The
Journey
It
feels like a long time ago, but it began with a trip to town. I
can't remember why I'd driven there, but whatever, I was heading back
to the car park and my car. I took a short cut down a passage way,
not something I'd ever done before, but it was familiar. I knew
that I just had to open the door, walk down the corridor and leave
by the one at the other end, then I'd be almost back at the car park.
I went in, there was a pink hi-vis waistcoat on the floor just
behind the door, walked to the end of the corridor and by the door
stood an old lady, extremely confused, she had been there for hours.
I turned to see another old lady in the pink hi-vis waistcoat,
equally confused, so I rang the Police and waited with them. The
Police, when they finally arrived, guided the old ladies into the
back of their car and drove off without a word. It didn't seem odd
at the time, but thinking back, they should have at least asked my
name. Anyway, I watched the Police car drive off and continued on
my way to the car park. That's when I realised, I couldn't remember
which one the car was in. Not just where about in the car park,
which is bad enough, they can be so big, but which car park. Added
to that, I wasn't sure where about in Preston I was, the streets
didn't look familiar, though some of the street names rang bells,
distant bells.
Next,
I was in my husbands car, driving round trying to find my car, but
nothing looked familiar. We went into a car park, it was like lots
of small car parks linked by a single road. Approaching the last
little one, the road took a sharp turn to the left, to avoid a wide
steep flight of stone stairs, leading down to the cars. The road
wound round the edge till it took a sharp turn and descended into a
small area full of cars. We could see, before we got there, my car
was not was not amongst them, but there was no way to turn round, we
had to carry on.
“Where
was this passage you took the short cut through?” my husband asked.
“It's not anything that I can think of.”
“I
don't know,” I replied. Even then the answer sounded feeble.
“We could ask the Police, after all, they collected two old ladies
from there, they must know where it is.”
No
sooner the word than the deed. I was in the Police Station
explaining to them about the two old ladies.
“Do
you really expect us to believe that?” I was asked
“No,
but I don't think it matters much,” I thought, looking round for my
husband, but he was no where to be seen.
“So,
let's start again, what is your name and address?” the Officer
asked.
“I
don't know,” I said.
“And
the two old ladies?”
“What
old ladies?”
by
Janice Nye © 2018
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