Yes – the title is accurate.
My uncle – let’s call him “Willy” was in his mid 80s and required assistance for only a few things, driving was one of them. I brought Uncle Willy from his home in L.A to my parents place in Oxnard, California for a visit. There was a pathetic lack of family interaction at the time and for once in my selfish life, I was doing something good for the family.
It was a brunch on the weekend and I was ordered to bring him back to his home AND to drive respectfully.
(Sigh) driving respectfully is not my string suit. I was driving my beloved ’87 Mitsubishi Montero at the time and did my best to drive “respectfully.” As I crested a lovely piece of road leading to the Pacific Coast Highway, some jerk in an older Mustang GT cut me off. I had to swerve to avoid hitting the jerk AND not fly off a cliff.
I heard a sound that reminded me of a coconut being struck by a hammer… I thought it was Uncle Willy’s head banging against the inside of the Montero’s door. As I straightened out – he slumped over – – – he appeared lifeless. I was still moving at a good clip and had nowhere to pull over.
His right eye was slightly opened and Uncle Willy’s mouth was partially opened.
I began to politely call out his name.
Nothing.
I switched the radio off from its soothing classical and cranked up my Clash CD.
Nothing.
There was still no place to pull over and I was beginning to panic. After nearly yelling his name, I reached up and tore the sun-visor off. Quickly I shoved the vanity mirror along with the whole sun-visor under his nose… you know… like they do it in the movies?
There was nothing, nada, zip – no fog on the mirror… damn-it.
I was in full panic mode as I finally found a place to pull over. How the hell was I going to tell my parents that I was partially responsible for the passing of one of the better members of our family!? Leaping out of the Montero, I began to pace as I formulated a plan.
I was seriously considering ignoring the fact that my Uncle was a corpse and drive back to his home. Perhaps I could act like it never happened and let someone else discover him? Here was my thought process:
Maybe I could drag him back to his place and place him in bed?
No, too many witnesses.
How about swinging by a hospital, getting a wheelchair or gurney – wheel him in and take off?
No, no – they will get me and my truck on camera for sure…
It finally dawned on me that I was being an idiot and needed to be sure that he was gone. I had never taken a pulse before, but I did see it on TV. I gently opened the passenger’s door and Uncle Willy nearly fell out. I had to quickly stop his sliding out – then I smelt it. A rank odor emanated from the cabin. It was like dead bison.
“This MUST be the smell of decomposer!” my brain screamed.
How the HELL did he decompose so SOON!? I carefully eased my uncle back a bit in his seat and grabbed my baseball cap. His eye was the same, partially opened and staring off into infinity. Any cop passing on the right (and there are a TON of cops on the PCH) would see his glossy stare and assume I was a homicidal maniac! I placed the cap on his head and lowered the bill. I opened the windows a crack and turned the fan to maximum.
My world was spinning out of control and I knew there was no good ending to this situation.
As I slowly opened the driver’s door – a California Highway Patrol car pulled off of the highway and on to the dirt shoulder where I was parked. I froze pondering a multitude of stupid excuses. I watched them pull slowly to the side of my Montero as my heart fell through my reproductive organs. I steadied myself by grasping the steering wheel as I contemplated prison life.
Just as they pulled up to me, just as the CHP officer’s window was lowering, I felt a cold GRASP of my wrist! I nearly soiled myself as I saw my uncle’s hand grasping my wrist. He has a rather quizzical look on his face as he studied the baseball cap.
“Everything all right son?” asked the cop.
“Uh, yea – I pulled over to let me uncle sleep…” was all I could muster.
The cop stretched his neck to glance inside.
Seeing my smiling uncle looking down at him, the officer was satisfied and gave me a thumb’s-up as my brain tried (unsuccessfully) to re-boot. As the CHP officer pulled away, I quickly looked back at my old uncle still in shock.
I slowly climbed back in, not sure what I was going to say. “Thanks for the hat. I think it’s too tight, I think it left a mark on the side of my head.” My Uncle Willy said through a genuine smile.
“Feeling a little gassy now… how are you?”
I shut the music off and stared out at the ocean for a moment before I put the Montero back in gear. “I’m fine” I offered and finished with, “more classical music?”
My kindly, old uncle smiled and said, “No thank you, it makes me sleepy.”
Uncle Willy lasted nearly ten-more years… I never drove with him again.
Funny – – no?
No…
Words and photos by Nathan Adlen
