you can't get there from here

the first problem was the plate; there was no pine cone, no tassel, no lobstah...er.

beyond that, the pronunciation was all wrong - was he asking where to bang someone?
​
but he persisted.

 "there's a civic center, and concerts on the waterfront, and that's where the author's from."

(I didn't ask who he meant, we all know. from the movies filmed at the cemeteries to the radio station he owns, and the fact you can find his books from Calais to Calais to Chiang Mai.)

"well," I said, "you head east past the old sawmill, turn left after the old grammar school, it's Davidson's shop now, and then up route-" 

"where's the old sawmill?"

"your first right after the post office, past the old hatchery."

"okay, how far east?"

"just past the old hatchery."

"which road?"

"the first right after the post office." I pointed up the road. "you head down that way a stretch and turn right after the post office." 

he only looked more perplexed.

"okay," he said, not sounding very confident. he walked slowly toward his car. "so, it's just down here?" he pointed the way I had pointed.

"yes. the post office is just after the Reynolds' dooryard; they have a yellow Camaro." 

for some reason this only made him more concerned. he hovered by his driver's side door.

"you know, maybe I was wrong, maybe you can't get there from here."

his eyes widened and he looked at me.

"you can ask at the gas station a mile past the post office, they may have a map."

"okay," he said, a look of relief washing over his face. "thanks." then he sped away. 
​
I entered my house, picked up my purse, then drove off in my own car.

I didn't see the man when I made the right turn after the post office, or after I went by the old sawmill, or the old grammar school, but I did arrive in time for the waterfront concert I'd been waiting for. as it turns out, you can get there from here.

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