When do you tell they story of something important? When it’s happening to you, the story is unfolding. You don’t know where it will go or how it will affect you. The drama is most interesting, and perhaps unwanted, then. But you may be too busy keeping your life together, or the lives of those around you. So you tell it when you can. Just try to tell it before you’re gone. I shall try.
This is my notebook. Not to author a novel, but to share some things that people should know.
The road moves swiftly in the darkness. One-one- thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand. There are no stars and no lights other than my own. I can see a good two and half, almost three, seconds ahead. It is very late and it has been a long drive. A sign jumps out from the side of the road. It glows brightly but briefly in the light of my high beams like a haunted scarecrow generating just enough adrenaline at this speed to hold my weariness at bay.
I am too used to city driving. I had no idea that 85mph was even legal in some states. I can see why though. The tiny towns around here barely dot the countryside. I strain to see into the darkness, and pray that road ahead is clear. It would help if the night sky were clear. A little moonlight would be a big help.
I ask that she hold up the map so that I can glance at it. I cannot really read it – not while traveling this fast. But there’s not much left to talk about. I would prefer to have the radio on. I could use the mental stimulation to keep focused. I don’t like long drives. Irene however, has had enough. Her knuckles are white sometimes as she watches the road – the three seconds we can see of it. I admire her quiet focus riding shotgun right now. Perhaps she is too scared to make the usual complaints about my driving. Or perhaps she’s just praying for our girls in the back seat.
“Maybe thirty to forty-five minutes more,” I say. I am guessing. “Thirty to thirty five if we are lucky,” I hope aloud. “We can use some luck,” she says. I smile. “Amen.”
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Out of endless hours of driving in the dark, suddenly we were here. Turning off the expressway, I slowed to what seemed only a crawl as I adjusted to the city limits. We only had to drive a few minutes to the hotel. In the night lights of the city, I could almost feel the urban planning of Rochester. We arrived; woke the kids; and I pulled the transport chair from the back of the mini-van.
Check in was swift. The hotel had a palpable efficiency about it. I was at first surprised how large the elevator was. Whether it was to handle large numbers, or all manner of health equipment, someone had thought ahead. The room was simple but nice. In any case, this is what we could afford. My wife began getting the kids ready for the night and I returned to the car for more suitcases.
After getting ready for bed, I made a call to the front desk for a wakeup call. We had our first appointment early in the morning. I remember getting in bed, but I must have crashed as soon as I laid there.
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