I'm sick, lying in bed on a Saturday morning, reading Wladyslaw Szpilman's The Pianist (which inspired the film of the same name). Out of the corner of my eye, I see a boxy white sedan drive past the house again and again.

There's a knock at the door. It's Dick Ball, a former teacher at the high school. He was out for his three mile run, when an old man stopped him for directions. Because Dick knew that Kris — who also used to teach at the high school — lives here, he's asking us for help.

The old man is looking for 483 SW Elm. His wife is at this house, which is a home-health care place for elderly people. He can't find it. Do I know where it is? "It's just off the highway," he tells me.

If there were a 483 SW Elm, it would be two houses north of us, but I know that a Mexican family lives there, and I'm fairly certain they don't do home health care.

"Are you sure it's on Elm?" I ask. My voice is phlegmy from my cold. "Elm is just north or south, not southwest."

"It's just off the highway," he tells me. "Can you tell me how to get to Elm?"

"Elm is the street right there," I say, pointing at the roadway twenty feet away.

He comes in to use the phone. "My wife is dying, and I'm trying to reach her," he tells me. He can't figure out how to work the phone, so I dial for him. He speaks with his wife, Estella. "Are you on Elm street?" he asks. "Tenth? You're on Tenth street? 483 SW Tenth? That's just off the highway, right?"

He hangs up. He tells me, "I think it's just off the highway. Do you know where it is?"

I'm beginning to understand that this man is not all there. He is senile. This is going to be a challenge.

"I feel like an idiot," he says.

"Follow me," I say, coughing. My chest rattles with gunk. I lead him outside to point out landmarks.

"Just a moment," he says. "You're in your socks! Won't they get wet?"

"Nah," I say. "The pavement's dry. I don't mind. Here, I'll show you."

I point out Fifth. I point out Sixth. "Now, Tenth will be several blocks in that direction," I say. "But Tenth doesn't actually intersect Elm. You''re going to have to turn on Eleventh."

"And where's Elm?" he asks. "I'm looking for 483 SW Elm. It's just off the highway."

I indicate the notecard on which he's written the address. "Actually, it's 483 SW Tenth," I say.

"You told me it was Elm," he says.

We go back inside so that he can call his wife again. He aplogizes to me again and again. "Estella," he says when she answers the phone, "I'm still looking for the place. You said it's on Elm, right? Just off the highway?"

She tells him it's on Tenth. "Oh — Tenth. That's just off the main drag?"

When he's done, I go into the other room to get a piece of paper so that I can draw him a map. "You can just use my notecard," he tells me, but I know that won't work. "You have a baby in a basket," he laughs as he waits for me. He means Toto, my cat, sitting in a cardboard box on the table. He laughs again.

I draw a detailed map for him, with arrows where he needs to turn, and clearly labelled street names. He needs to turn left on Sixth, turn right on Ivy, turn right on Eighth, and then turn left on Tenth.

"And this will get me to Elm?" he asks.

"This will get you to your wife," I tell him, though I fear that it will not. The address is located in the middle of a spiral of streets in a mid-seventies housing development. It's like a black hole in there.

As he leaves, he picks up the phone to take it with him. Then he checks himself. "Oh, this is your phone, isn't it? I have a phone just like it." He thanks me and leaves.

As I'm editing this entry, I see his car pass the house twice more. Kris suggests that I go stand out on the sidewalk in case he should pass again. Would it do any good? Would he recognize me? Will he ever find his wife?

I get my hat and shoes ready, just in case. If he comes back, I'll volunteer to drive him to the spot, and then walk home.

It's encounters like this that make a life a life. They add definition to the sameness of our daily routine.

On this day at foldedspace.org

2005 — Garden Science   This sounds like a job for Astronomy Man!