Last night, as I fell asleep, a very vivid dream placed me in the car, about to drive through the intersection at Hwy 234. Suddenly possessed of a bad feeling, I slammed the brakes and could just see a bicyclist lying in the road, apparently asleep. Had I gone even a few feet farther, there would have been tire tracks. As I calmed down, I noted traffic coming down the highway, and began moving to drag the victim from the road.
And woke up. Not troubled, not anything. Just very coherent memories of what had happened.
Huh. And back to sleep.
At 2:00 AM I woke to take Othello to the bus for his visit in Corvallis. We drove, groggily, through the misty night. We were running a bit late, so moved in excess of posted speed limits. There are multitudes of traffic-scorning deer, so I drove with the high beams cutting the fog.
Weaving so heavily back and forth that she looked to be in the steps of a staggering dance, a woman was moving unsteadily up the road, averaging in the center of my lane, just around a blind corner at the verge of Hwy 234. I slammed the brakes.
Odd feeling, that.
She was drunk, very, and needed to go the opposite direction we were travelling. Traffic was non-existent, but for Othello & I. I told her I’d call her some help and we drove on. 911 was called, the Sheriff dispatched to help the lady, and we made the bus with moments to spare.
On the way home, about 3:30, I saw her on the road within a 100 feet of where she’d been. She had mud smeared on her jeans, now, indicating she’d spent some time prone.
I couldn’t let it go. If I found out there had been a drunk hit in the area, I’d be freaked beyond repair. I stopped, found out where she lived, dropped her at her home. She was crying pretty steadily when I picked her up, but cheered up almost immediately.She was an affable drunk, but ewwww, stinky, and, hey, drunk. I was glad to get her dropped off. She had been at the bar about six miles away, and was walking home, but kept getting lost.
In front of her house, she offered me a bill, saying it was for my trouble. I declined, saying I’d just been happy to help, but she got stubborn as sometimes drunks will, and I wanted to be home very badly. I thanked her, took the bill, and she wove across the driveway a few times, going nowhere near the front steps. She was beginning to circle when I lost sight of her.
I popped the light on; she’d tipped me $20.
I don’t know what seems more bizarre to me; the whole dream resonance, or being rewarded for doing something I felt I should do. Nice, though, not to have a dead drunk in the road.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry