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Wednesday, November 05, 2003
freakin' long, but at least it's funny.
this is a story sent to me by Tim Tobitsch (the trombone-playing, GCC-hockey-team-managing, curly-haired dude who graduated last year and who desires to be the premier spokesperson for hotdogs in America and to start the first chain of fruit juice and hotdog bars on the east coast), about his strange encounters with his Alzheimer-ridden grandparents last weekend.
i know it's freakin' long, but just deal. it's pretty great. especially if you know Tim Tobitsch.
...now...i give you:
"Homeward Bound: The Senile Journey"
by Tim Tobitsch
Saturday November 1, 2003
In the summer of 2002 my mom made a guest entry in my internship journal, and wrote a piece entitled "My Big Fat Austrian Funeral: What Tim Misses While He Interns." Some of you are familiar with that tale, while others of you are not. Those who want to be familiar with that particular saga are invited to ask me for a copy. Regardless, I give you the sequel:
"In the words of President Lowell of Harvard: 'when Columbus set out he did not know where he was going; when he arrived he did not know where he was; when he returned he did not know where he had been, but all the same he discovered America.'"
The World's Greatest Letters. Pg 61. "Christopher Columbus Reports His First Impressions of America." Copyright 1940 by Simon and Schuster, 2003 Barnes and Noble
My morning began much like a typical Saturday morning unfolds for many an American as, after watching SportsCenter, I sat in my rocking chair reading the New York Times. An article about men who wear skirts in Brooklyn caught my eye. Circa 10:15 am, midway through learning about men who appreciate a good draft, my phone buzzed.
The number was a familiar one, but I couldn't quite place it. Then I realized the call came from the second line at my house in New Jersey. Curious, I answered the phone to find my mom on the other end of the line. I assumed she had a computer question since our PC is right next to the only jack for that line. Before I had the chance to ask questions, I could tell by her voice that this would be a highly abnormal conversation. "We may need your help," she said, "your great aunt and uncle are in a hospital near Cleveland."
Probably lots of people who live in Pittsburgh have great aunts and uncles who end up in hospitals near Cleveland, but mine, named Artie and Helen, who possess a median age of 85 and are afflicted collectively with Alzheimer's as well as various other common geriatric maladies, live in Toms River, NJ. That would be the Toms River very near the Atlantic Ocean and nowhere near Lake Erie. "This can't be right," I thought to myself as my mom continued to tell me the few other details she knew.
Apparently they had gone for a car ride without telling anyone. Artie stopped at a rest stop so Helen could use the bathroom. Helen, who until this past Saturday I considered virtually immobile, fell down while exiting the vehicle. Artie tried to help her up, hurt his back, and soon joined her on the gravel. They spent possibly the whole night lying outside their car and at approximately 8:30 am were apprehended by the police. At that point they were brought to an Ohio hospital for testing in an attempt to discover the source of their considerable disorientation.
After further discussion and verification that my great aunt and uncle really were in Ohio, I agreed to go meet them since, from a geographical standpoint, I was by far their closest relative. I was told that, Henry, their son and stepson respectively, had started the "10 hour" trip to meet them at the hospital. Upon hearing that, I remarked that it shouldn't take 10 hours to travel from New York to Cleveland. My mom, who was having multiple telephone conversations simultaneously, told me that they were in a town called Wauseon, and that she had been mistaken. It wasn't Cleveland that they were outside of but Toledo.
Toledo?? Toledo!! Toledo?!?! Toledo is only three hours from Chicago, four and a half hours from Pittsburgh, and definitely well over 600 miles from 8 Beaverbrook Lane, Toms River. But sure enough, the Fulton County Health Center (FCHC) in Wauseon, was where Artie and Helen were reported to be located and where I was headed. After a quick shower, some hasty travel lunch arrangements, and the enlistment of my friend Kelly Dee for company on the trip, I hit the road, just a shade after 11:00 am.
Having traveled to Chicago for the first time this summer I was familiar with the general route we needed take, and as we traversed the interstate Kelly and I wondered aloud how and why this entire scenario possibly could have transpired. About 45 minutes into the trip I got an update call from my mom. Much to my surprise, Artie and Helen came away from their respective falls relatively unscathed. The hospital was ready to release them.
While talking to my mom, a new plan quickly unfurled. She learned from me that Kelly was along for the ride. I learned from her that Henry didn't have a cell phone, but that he was intermittently staying in touch with Arthur, another member of the extended family. Upon arrival in Wauseon, I would attempt to reclaim Artie's vehicle and, with Artie and Helen in tow, head east in his car, while Kelly would follow in my minivan. Hopefully then, we could rendezvous with Henry in Grove City, Pennsylvania, hometown of my alma mater and an hour north of Pittsburgh, and cut his trip nearly in half. Certain things had to fall into place, but it seemed very reasonable to believe I could probably make that happen.
Around 3 pm, we approach Wauseon when KISS, the band, or KISS' biggest fan drives by us on the interstate. Who was in the uniquely styled black Dodge van with heavily tinted windows we'll never know for sure, but we do know that the van itself had more KISS insignia, including giant window sticker portraits of the four members in full regalia on the back door, per square inch than anything either of us had ever seen. In fact, quite possibly this van was more decked out in KISS paraphernalia than Gene Simmons or Ace Frehley ever have been themselves. Could it be that KISS was planning on visiting Artie and Helen as well? The way this story goes I could claim that to be the case and no one would be surprised.
By now Kelly had obtained specific directions to the hospital. While disappointed to see that KISS chose not to exit the interstate with us, the positive vibe generated by the fact that we had almost arrived couldn't be tempered.
As a native of New Jersey who went to Grove City College, I consider myself very familiar with Route 80 in Pennsylvania that is. In Pennsylvania Route 80 is a toll free road. I had driven on 80 in Ohio in the past so I was aware that things are different there in that it is a toll road. I had my ticket in my hand prepared to pay my toll. Nonetheless, at this point I was very focused on finding FCHC and I was staring ahead at a traffic light where I needed to make a left hand turn. In doing so, my eyes were focused directly through and beyond the toll collection point. For whatever reason, in Ohio there is no physical barrier to prohibit you from blowing through a turnpike toll at 45 miles per hour and that is exactly what I did.
I'm sure I never would have noticed what I had done had I not promptly heard enraged screaming coming from behind my car. My eyes shifted upward to see a uniformed woman standing in the road and wildly gesticulating in my rear view mirror. Sheepishly, I backed up to the toll collector to pay my fee and try to explain the rather distracting nature of my present situation. None too pleased, she took my money and sent me on my way, but not before her partner, an older gentleman, at the other window had the chance to tell me that I could have killed him had he been crossing between booths. I wanted to thank him for his astute observational skills, but I refrained and finally reached the traffic light where I was to turn left.
After that, we found the hospital without too much difficulty. As described to us on the telephone, it was indeed the only five story building in town. We were also told that it was right in the center of town. Since as far as I can tell "towns" as I know them don't really exist in Ohio that point was highly debatable. We were within five miles of a Wal-Mart, so I guess by Penn-Ohio definition we really were at the center of something just short of a bustling metropolis. In any case, we found the hospital just as I was wondering if we had somehow missed it, a common phenomenon for me in Ohio, and headed inside.
Upon entering the building I approached the first person behind a desk that I saw and began this story. "Ummm, hiii" [Insert bewildered facial expression and vocal inflection not reproducible by means of text]. My name is Tim Tobitsch. I'm the grandnephew of Otto and Helen Tobitsch. They're from New Jersey, are quite senile, and somehow have ended up in your hospital. I've just drove from Pittsburgh and I'm hoping to find them, my family is very concerned."
Strike one; this woman had no idea what I was talking about. She directed me to another office where I began recounting my tale again. This time the woman I was speaking to new exactly what I was talking about. Relieved, I thought to myself that the most complicated part of my day had perhaps drawn to a close. Kelly and I were taken to the post-trauma unit, and while weaving through a couple sets of doors and what seemed to be a maze of bed curtains I became quite disoriented myself.
At this point I still wasn't convinced that Artie and Helen really were in Wauseon. At least 43% of me expected to walk into a room and find two elderly people I had never seen before who had somehow stolen my relatives' identities. Truthfully, that seemed to be about as plausible a situation as the real Artie and Helen surviving the 630 mile trip they had apparently taken without any aid.
As I was preparing myself for just such a situation, we took one final turn and, sure enough, there were my great aunt and uncle peacefully sitting together and by all appearances entirely unaware of the ordeal they had been through. I said hello and thankfully they recognized who I was. I told them I was going to take them to see Henry and they were genuinely appreciative. Then it was time to speak to the doctor who had attended to them, whose demeanor I will only describe as something other than appreciative.
He spoke to me in this weird soft yet stern, muttery yet cogent tone of voice. I wasn't following him entirely but basically he had run a battery of tests in attempt to explain how Artie and Helen possibly could have become so disoriented and confused so far from home. His findings were that they had to have been every bit as disoriented and confused when they left home. In other words, their unstable condition was quite stable in terms of permanence and I, as a relative, had no business allowing them to do what they had done. He used the terms "brain shrinkage" and "nonmalignant tumors," and that's really all I remember. I simply told him I didn't have any power to control their living situation directly but that I was sure the matter would be addressed. He handed me some medical papers I was to give to Henry with the words "NO DRIVING!!!" prominently written on the bottom of the page.
Having dealt with the official hospital side of things, it was time for the fun to really begin. I asked one of the emergency room workers if she knew where my uncle's car was. She had absolutely no idea, but she did call the local police precinct for me. She hung up the phone and told me, "it's at mile 27.5." I asked her what she meant by that and she said "Oh, mile 27.5 of the Turnpike," or Route 80. I asked her whether that was an exit or a rest stop, to which she replied, "There's no exit. The car is on the shoulder of the highway, where they left it." Apparently Artie had stopped the car and Helen had got out to go to the bathroom on the highway shoulder. Their collective fall occurred on the side of the road. Possibly they spent hours lying on the interstate unable to get up, before a concerned passer-by notified the proper authorities. How they are still alive and as healthy as they were before this happened I will never understand.
The next item of business was to locate my uncle's car keys. I wasn't confident that he would know where they were, but fortunately he had them in his jeans pocket. He gave them to me without a struggle and I told him I would be back in a little while and that then we would go home. He told me to take my time because he wasn't in a rush. Just as we were ready to leave I received a call from Henry's girlfriend. I updated her on our progress and arranged to meet them, most likely around 9:00 pm, at the Elephant and Castle, an English pub and restaurant, in Grove City. She told me that would work well for them, that they would make hotel arrangements in the area, and that I would hear back from them at about 8:30 pm.
Kelly and I returned to my van to head back to Route 80, and I quickly realized I would have to deal with the wrath of the toll collectors I had so deeply offended once more if we were to return to the hospital. Nonetheless, there wasn't much of a choice at this point so we continued on undeterred.
Now less than 30 miles from Indiana, we spotted a car on the side of the road. Until that point I was very concerned that it would be the stereotypical old person's car; large but a couple of decades removed from being in charge. I thought for sure that the car would break down somewhere on the way back to Pennsylvania.
Much to my delight, I found a 2002 Chevy Malibu, with CD player, on mile 27.5 of the Turnpike. After all, I'm sure Artie and Helen have a vast collection of CDs they listen to in the car on a regular basis on their many road trips. I only wish I could tell you I'm certain about the sarcasm of that last statement.
The Malibu had just less than 15,000 miles on it at the time of my discovery. This gave me great confidence that we would indeed complete our mission, but at the same time caused me to wonder just where else Artie and Helen had unwittingly traveled. Simply put, a car that young doesn't rack up that many miles by making grocery store runs. Perhaps they had already been to Chicago on this trip before they were discovered in Wauseon.
I hopped into the Malibu and was overwhelmed by the stench of stale cigarettes contained within. I don't smoke, but through a caddying gig in high school I've been exposed to more than my fair share of second hand smoke to the extent where it rarely ever bothers me at all. That said, once I was enclosed in this car my eyes involuntarily started to tear. Fortunately, I adapted quickly and the odor never became a significant issue. However, as I turned the key in the ignition another fear of mine became reality. The fuel gauge didn't move and immediately the low fuel warning light came on.
Despite its indication of a complete lack of gas the car was running so I started driving and Kelly followed behind. Since west was my only option that's where I headed, and with each passing mile I became further removed from the hospital. Relatively quickly by Ohio standards I came across an exit. I got off of 80 and asked the toll collector where I would find the nearest gas station. The good news was that a station was straight down the road; the bad news was that same station was seven miles down the road. Thankfully the Malibu made it without complication to the station, with the exception of a windshield wiper occasionally swiping for no apparent reason, and I filled up the tank. From there it was back to the hospital, and with the car restarted the wiper stayed in place.
I pulled up to my toll collector buddy and exclaimed, "I'm back; terribly sorry about last time. Anyway, can I pay for the car behind me too?" This time around, there was no gesticulating and she was much friendlier. I gave her a dollar and we amicably parted ways. I guess seeing a new car to go with the car I was driving during our previous engagement added credibility to my story. From there Kelly and I returned to the hospital without incident.
As I was exiting the Malibu I heard a strange beeping noise and I thought I had done something bad to the vehicle. Then I realized it was only my phone in a roaming zone sounding a special warning ring. I answered the call to discover that it was the hospital checking to see if I had become lost. I explained to them that I had to get gas for the car at a rather out of the way location and hence was gone longer than anticipated but had just returned
By now it was 5:30 and as we returned to the trauma center I commented to Kelly that Artie and Helen may not have had anything to eat in quite some time. I wondered aloud what to do about that because I was unaware of any dietary restrictions either of them may and probably do have. I decided that I would need to talk to the people in ER about what to do. Conveniently, just as I returned to Artie and Helen a nurse mentioned that dinner was being served and inquired as to whether I'd like to have them eat something before we left. I gratefully took her up on the offer.
For the next half-hour I got to know the people in ER quite a bit better. Nearly all of them made a point of telling me how pleasant Artie and Helen were to have around. One nurse informed me that they had left Toms River for Yonkers, New York and had become lost. Additionally, they were quite surprised to learn that they were in Ohio.
In the meantime, Artie seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his meal as he cleaned his plate. Helen, on the other hand, wasn't eating anything. I went over to her to see if I could change her mind. After reestablishing that I was going to help her find Henry, she told me that there was too much food on her plate. If she ate some of it then nobody else would be able to eat the rest and she didnt want it to go to waste. I told her that she should eat as much as she wanted and that I would eat the rest to which she promptly responded, "I don't want you to have to eat this." Then I asked her if I could get a separate plate to serve her what she would be willing to eat. She agreed to that and we were in business.
6:00 pm had come and gone and we were finally ready to get back on the road. Kelly and I pulled both cars to the Emergency Room loading area and I prepared myself for what I anticipated to be a long trip. While doing this, the hospital folks attempted to get Artie and Helen to use the bathroom one last time before they left. Once on the road, I wanted to avoid stopping if possible but figured that at least one bathroom break would probably be in the works.
Helen, via a wheel chair, was loaded into the Malibu first. She said she preferred to sit in the front seat so we put her there. That left Artie with the back seat and he seemed okay with that. Able to walk on his own, but severely stooped over, he climbed into the back with minimal help and we were almost ready to roll. After checking to make sure they had all their possessions and grabbing a back-up diaper and a box of tissues for Helen we finally began what would prove to be the most exciting segment of our journey.
The first half-hour of our trip to Grove City went relatively smoothly. Both Helen and Artie seemed to be aware that they were far from home, not in the best shape, and that I was taking them to see Henry. Helen sat quietly and occasionally reached over to touch my face or arm, I guess to make sure that I was still there. Artie would run through three different conversation starters pretty much constantly. "Well, at least the weather's nice," was the most common, and I don't think he'll ever realize how accurate that statement was. Had it not been unseasonably warm I'm not sure they would have survived their time spent lying on the side of the road.
Every time a truck passed by it was, "That's a big truck. Look at all the lights. An 18-wheeler. Isn't it amazing that man can make something like a truck."
"It sure is, Artie," I would reply every time.
Phrase three was simply, "You sure know these roads better than I do." Every time I heard that I thought to myself, "Artie, you have no idea."
At one point I commented that we were in Ohio and headed toward Pittsburgh. Artie then mentioned that he thought his father lived in Pittsburgh at one point. This excited me because I knew my late grandfather, Artie's older brother, was born in Lyndora, a Pittsburgh suburb, before moving to the Bronx at a very early age. I told him he was right and asked if he had ever been to Pittsburgh. He told me hadn't and the fact that he responded to my question got me pumped up.
I desperately wanted to maintain a dialogue with him to try and keep him from zoning out and entering whatever world it is that Alzheimer's victims enter. I wasn't successful for very long but for a little while Artie told me about what it was like to see the George Washington Bridge (connecting New Jersey and Upper Manhattan) be built. That was a pretty great thing.
About 30 minutes into our trip Helen started to become noticeably more confused. She would look at the armrest between our seats and ask me what it was. When I told her it was an armrest she would say, "Oh, I thought it was my suitcase and I wanted you to move it. Forgive me." This kind of harmless banter was exactly the kind of thing I expected and it didn't bother me in the slightest.
Five or ten minutes later, Helen very much stopped being aware that she was in a moving vehicle. At one point she told me that I should go to sleep on the sofa in the spare room. I repeatedly had to explain to her that we were driving in a car, were a long way from home, and that it would be a while before any of us could get in bed.
Shortly after that she lost track of Artie and a torturous and precipitous downward spiral for both of them ensued. Literally, about once a minute Helen would call out "Artie, where are you?" to which he would respond, "What do you want?" She would then say, "Will you take me in now?" About the first dozen times Artie would simply ask, "Where do you want me to take you?" I then would explain to Helen that we were in a moving car and that there was nowhere to go in. That would sink in and about ten seconds later the sequence would begin anew.
Now approximately one hour into our trip, slightly after 7 pm, Helen was more convinced than ever that her bedtime was now. She began to try to open the car while we were driving. Despite the fact that I was trying to keep the door locked at all times, she at one point succeeded in partially opening it. I then sternly explained that she couldn't get out of a moving car and that I would not under any circumstances allow them to get out on the shoulder of the highway because that was exactly how they ended up in the hospital in the first place. Upon hearing that she simply remarked, "Tough." Later, she held a blanket over my face so I couldn't see while I was driving. It's entirely possible that she did that only by accident, but I'll never know one way or another. After that occurred and she continued to attempt to further open the door I determined that I would need to continue driving with one arm wrapped firmly around Helen if the three of us had any intention of arriving anywhere alive.
At this point, Kelly could tell something was wrong as she followed behind the Malibu. Limbs were flailing, cruise control was no longer engaged, and I was observably swerving from time to time. I decided to pull over on the shoulder so I could fully close Helen's door. Worried that Artie would get out as I did this, I repeatedly pressed the lock button as I reached across the car to shut the front passenger door. Unbeknownst to me, Kelly had got out of my minivan and started toward the Malibu to see if everything was all right. As I pulled back onto the road she had to rush back to the Windstar so as to be able to continue following me.
Soon after we began moving again Helen mentioned that she now needed to go to the bathroom before she went to bed. Artie picked up on that and, protective of her by nature, wanted to help her out. He started to encourage me to pull over on the shoulder, it was "more than wide enough" in places and Helen needed to go. I told him that I'd stop at the next rest stop but that we would absolutely not stop on the shoulder. If Helen needed to go to the bathroom before we arrived at a rest stop she would simply have to go in the car. Artie took exception to this and his persona quickly became venomous.
He began swearing up a storm, using words I didn't know existed when he was young enough to most likely be hip to such knowledge, and calling me names I've never called anyone in my life. Only he wasn't really swearing at me, because at this point as far as he was concerned I was someone named "Bobby." "This is the last time you #$@*&$*$ drive us anywhere. I've been driving for sixty years, you don't know what you're doing, #*$@*%$%@&$*(ing Bobby. Pull over on the #$!$% shoulder @$#% it," is essentially what I had to deal with for the next 15 minutes or so.
Nonetheless, I had no interest in pulling over on the shoulder because that would only leave me with angry 80-somethings who were now on the loose rather than contained; oblivious to the peril they were placing themselves in. At the same time I was very much aware that in my present state I was a driving liability what with one hand on the wheel, one hand restraining a passenger who didn't know she was going for a ride, and my vision being intermittently obstructed. Artie became more and more incensed and I just kept driving, praying that a rest stop would come sooner than later. I didn't believe there to be any suitable alternative.
By this point I began to think that going all the way to Grove City might not be the wisest thing. I thought that perhaps it would be best to find a hotel and seek some sort of professional assistance in transporting Artie and Helen the rest of the way to Henry, or even all the way to Toms River. Partly for the sake of my sanity, and partly to seek advice I decided to call my parents. I explained that Artie and Helen were having attitudinal issues and that I wasn't sure what the best course of action to take would be. My dad wanted to try to calm Artie down, but Artie had no interest in talking on the telephone, especially since I, or Bobby if you will, was the one making that suggestion to him. My mom then suggested that I call 911. That seemed a little dramatic to me, but it was better than anything I had been able to come up with on my own so I decided to make the call.
I had never called 911 before and I felt marginally ridiculous attempting to explain my situation. By the time I was done the operator was telling me to continue driving to the nearest rest stop, which had been my plan all along. The only difference was that now there would be Ohio State Troopers waiting for me at that rest stop. Just as the operator was telling me where that nearest rest stop was I finally saw a sign myself that indicated a rest stop would appear in six miles. With a definite measurement in mind, I assured Artie that we would be stopping shortly but he only continued his tirade, informing me that "I didn't know what I was talking about."
We made it to the rest stop in one piece, and as soon as we came to a stop Artie struggled out of the car. He opened the front door and started trying to pull Helen out of the car while informing her that "I didn't care about them and would just keep talking on the phone." About when Artie had Helen half out of the car two troopers located us. One immediately went to help Artie with Helen and the other came over to get the story from me.
My plan was to ask the troopers about hotel accommodations, but as I went through my day, my voice becoming ever more steady, the conversation went in another direction.
"I'll tell you what," said the trooper. "I have a mother just like this, you just have to treat them like kids." I promptly responded, "I don't have kids." He kind of chuckled and then asked, "How did you get roped into this job anyway, son?" I explained that I was the relative closest to where they were discovered, and that Kelly was simply a friend who had no idea what she was getting into when she agreed to help. Of course, that's not meant to suggest that I did have an idea at the time of our departure.
The trooper then looked at Kelly and said, "I'll tell you what, if he's driving, you've got to do everything you can to keep them engaged."
Kelly responded, "That won't work, I'm driving his car while he drives theirs."
Then the trooper kind of glanced at both of us and quizzically in a foreboding sort of way just said "oooohhhh."
From there we decided that the best course of action was to press on to Grove City despite the fact that we were still more than 100 miles from the Pennsylvania border. After a brief conference it was determined that the best course of action would be to sit Artie and Helen together in the back of the Malibu, and, while they were currently occupied with the other trooper, figure out how the child door lock system worked. Fortunately that was an easy process. With Artie and Helen still temporarily off my hands, Kelly and I went to fill up our gas tanks so we wouldn't be in a position where we might have to stop only for that reason later.
After about half an hour we were ready to venture back out onto the interstate. Artie seemed to no longer believe I was Bobby and, more importantly, appeared to have no recollection that he had been angry. The trooper who had been with Artie and Helen, and out of the loop on our new plan, started to help Helen get back in the front seat. I informed him that we were going to put them both in the back and as Artie overheard this he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he became strangely friendly. He approached Kelly and started vigorously shaking her hand. He then asked the officers for their names on paper. He took their contact information and thanked them both.
I then looked Artie in the eye and told him we had a long way to go yet tonight. He looked at me and responded, "No, home is just 10 minutes down the road." I told him we were in Ohio but that didn't seem to register. One of the officers then mentioned that he was an Ohio State Trooper, and hearing a different voice name the state seemed to bring Artie back into a brief window of realistic comprehension.
"Ohio!?" Artie remarked.
I then told him that he was a little confused, he should try and sleep, that we had a long way to go, that he needed to ride in the back, and that he was simply going to have to trust me. He responded that he wasn't tired, but that of course he trusted me. He then got in next to Helen without complaining and yet another stage of our odyssey was under way.
As we pulled away I mentioned to Artie one more time that we had a long way to go. He responded by saying, "How long, an hour?" I told him it might be as many as three hours. That seemed to sink in and for the next 90 minutes things progressed smoothly. Almost immediately after we had returned to the road I got a call from Henry's girlfriend. I told her the latest, and indicated that I would not arrive when I had originally predicted. She told me that they had made it to Grove City and had arranged hotel accommodations for the night. We agreed to meet at Elephant and Castle at 10:30 pm.
For the most part, Artie and Helen sat quietly in the back, except for approximately every 30 minutes, when Artie would make eye contact with me via the rear view mirror and ask, "How's it going up there, officer?" I don't know if he thought he was in trouble and in the back of a squad car or if he simply thought I was a cop driving his car. Either way, I would respond, "Everything is fine, we're taking you home," and he would in turn say, "oh, good."
Now it was time to get off the Ohio Turnpike, and this time I was very aware that I needed to pay a toll to do so. The toll window I chose to drive up to happened to be manned by an exceptionally sociable toll collector. Normally toll collectors just take your money, sometimes they wish you well as you continue on your way, but this woman chose to specifically ask me how my day had been.
"Well, since you asked," I remarked, "in the backseat I have my great aunt and uncle who are from Toms River, New Jersey. They attempted to drive to Yonkers, New York, got lost, and ended up outside of Toledo, Ohio where they were apprehended by the police while lying on the side of the interstate."
Without missing a beat, the woman continued the conversation by saying, "Yeah, that happens." Immediately, I thought to myself, "How does this 'happen???' Who has this happened to other than me?? Do you hear a similar story every night? Do you work in Ohio, live in Sheboygan, and mistakenly drive to Kalamazoo on a regular basis?" As I pondered this, she leaned out of her window and started waving at Helen and Artie and making small talk with them. Then she turned back to me and I paid the toll for myself and Kelly as well. Just as I started to pull away she turned to me one last time and repeated, "Yeah, that happens." As Kelly passed through the toll I'm told the collector was laughing hysterically and simply commented, "Well, you've had an interesting day, haven't you?"
Shortly thereafter, the ridiculousness of the situation once again hit me at full force as I noticed a sign that read, "New York City, 400 miles." Four hundred miles. As in four hundred miles from anywhere near where these people, by their own account, were supposed to be. On top of that I'd already been in a car with them heading toward New York City for more than 200 miles. Right about this time Helen started to speak up again. She started complaining that she couldn't move her feet and wanted to get out. Artie started to tell her that we'd be home in five minutes. The conversation recycled itself every three minutes. I became apprehensive.
I had been very conscious of my speed the entire trip. I intentionally was using cruise control to maintain an acceptable pace. Never in my life had I been so anxious to be in Pennsylvania, but the last thing I wanted to do was exacerbate the situation with a speeding ticket. Imagine trying to explain the surrounding circumstances of a day like this to an ill-humored cop. Nonetheless, I guess when Helen started speaking up again I instinctively floored the accelerator. I have no recollection of doing so, but I definitely noticed that suddenly the Malibu was much harder to control. I looked in the rear view mirror and Kelly was nowhere in sight. I was confused because the cruise light was still on and I firmly believed I couldn't be going any more than 70 miles per hour. Later I spoke to Kelly and discovered that she was going 80 during the time when she was no longer directly behind me.
Upon realizing that Kelly was nowhere in sight I slowed down considerably. She soon relocated me and the drive continued. At this point we were passing through the Youngstown area and I was determined to finish the trip. The prattle from the back seat grew more and more incessant, and Artie was more convinced than he had been for quite some time that home was just around the corner. Finally, I was comfortable in agreeing with him that we had almost reached our intended destination. The junction of Route 80 and 79 came up, indicating that I was less than 10 minutes from Grove City.
As I put my turn signal on and took the exit for 79 South, Artie tried to correct me. "No, you want to go straight," he remarked, "we're almost home." I responded, "we're meeting Henry at a restaurant."
"Oh yeah, the restaurant," Artie replied as if he were involved with the plans, "Which one did he say he'd meet us at?"
"It's just down the road," I simply said.
As we approached the Grove City exit and I once again put my blinker on, a nearly identical situation to the one most recently described occurred. The only difference was that this time when told of the restaurant, Artie commented that it was right around the corner. It just so happened he was absolutely correct and I was ever so glad to say, "Yup, we're going to meet Henry, he's just around the corner."
At approximately 10:15 pm we pulled into Elephant and Castle. I got out of the car and told Artie and Helen, still locked in, to sit tight. I went over to Kelly and told her we might have to wait a bit since we were slightly earlier than I had indicated to Henry and his girlfriend that we would be. As I was doing this two people walked out of the restaurant and asked me if my name was Tim. After an exchange of information for about 15 minutes my mission was finally complete and I began to realize just how drained I was. Hungry as well, Kelly and I decided to eat dinner at a Friendlyesque type place called Perkins.
At Perkins and on our return trip to Pittsburgh we relayed the events of the day back and forth between our minds. We were no less befuddled as to how all of this possibly could have happened than we were when the day began. We decided that it was just as likely that Artie and Helen had discovered a Tesseract and traveled through a wrinkle in time as it was that they had survived their multi-state expedition entirely on their own. Artie usually wears glasses, yet there was no sign of them during the time I was with him. Judging by my time driving with them, Helen and Artie are not capable of traveling more than two hours in a car before very much desiring to get out. In light of that I'm positive it took them at least 15 hours to travel the distance they did. Probably at the times they did stop it was on the side of the interstate. Things will never add up in my mind. Madeleine L'Engle is clearly onto something.
Upon my return to Pittsburgh sometime after midnight, several of my friends mentioned that they had never seen me looking quite like I did that evening. I'll never know what I looked like because I went straight to bed. The next afternoon I went to see a movie in an attempt to set my mind on other things. The movie, Finding Nemo, was good but a heavy irony pervaded the theater for most of the film's running time. Kelly decided to go with me. The plot of Finding Nemo involves a long journey by a fish named Marlin who is accompanied by another fish named Dory. Dory just happens to be afflicted with short-term memory loss.
It's been more than 48 hours now and I'm fully recovered. Helen and Artie are safe in Toms River, without their vehicle. The future for them remains unclear, but something needs to happen. They're very attached to their home and are generally opposed to accepting assistance of any kind. From what I've heard Artie is at least aware that something went very wrong and is quite shaken up by that realization.
Those inclined to pray may want to do so, and all of us can hope that "My Big Fat Austrian Wedding" never becomes a trilogy.
oh wow. and it's all true.
Unknown 1:07 PM
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