If You Could Read My Mind

            Hopelessly lost, I dialed Rosa's number, praying that she could make it to a phone—or that her husband could, although I had no idea what kind of shape he might be in, himself.  When the phone rang three times and a male voice answered, I didn't think he sounded as though he could possibly be old enough to be Rosa's husband and I was sure I'd gotten the wrong number.

            “Is this the Sander's residence?” I asked hesitantly.

            The affirmative reply surprised me, but I went on to identify myself and ask for directions.

            “Where are you coming from?” he asked me.

            “Well, that's part of the problem, “ I admitted.  “I haven't a clue where I am.”

            He laughed.  “Don't get out this way much, huh?”

            “Well, yes, actually, I do,” I said, which was true.  “But this time I relied on someone else's directions to get me there, which was obviously a mistake.”

            “Describe where you are,” he said.  “Landmarks, road signs—anything.”

            I glanced out the window and took a good look around me.  “Well, let's see, now.  There's a big tree on the top of a hill and a gate painted white and I tree stump on the other side of the road.”

            “What kind of car are you driving?”

            “A white Subaru Outback,” I replied, although white really didn't describe it at that point, for there was enough dirt and dust on it to call it sort of beige.

            “I see you,” he said.  “You weren't lost—you just didn't come far enough.  You aren't the first one to do that—we're a bit off the beaten track you know.”

            “Well, that's comforting, at least.”  I peered out the windshield again and down into a picturesque little valley.  “Let me guess—the white house in the hollow there with the creek running though the yard?”

            “That's it,” he replied.  “Aunt Rosa is all ready for you.  She's so glad you could do this without her having to go to the hospital.  She doesn't like to leave Uncle Gid alone.”

            That didn't sound very good to me and I decided that, unfortunately for her, “Uncle Gid” probably wouldn't be much in the way of help.  Then again, I had no idea who this person was that I speaking with.  He sounded very nice, but that didn't always mean much.

            “So, Rosa is your aunt?” I asked cautiously. 

            “My great aunt,” he replied.  “I live here, too, but, well, they just do better together.  You know how it is.”

            “I understand,” I said.  “I've seen lots of couples like that.”   And it was true: I had seen quite a few that were inseparable.  Then again, I'd seen even more that would do well to be as far away from each other as they could possibly get—a category into which my own marriage fell.