The radio was barely receiving a signal. I was lost in thought about my family when the silence became apparent. Sitting at home by the desk was the iPod I meant to pack, and without the music’s distraction the darkness began creeping in. With nothing to illuminate beyond the edge of the road, the darkness was thick, the streetlights having long since died and wither away. I had to slow down because, beside no streetlights, there were no reflectors marking the lane. I wanted to call my parents to see how they were holding up but there was no signal. Just as well, it was so late.

After flying for several hours, and with the majority of the long drive behind, the fatigue was setting in. Having arrived on the last flight at 10:30 P.M. It was purely by chance that the car agency still had a big car available, they never seem to have the correct size, and a big car would be needed to shuttle various family members around. As I drove out of the agency’s parking lot and with the image of the airport getting smaller in the rear view mirror, the clock on the dash indicated it was almost 11:45 A.M. Now in the middle of who knows where, it was now almost 2:00 A.M. It would be good to see my parents again though it really had not been that long. I missed them. I wondered how their trip had been. There was no end to the dark and the headlights were only penetrating a small portion of what was out there.

My mind wondered to grandfather, my father’s farther, the family patriarch from the “old country.” His parents had been born here, but in mid-life he adapted an eccentricity that he did not know English though it had been his first language as a boy and he spoke it perfectly. Grandfather would mow the yard and cut my grandmother’s flowers and claim he did not see them because he did not have his glasses on. He found great pleasure in his mischief, his laugh would light up his face, and his eyes would take on a twinkle betraying a boyish rascal underneath. Wiping away the smile, he would rub his hands across his mouth like he was wiping away the remnants of a satisfying meal. His hands were big, supple and attached to well-defined forearms, which remained so until the end of his life. At his funeral my grandmother admitted she did not care about the flowers but, not wanting to take away my grandfather’s little pleasure, she let him think she did.

I wanted to understand my grandfather to find out about him when he was my age. A long time ago, after taking a language course and becoming somewhat fluent, I thought perhaps we could have a conversation. It would be nice to at least try to converse, or so I thought.

Visits to grandfather were usually made with my father acting as the translator for conversations with my grandfather. On one of our visits, I wanted to show them both, my newly acquired ability to converse without the need of a translator. My father looked surprised when he heard the words coming out of my mouth. The look of disbelieve gave way to a look of pride, when I started asking my grandfather how he was feeling, about the weather and if he found much difference in the weather now as compared to when he was a boy. My father gave me a wink and I felt like a little boy again who had just ridden a bike for the first time, or brought home a straight “A” report card.

My father looked at his dad who cleared his throat, spit it out, and said, “Your son speaks with an accent. He sounds like an idiot.” My father looked at me, I am sure, filled with emotions reminding him of a boyhood scolding. My grandfather got up and walked away to cut the grass. I got up and went to my car and left. I never spoke to my grandfather again. That was more than 10 years ago.

Yet here I was, in the middle of nothing at almost 2:00 in the morning, getting sleepy, and going to his funeral to pay my respects. I was not upset with him, but I did wonder if he ever noticed my absence. He never asked for me.

Fear of the dark never plagued me, fortunately my father taught me not to fear intangible ghostly beings rather it was the denizens of the real world that needed close watching. However, a dark road without light was a new experience. Most of the time I drove in the city on well-lighted roads, and on this stretch of highway, the car’s headlights could not penetrate the darkness. Just beyond the edge of the light was the perfect setting for those ghostly beasts to be nesting.

Coffee. I needed coffee. I was getting so sleepy. I had not passed any towns for about an hour. I wanted to pull over to take a nap, but that would have been too hazardous. Sleep beckoned. Slowing down, the surroundings became more apparent, the slower speed allowed the light to enter the darkness. Pushing the envelop of light further into the brush on the side of the road, the flash of a man standing on the side of the road appeared momentarily in my field of vision. Fortunately for us both he was on the opposite side or the car might have struck him. In the instance the light illuminated his figure, it was apparent he was old. He just stood there motionless, expressionlessly, not reacting to the possibilities of what could have happened. He was peacefully looking at the road behind me. The car came to a stop almost by itself, and I got out. He was not there. Walking toward the spot where he had been, it was apparent as I approached that he was gone. More than his presence, his disappearance scared me. He was out there, where, or what he was doing, or worse yet whom he was with, was a problem. Why was he hiding?

I searched for several minutes, but there was nothing out there other than me in the middle of the road, looking for someone that was possibly a figment of my imagination. Some lights coming from a town were visible off in the distance. In the direction the old man had been looking. Having just traveled through that area, the town had not been there. It was like a town just appeared. I decided to turn around and investigate. How does an entire town disappear then reappear? Glancing at my rearview mirror, the old man was visible again in the exact same spot. Just standing there, on the side of the road, but this time looking at me.

I could not believe it was possible to have driven through this stretch of road not more than 20 minutes earlier and not seen what was before my eyes now. I was approaching the outskirts of a small town. It was with some trepidation that I walking through the doors of a 24-hour fast food joint hoping to get some coffee, not quite knowing what to expect. The girl behind the cash register was too busy talking on her cell phone to even acknowledge me, so much for customer service. She was talking about the blackout that had wiped out the electricity for miles around and how their computers were just now getting back online. I must have driven through the town and not even notice.

Once finished, she informed me about the blackout and how scary it was for them. She said she could not call her boyfriend because her cell phone had no signal. I asked for directions and sure enough I had gone straight instead of turning left at the corner that the girl referenced to with a swing of her arm. The road was apparent through the windows and a lone car turn onto it. I ordered some coffee, she said it was not too hot because of the blackout but that was fine with me, years of college had taught me to drink coffee at any temperature.

After making it to the hotel, my mother and father came by my room to “check” on me, she started crying saying she had been worried. Mom, always made me feel wanted. My dad just rolled his eyes, but he was relieved also. Later, a map indicated my mistake had placed me on one of those small roads that just seem to go on forever without arriving anywhere. If I had not turned around, it would have added hours to an already long trip.

My head hit the pillow and the old man in the road popped into my mind’s vision. Had the old man been a visitation by my grandfather, one of his friends, or just my subconscious manifesting the facts about the blackout to my conscious mind? Considering the prankster my grandfather was, if he could come back, he would find it funnier to cause the blackout, which almost launched me on a cross-country trip. Although, I would like to think it was my grandfather trying to tell me he was looking out for me. I feel asleep mumbling, “go cut your grass grandfather, go cut your grass.”