Donald Turner's house is located in a small town in northern West Virginia called Pleasant Valley, not far from Pittsburgh. Kellen agrees to drive up from Bluefield and meet me at Uncle Donk's place in the morning. The house no longer belongs to the Turner family, but Kellen is on good terms with the current resident.
When I mention that Kellen is Uncle Donk's nephew, Megs replies, "What are the odds?"
The odds are impossible to calculate. Let's rewind. I experienced a meltdown, I drove aimlessly out of Pittsburgh and found myself in some little random town in southern West Virginia. I could have driven in any direction and gotten off the highway at any one of dozens of exits along the way. But instead, I chose the highway exit that led me to Bluefield, West Virginia where I managed to get a complete stranger fired from his job as a bartender. And the stranger turns out to be related to one of the people who allegedly used "Tiger's Teeth" weed killer and, as a result, died from the same type of cancer. The odds of all these events aligning are mind-boggling.
Maybe my mental breakdown and subsequent road trip were more than an episode of dissociative fugue. Maybe all of this was destined to happen.
Let's pump the brakes, Phil. These are exaggerated feelings of self-importance. Sounds suspiciously like narcissism to me. I hear Dr. Lindrutten's words in my head. "What did we say about self-diagnosis?" It's probably the only valuable advice the man has ever given me.
#######
The following morning at 10:02, I trot up the walkway toward the front door of a little gem of a house in this rural middle-class neighborhood in Pleasant Valley. In contrast to most of the other homes on the street, this one is cottage-like with shutters flanking the windows and rows of purple and pink flowers lining the sidewalk.
Before I reach the front door, Kellen steps out onto the porch to greet me wearing a welcoming grin.
"Well, I'll be damned. Phil Robiski."
"Ta da!"
"When I saw those cops pull you over..." Kellen shakes his head.
"Yeah, that wasn't my best night. Sorry you had to see that."
An elderly woman in a flowered dress stands inside the doorway. Kellen makes the introduction.
"This here's Meem."
"Sojourner Brooks." She smiles, patting her neatly-styled hair into place.
"Meem to most of us," says Kellen.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brooks. Are you Mister Turner's widow?
Both Kellen and Mrs. Brooks crack up.
"Goodness, no," she says. "Used to rent the yellow house just down the street."
Kellen adds, "Uncle Donk's wife's been gone twenty years ago."
She corrects him. "Twenty-three."
"Meem, here, bought up Uncle Donk's place after he passed."
"It needed someone to look after it."
"It looks like something out of Home and Garden Magazine."
"Oh, go on now. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"
Kellen sweetens the offer. "Can't nobody make a better cup of coffee than Meem."
#######
Mrs. Brooks serves me a cup of coffee that is nothing short of spectacular. She lowers herself onto the couch beside Kellen.
YOU ARE READING
Vital Signs
HumorPhil's wife, Megan, and his daughter, Jilly-bean, are the reasons he gets up bright and early every morning, puts on a suit and tie, and sits in rush hour traffic on his way to a job that has become unbearable. For years, the only way he's managed t...
