We had a weird time this evening, coming home from a combination of errands and window shopping. A passenger in a car that had pulled alongside us at a light got our attention and asked for directions ?to the nearest hospital.? The driver was a youngish man, and his passenger, probably his wife, was in the back seat. My immediate thought was that she was going in to labor, though it could have been anything ? a bleeding wound, appendix, a sick kid out of sight. In any case, ?the nearest hospital? indicated speed counted.
The nearest hospital wasn't very near. Worse, New Jersey roads are rarely straight, and often meet at peculiar angles. Anybody who hadn't lived here long enough to know where to find a hospital couldn't possibly follow directions to one.
Eileene volunteered to lead the way, driving to a hospital with the car behind us. The afternoon, which had been so pleasant, suddenly became very anxious. Somebody's health depended on us. I say ?us,? even though clearly I had no part in the situation. I tried to contribute by watching out the rear window to make sure they were still following, but what I expected to could do if the cars were separated defies explanation. We'd become involved, emotionally as well as functionally.
As the drive continued to stretch on, I couldn't help worrying that it was too far, that we were taking too long. Too long for what? How urgent was the problem? I don't know, but I was desperately concerned. What if seconds counted, and we needed to press the flow of traffic? What if the other driver got impatient and stopped following us? What if the woman were in labor, and started delivering right then?
WHAM! They rear-ended us. Traffic was squeezing up to a stop light, and we took a light jolt that seemed much harder thanks to the surprise and the tension. I thought the other driver was signaling us that we had to go, right now, never mind the stoplight. (Eileene later explained he had turned around to check on his passenger, and just wasn't watching. She saw the collision coming, I didn't.) Eileene waved and pointed, indicating we would work the matter out at the hospital, and that we should just drive for now.
The other car continued following us for another eight blocks or so, then suddenly turned off onto a little side street. We were no more than a half mile to the hospital. We never saw the other car again, though we looked.
The lack of closure to the incident still bothers me. Did they make it safely? Why did the guy turn off? Was he afraid of legal hassles stemming from the collision? Had the medical matter reached a crisis point? Had he simply lost faith in Eileene's guidance? Though there wasn't any damage to our car (it really was a small collision), I was peeved that there was no exchange of reassurances. I was worried for the woman, disappointed that we hadn't finished the job, frustrated that my curiosity hadn't been answered, resentful that we received no thanks, and embarrassed that I felt such selfish reactions.
We'll never know the story. We touched something important to someone, and never learned what exactly. I'll wonder about it for a long time.