Last night we took a little post-Christmas-craziness drive out toward Damascus to wind down and search for some cool, "rural" decorated homes. It was a wonderful little adventure complete with the boys playing with their new (noisy) toys in the back seat and Tony and I drooling over all the for sale signs we saw. We sipped on coffee and tootled around until we came to a T in the road. After taking a left and going about 50 yards on rough gravel it became apparent that was not the correct direction for us to be heading. There aren't any streetlights out where we were so it was frustrating but not surprising when we thought we had gone 50 yards back to the T but couldn't see exactly where to turn. Tony inched the Subaru over the potholes as I kept saying, "This is so weird, where's that street?" The gravely road continued on and on and I was irritated, convinced that we had passed the turn again from the other direction. Finally I huffed, "Babe! I think we passed it again. Can you just turn around?" For those of you who don't know him, Tony is an even-tempered guy with a very good sense of direction, and the ability to take my outbursts in stride. "Even if we did pass it, I think we can keep going on this road and it will loop us back the way we came from." I'll be honest, I was a little doubtful even though in the past Tony's navigating skills have proven to be spot-on.
So, because it was my husband and not myself driving, we continued down the rustic road. I glanced at the odometer and noted the mileage so I could back up my opinion that we had already gone too far. A scuffle over a toy in the back seat took my mind off of our uncertain location for a couple of quick minutes and when I turned back around I voiced my mileage observation. "Yeah I know," said Tony in response. "But I'm pretty sure this road will be fine. If you want to try to find it in the Thomas Guide that would be helpful". I had just located the map book and flicked on the dome light when Tony did a surprising move: he pulled into a poorly marked driveway and informed me that he was going to ask for some directions. "That guy working in his garden should be able to tell me if we're heading in the right direction." I was very skeptical, "Its Christmas, don't bug some stranger on Christmas. Besides, who works in their garden on Christmas evening? That seems a little weird."
The next minutes moved in a bizarre mix of slow-motion and fast-forward at the same time. Out of habit as soon as the driver's door slammed behind Tony I pushed the "lock" button. You never know who may try to car jack you, even in the boonies of Damascus. I watched his back as he walked with his hands in his pockets toward the Christmas gardener, hunching a little against the cold wind. He stopped a few feet away from the edge of the rows of veggies (how could they grow in December?) and the hands came out of the pockets as he pointed left and then right. Suddenly he started backing up, almost stumbling over a hose and wheelbarrow, then spun around and bolted toward the car. I've heard stories about how in high school Tony was a fast runner, but until that moment I had never actually seen him run full speed. He covered the 30 feet to the car in no time and started pulling on the door handle. I remembered that it was locked and the same time he started banging on the window with a fist, "Babe! Open the door, open the damn door! Start the engine...." His eyes were wide and I could see his chest heaving under his winter coat. My fingers refused to function and I kept hitting the door lock button instead of unlock. I succeeded and as Tony yanked the door open and reached for the keys I also reached for the ignition. Our hands collided and sharp pains shot through my right index finger. Dirt and gravel flew as the Subaru spun around and peeled out onto the road. "Daddy, are we going fast?!" Joseph was looking out his window with wide eyes. "Faster, Dad, make Rocket go faster!" Isaac looked concerned and whimpered a little. "What is going on? Why are you driving like this? What if we crash?" I peppered questions at Tony as he gripped the steering wheel. He glanced in the rear view mirror and eased up the gas a little. We drove in silence after that, and it wasn't until we were back on Troutdale Road that I could hear Tony muttering under his breath. "Stupid troll," he said.
"What? I can't hear you..." I paused, " What happened back there?" "Stupid troll." he said again. "Stupid troll was planting brains!" *
*Some, or all, of this may, or may not be true. Thanks for reading.
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