As near as I recall, I was walking along the tree row on the north side of our property when my wife called me with a question regarding our upcoming trip to Germany.  We were going on account of a back surgery for my wife, as Germany had the cutting edge in the program at that time.  It seems the travel agent we had been working with had phoned her, saying that there was another couple scheduled to be at the same hospital during the same time frame as we were.  It happened that this other couple going at the same time had a request.  Since it was to be the husband who was going for the same reason, (back surgery) and since the hospital was located approximately 1.7 miles away from the hotel booked for both spouses not having surgery, and since that distance was walked whenever possible due to high cab fares, would I be willing to walk this man’s wife, as she had some trepidation about this all, on the to and from journeys each day for the 12 days we planned to be there?

Hooboy.

In that split second before my wife finished telling me this, I could imagine it all. 

We would walk the darkened streets and become momentarily lost.  Her young violet eyes would look trustingly, but with a little distress, up into mine.  I would, with my able form beside her, make rapid calculations as to where we were and deftly guide us back on course, all the while fending off any unwonted stares from the street fellows.  Upon arriving at our hotel, she would thank me profusely. 

No, No.  Not at all.  That would be far too awkward.  I did not want any part of this. 

We had never met these folks, but I felt I needed to be helpful if it was asked of me, so I told my wife, “Yeah, I guess I can, but I hope she’s old.” 

I did not want anything like my imagination had played out so adeptly.  An older lady I could be fine with.  I would treat her as my mother and be glad to shepherd her back and forth.  A younger one with violet eyes, no way.  And more than likely, I thought, it would be an older woman, since most folks going for back surgery were that type, my wife being the exception.

I pretty much forgot about it all anyways.

Getting left in a little under two weeks and the first time for me across the pond occupied my mind. 

We landed in Dusseldorf around 6:30 a.m. their time, to an empty, somewhat dated airport.  Customs involved a little ticket booth affair with a sleepy agent who stamped our visa and waved us on through without even making eye contact.  Our driver was standing in a line with several other drivers, all holding signs with the last names of whom they wished to convey onward.  We jumped in with him and started the hour and a half ride to our destination, Hattingen.  Our driver dropped us off at our hotel and we settled in and caught a quick snooze to try to combat the jet lag. 

Mid-afternoon we strolled downtown.  One of the main streets was holding some type of bazaar where one could buy all types of food, dainties, and trinkets.  We had not changed over very much of our money yet, so we refrained from buying anything.  Although their street vendors selling bratwurst did tempt us, we finally settled for an American style restaurant serving chicken fingers and fries.  I tried to locate some of the street names on the hand drawn map given to us by our travel agent that led in the direction of the hospital, but to no avail.

Back to the hotel and we learned that the couple whose husband was to have surgery the same time as my wife had arrived and would be down to the lobby to meet us in about 45 minutes. 

She was young.  About my age and had violet eyes.

He was friendly enough, just ready to do something to get rid of his chronic back pain caused by a series of accidents.

The next day, our cab driver took us to another town for MRI’s, back tracking on the road we had come in on.  He delivered us back to the hospital, and after some time I told my wife I was still weary and planned to walk back to our hotel, catch a shower and nap and return later in the afternoon.  I started out, hand drawn map in hand, in the general direction of the hotel.  I say general, because there was an old factory (no longer in use) positioned fairly close to the hotel and it had a towering smokestack which could be seen easily from the hospital.  I kept it in sight and knew it wouldn’t be long until I was showering and taking my nap.

A light rain began to fall as I trudged along.  I was sure to be cognizant of the street signs and match them to my hand drawn map so I could find my way back when I (ahem) was guiding the fair young damsel on our journey later in the day.  About forty minutes later, I realized the smokestack was no longer in front of and a bit to my left, but rather, it appeared to be some ¾ of a mile to my right.

It seemed that either my hand drawn map hadn’t been consulted closely enough or a street sign had been missed along the way.

An hour later I was getting close to my home away from home.  Except for one remarkable obstacle.  Just on the other side of a long expanse of fence was the smokestack.  I knew there would be a gate somewhere.  But there wasn’t.  Another quarter mile of fence and I was completely beyond the smokestack.  I was now totally soaked, chilled and ready for a good hot shower.  Wearily I trudged back to the beginning of the fence, got on the other side of it, and finally to the hotel.

Getting back to the hospital later that day wasn’t a problem.  “Yes,” I told myself, “This will be a piece of cake later today.  I’ll guide unerringly.”  But I needn’t have worried.  It was stormy, with a windy rain that evening so we caught a cab.

Violet eyes and I met for breakfast the next morning of out of this world bacon and eggs.  I decided the bacon we chewed on back in the States must have had all the goods wrung out of it compared to this stuff.  We traversed the mile and a half to the hospital, visiting easily.  I hardly had to watch my street signs. 

I had this. 

But the fates didn’t.

We started out that evening for the hotel at a brisk clip.  I wasn’t in shape for this, and violet eyes definitely was.  It took all I could do to keep up with her.  I learned later that she had the same problem with me.  We constantly raced each other without ever knowing it.  By the end of two weeks, I had a Charlie horse in my right thigh that didn’t go away for several months after I was back home.  We settled into the easy conversation of the morning, albeit raggedly, between huffs and puffs on my part.  It was late, and the streetlamps didn’t give off any too much light.  Twenty minutes later, it seemed the lights on the smokestack were generally the same distance away as before.  Ten minutes later, I realized we had walked by this certain shop window twice.  Five minutes later, violet eyes broke from her extensive life history to comment, “Haven’t we walked by this church steeple once before?”

Hooboy.

This did not look good at all.

By the time I saw the aforementioned shop window coming into view for the third time, I called a halt.  My able form that had earlier bulged with decisiveness, shrank in despair.  Even the fluffy brown curls ringing the violet eyes hung limply in the mist that had begun to fall.  It felt like it could be a long night.

What to do now?  No shops were open anymore at that hour, and even if they would have been, the language barrier would have struck us down immediately.  I told violet eyes I needed to get my bearings, but each time I just about had them, she would break out on some more family history. 

All at once I thought of something.  Google maps.  Would it work in this back street on the other side of the world from where I usually used it?  Hey.  Anything is worth a try to grab back a bit of her lost confidence, er, mine I mean.

It actually worked, and I was immensely grateful.  Although, by the time we got to our hotel, it had changed to the other side of the street during our absence.  But that was a minor consequence. 

She gave me a wan smile as we neared our rooms and we said good night.  Ah well.  No effusive thanks from her.  And then my door rattled with a knock.  I looked out to see her standing there, still dripping and cold. 

“My key won’t work in my door.” 

Me.  Me to the rescue!  My able form quivered with confidence, or was it from cold?  I strode the three doors down and jingled the key in the lock.  Ta da!  I swung the door open with my arm lingering on the doorknob in sort of a gracious bow. 

She acquiesced and thanked me profusely.