. Austin was focused on his gun still, convincing himself not to use it on a man just for annoying him.

The car came to a sudden stop in the middle of the parking lot. Austin pulled the door handle, and the Sunfire’s long door swung wide. If there were another car next to them, he would have taken a two-foot chunk out of it.

“Come around to my window. I'll uncuff you.”

If Ernie were smart, Austin thought, he would have just thrown the keys out the window. Austin came around to the driver-side and held his arms out for Ernie to unlock them. The old man put the car in park so he could look in the door pocket for the keys.

“Now you put your hands straight up in the air until I pull away,” Ernie said as he unlocked the handcuffs.

“Whatever, old man.” Austin looked around the parking lot. It was small, and everyone who had parked had gone into the building. No cars were passing by either.

As soon as the cuffs were off, Ernie pulled them into the car and threw them on the passenger seat. He put the car into drive without taking his eyes off of Austin who had not put his hands in the air.

“Is this where you prove me right? Keep your hands in the air or else.”

Ernie remembered that he couldn’t pull straight out and tried to shift into reverse, moving too far and ending up back in park.

“Or else what?” Austin said as he took the gun out of his belt. It was satisfying to finally be in charge and to see Ernie's eyes widen with fear. “You're ridiculous. I don't want to shoot you. I mean, I didn’t before I met you. I don't need that drama. Go to prison for killing a grumpy, judgmental, old man? No thanks.”

Ernie looked down and tried again to pull it into reverse, but he was in too much of a panic.

Austin put the gun to the old man's face. "Hell, I have no use for your stupid car. But since all you seem to think I'm capable of is taking it, then I think I will.” He reached in the window to open it from the inside saying, “Get out.”

“Help! Help!” Ernie finally managed to make a sound as he fell on the pavement and looked up at the young man. He felt small. He felt old. And Austin could see that all of his tough talk was empty.

Austin never intended to pull the trigger. With Ernie finally quivering like the sorry old man that he was, Austin was satisfied. He got in the car, threw the Elvis CD at the old man on the ground, and drove away in the rusted, red Sunfire. If he hurried, he thought, he could convince Mandy not to call the police.

Ernie watched his car drive away, and he said nothing. His hands trembled as he reached for the CD to make sure it wasn’t broken. Ernie held the gospel album close to his chest while someone ran across the parking lot, asking if he was alright.