There was a long-haul truck driver named Eli who drove the night routes between cities no one visited on purpose.

He hauled strange cargo. Sometimes fruit. Sometimes scrap metal. Sometimes refrigerated medicine. Sometimes crates with labels so boring they seemed designed to discourage curiosity.

He liked the silence of highways at two in the morning. It made room for thinking.

One winter night, while stopped at a desolate truck depot, a thin old man approached his cab and asked if he could ride along to the next state.

“I have nothing to pay,” the man said.

Eli shrugged. “Climb in.”

The old man carried no luggage, only a small notebook filled with cramped handwriting.

As they drove, the man began asking questions — not small talk, but real questions.

Why do you drive?

What do you carry that isn’t on the manifest?

When was the last time you forgave someone who didn’t apologize?

Eli answered sarcastically at first, then more slowly, then honestly.

After an hour, the old man said something strange.

“You are not transporting goods. You are transporting thresholds.”

Eli laughed.........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)