The intersection of despair

By Larry Rostad of Minneapolis

Submitted by Cheryl (Rostad) Barry

For over two years I had been hatching a plan to visit my twin nieces in Arkansas. Acknowledging my current status as a senior citizen, I no longer was at ease with long road trips. I was grateful when my former neighbor and friend, Sonja, agreed to be my travel companion last October for the two-day drive from Minneapolis to Little Rock, Ark. When my phone’s GPS failed, she was a great help navigating the exit and entrance ramps on the tangled interstates, especially those around Kansas City. We stayed at Harrisonville, Missouri, the first night.

The next day we got to Bentonville, Ark in time for lunch at Crystal Springs, the fabulous new American art museum built by one of the Wal-Mart heiresses. We spent a couple hours exploring the collection before returning to the freeway.

In late afternoon, we approached the city of Little Rock from the north, but then took a jog to the southwest in search of our hotel. All the exit signs were now in black silhouettes thanks to the setting sun. Nevertheless we managed to identify our exit, and happily arrived at our hotel. Road weary, tired, and hungry, we were elated to see the towering sign ahead that read, WAFFLE HOUSE. It promised southern comfort food and hospitality. We asked the hotel receptionist for directions.

“Take the frontage road out front and up the hill and around the corner. But you can’t come back that way because it’s a one-way street. To return just make a right by the Waffle House lot, then another right and that will take you back here.”

We thought we could manage that alright. After dinner we made our right and then another right, and immediately found ourselves snaking down a darkening, bewildering serpentine residential road with no street lights. The cars behind were totally impatient with our slow pace as we struggled to read the street signs.

Returning to the Waffle House intersection we tried the next right turn-off. Once again we were thrown into another twisting dark suburban road with poor signage and lighting. We returned to the intersection for the third time. This intersection was unique not only in its turn-off options, but it was extremely busy with dense traffic because its major loop was the link to the freeway overpass.

After a failed third try to find our way, I drove into a convenience store lot and went in to ask for help. I was becoming very frustrated, which the young store clerk recognized and understood.

“You’re from out of town aren’t you?” He walked with me into the parking lot to better show me the correct turn-off.

Meanwhile, as Sonja was waiting in the car, she noticed the woman parked next to us had two plastic clothes baskets and was sorting laundry on the hood of her early 80s-model automobile with a fearsome German shepherd in the back seat. She appeared to be living in that rusted out vehicle.

Apparently this homeless woman had overheard the clerk and me discussing directions. She walked over to me and said, “I’ll escort you.”

We meekly followed her beater with the canine through several hills and turns and the back parking lot of a Home Depot. Miraculously it led to the one-way frontage road to our hotel. Saved! Restored! We were so grateful! I graciously tipped her, as well as the convenience clerk, and thanked her.

The next day as I was reflecting on this experience I thought, “Who comes to help when one is tempted to abandon hope? Not the impatient ones in their fancy luxury cars and SUV’s, but those who have nothing, but they do have empathy and time to assist their fellow human. They are angels among us.”

The gentle characters that helped us that October night in Little Rock left a deep, memorable impression, and I wish them well.