My encounter with Benji was one of those conversations where you start talking, thinking you’ll just exchange a couple sentences, and then discover that you’re so interested in each other that the talking just goes on and on.
He was 19 years old, headed south to Halifax. I asked him if 19 felt young to be hitchhiking across the country and he laughed warmly. He hitchhiked to Vancouver when he was 16.
A few weeks ago, he left Montréal with $20. No phone. The clothes on his back. He said he had $10 left after buying a hot meal and some bread. “I’m not worried,” he added in his young French accent. “Actually, I want to get a tattoo, I decided.”
He described his plan for a tattoo of Percé Rock as a souvenir. (You should think of ‘souvenir’ in the sense of the French verb ‘to remember,’ not so much in the tourist sense.) He found a local shop and they said they could do it for $60, leaving him just $50 short. Then he met someone who gave him a harmonica as a way to make up the extra money.
I uploaded a short video, again not colour graded for efficiency’s sake.
I think it matters to know that there are people like him, 19 years old with his thumb out on the highway, a harmonica against his lips and the word ‘love’ inked on his fingers. He smiled at a stranger and mixed English with French and disappeared into the gathering dusk.
He wrote his name in my journal, and it wasn’t until the following night that I realized he wrote a message to go along with it. “Je te souhaite bonne chance avec ton voyage ! Tu m’impressionnes beaucoup. Travel safe and take it easy.” It concluded with a peace sign.
You can shake your head at youthfulness, if you want, or at the beatnik stereotype. You can ignore the sound of a road-spent harmonica. I, for one, hope he gets his tattoo.