The River Green

Home.

Pronunciation:
\ˈhōm\
1a: one's place of residence
4a: a place of origin

Both definitions define my relationship with Pittsburgh. Only 1a defines Marieke's; Waynesboro, PA is her 4a. It was in this area that we spent 4 days in and around.

Just about, oh, maybe half hour after we had received paperwork from the kind Chambersburg POleece, and we all had calmed down enough to go back to our chambers and retire for the second time that evening, the door bell rings.

We shared a similar thought about who could be darkening the doorstep (though it was well after 1 in the morning, the streetlights are very bright) of this domicile: it was the police coming to give us more information, a forgotten piece of paperwork or something of that nature. We were as wrong as guessing the Pope had been passing through town and needed to take a whiz.

Katy opened the door with an expression of first confusion then more confusion. It was a woman with blond hair and ratted t-shirt explaining that she was almost out of gas on her way to Carlisle from Maryland, her daughter has not eaten all day and her father just passed away and could we spare a few dollars so she could get some gas. And she wanted to know what town we were in.

Random

Pronunciation:
\'ran-dəm\
2a: relating to, having, or being elements or events with definite probability of occurrence

Of all the improbable things to have happen that night, why couldn't it have been winning the lottery or stumbling upon a forgotten gold stash from the civil war. All of these most likely have a much lower probability of occurring than the events of this evening.

Katy looked at Brian and asked if there was any more gas in the can from the lawnmower. As he went in search, our improbable visitor made several passive attempts to enter the house. It was quiet for what seemed like hours before Brian came back with the gas can. I thought it prudent to accompany my host in case something about the woman's story was not quite cogent.

Upon approaching the car (which was running even though it was almost out of gas), I noticed what appeared to be an unmoving figure in the passenger seat which I immediately determined was a dead body, made an on-the-spot diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder and we were next. Luckily the figure moved and at 10 paces I recanted my admittedly hasty diagnosis; the figure turned out to be a 10-12 year old girl, presumably the untoward woman's daughter.

Since the gas cap didn't have an outward devise for release, the woman retreated into her car and proceeded to open the boot. Brian and I exchanged glances just as she returned, noticed the wrong lever had been pulled and remedied the situation. After giving the woman one and a half gallons of gasoline, Brian went to retrieve a 'couple bucks' from the house, which was about half block away. I used the opportunity alone with the woman to gather more information.

When asked where in Maryland she was coming from, her face immediately scrunched as she offered 'That town with the big mall... I don't know the name of it.'

OK.

Either she was advancing some sort of scheme or she was indeed a hapless, desperate person in need of help. Either way, she certainly was adept at avoiding further questions because she began to ask her own questions and get quite agitated about how much gas she had and if it was enough to get to Carlisle.

At this point, it might be helpful to provide a geographic overview of our location. Carlisle is 30 miles from Chambersburg. I-81, which is the highway she claims to have come from, is about 2 miles from where we were. In order to get from I-81 to Brian and Katy's house, one would have to make a sequence of very specific turns and up-down-and-arounds... in other words, it is not a direct route. We later decided she must have had a police scanner in her car and figured that since there had just been an accident in front of the house that we would still be awake (the incident report listed Brian and Katy's address).

Brian gave the woman a couple bucks and directions to the Sheetz before we started back to the house. Marieke and Katy spent the few moments near the front porch and as we approached them, heard the car cough and choke not once, not twice, but three times. There was a moment when I thought for certain that it wasn't going to start, but on the fourth try, the car aversely turned over.

The four of us safely inside, and in unison with looks of bewilderment, said 'What was that?!'

Before settling in, Brian stood on the porch to make certain the car would follow the direction to turn right at the end of the road and that she would make no further stops along the way.

I made the decision that the only logical way that these unapt situations could have possibly presented themselves is if I were in fact asleep and would have to repeat the day over again when I woke up. Therefore, I reasoned, I could do anything without consequences. So, a second helping of leftover potato salad was in order.

Concurrently, Brian made his own decision that no matter what was happening, he was not going to answer the door anymore for the evening.

We postponed our slumber for long enough and finally retired to our chambers for our long overdue rest.

Labels: random events , trips , Waynesboro