Monday, January 13, 2014

Lah, Lah, Lah, Delilah

To our surprise the towing service was fast (although they missed us on the first pass, but managed on the second), and eventually we all drove back north toward Scott's.

“You know, it occurs to me that I have a car that you can borrow,” said the Bard.


“Yeah; no one else is taking her, and I am the Chicago Zipcar service.”

“If you are sure

“It’s no problem.”

So with that settled, we borrowed Delilah, the tried-and-true stead of the Bard’s who had seen more road action that most city cars, but still ran like she was a younger girl. We transferred the most important goods with us into Delilah and decided to head off toward home. If nothing else there were two hungry dogs that would want a feeding and there was some discussion of possibly trying to make the parental units after all.

About twenty minutes from home, my phone buzzed.

I had mail.

I checked my mail.

It was not mail; it was a voice message.

My phone had not rung.

The first few words in the message were all I needed to see.

“How do you feel about going to the airport?” I asked the Boy.

My phone had not alerted me to a call at all, but my voicemail went straight to my email and the first words of my email had begun “It’s me, the Artist.” While still negotiating with the Boy about whether we should go to the airport I was frantically searching for my headphones and trying to figure out if I should try to call her back at the number she had called fromwhich was a crapshoot as best and no way to be sure that this would result in direct contact. As I gracelessly fumbled with my phone, and while the Boy exited the highway, the phone started to ring.


“Sara, Ah, I don’t know what to do, here talk to my husband,” and the phone was tossed away.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He laid the story out for me. While the trip to Chicago had been fine, they had become stuck in a neverending standby waiting game that had left them waiting for seats on a plane that were not materializing. Something had also gone wrong on the ticketing end, so that the airline that flew the most frequently out of Chicago would not even put them on a standby list so they could even escape the city. Since everything was closed at the airport they were really stuck and at this point there was nothing they could do about it.

“And the Artist can’t make any more decisions.”

“I’m on my way. Put your wife on the phone.”

“She says no.”

“Do it!”

He gets back on the phone and I heard my weeping, beautiful lover on the other end, “I really can’t do this,” she said in her cracking voice.

“Listen to me. You are going to find a chair. You are going to take a nap. I will be there in about an hour and I will help you figure this out. No arguments. Where are you?”

“You’re coming?”

“Yes, I’m on my way now.”

“But it’s Christmas.”

“Yes, and this is officially more interesting than anything else I was planning to do today.”

“But I saw on Facebook you were having car trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it. Put your husband back on and I will work out the details. In the meantime, try to get a nap.”

Her husband gave me an address for where to meet them. I gave him very specific instructions to put her in a chair and encourage her to nap while we worked on getting there. It would take a bit as Americaville is really, really huge, but I was coming and I would at least help make the basic decisions that needed to be made.

Everything was arranged and so Delilahwho hadn’t run around in a bitpurred down the road, all happy to be running around and not caring about the destination at all.

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