How Shelby and I Met: A True Story

Shelby's grandmother is beset with Schloppinger's disease, a debilitating, strange disease, which has caused her to lose the use of both arms. Her greatest joy amidst her biplegic life is calling in to win radio contests. Of course, she can't dial, so she has a caretaker make the calls for her. Her whole family scoffed at her silly hobby until she won two tickets to visit Northern Ireland. She was delighted to invite Shelby, who had dialed many a call-in radio program for her. What's more, one of her good friends lived there, whom she had not seen in ages: a Mr. Rochester.

Meanwhile, I was studying in Northern Ireland for my doctoral thesis on bedflies, also known as noctororum scoliorum. I was hiking with my handicapped friend, also a sufferer of Schloppinger's. We were headed to Mussenden Temple to explore the ruins of the burnt castle which an older, insecure bishop had built for his young, beautiful wife. The ruins of the castle are surrounded by a large ditch which had possibly served as a moat in the past.

While exploring, I began to need a bathroom urgently. The only thing to use was the moat. I looked about for a person on patrol who might deter the necessary act. The only thing my eyes lit upon was a battered sign that read: BEWARE, SHEEP GRAZING. I knew, just as I'm sure you do, that certain breed of sheep can spell peril to those who are so unfortunate as to be caught staring upward into their eyes. Looking down upon a sheep means little, however, for they assume you to be their superior. Due to my weighted bladder, I meant to risk it, whatever the cost.

Just as I emerged from the wide ditch, there was a girl of about my age, staring in disbelief at my impertinence. She assumed, quite correctly, that I had used the moat as a bathroom. "Didn't you see the sign?!" She pointed, eyes wide. I tensed immediately, on guard for the sheep attack. She saw my look of panic and assumed a fighting stance as well, believing me to have seen some raucous sheep activity headed in our direction.

Seeing nothing, she saw the root of our misunderstanding, and pointed to the sign of which she had meant to accuse me. Directly beside me was a sign which read: ABSOLUTELY NO PEEING IN THE MOAT. We both laughed, eased by our mistake, and made introductions. We were mutually impressed by our immediate fighting reactions, but our conversation was cut short by the needs of our handicapped companions.

Some days later, we were destined to meet again! While studying, I was staying at the home of a friend named Jane. She told me of her admiration of her employer, a man named Mr. Rochester; indeed, the very same Rochester with whom Shelby's grandmother was so closely acquainted. So it fell that at a dinner party hosted by Rochester, Jane and I were to be in attendance. Who else should grace the table but Shelby and her biplegic grandmother!

While taking a tour of the large Rochester mansion, a castle, to be sure, Shelby and I finished the conversation from the moat days earlier. So deep in our thoughts were we that we became dreadfully lost in the place. We headed eastward in the mansion, toward voices which we supposed to belong to our friends. How wrong we were!

We trod up a staircase, much worn and quite small, believing it to be the servants' entrance to the hallway near the dining room. We heard laughter: at times faint, then quite loud, then a good deal of talking. But as we approached, all seemed to be coming from one voice, and that not of our friends at all. We assumed our sheep-fighting stances, and tried the door, only to find it locked.

At this, disappointed and relieved, we decided upon an alternate route which finally brought us to our friends who had hardly noticed our disappearance. Rochester was the exception, for he seemed to note our pale faces and breathless entrance. He kept a close eye on us for the rest of the evening, fidgeting more than before, and ushered us out long before the appropriate time of departure for family friends.

With these two singular experiences behind us, Shelby and I were forced to part once more. She and her grandmother were headed back to Pennsylvania, while I stayed in the area for some months more. When I returned to Pennsylvania, Shelby and I met up again at Millersville University: I with my doctorate, naturally, and with a slightly redder haircolor, a common effect of working with bedflies, the notable result of my research.

Wouldn't you know it! We read in the paper just days after meeting again that our friends, Jane and Mr. Rochester had been in love. But those strange voices we had heard in the night had belonged to MRS. Rochester! Mr. Rochester had married a crazed woman many years ago, and had kept her in the far east tower all that time!

Now, just as we told our group of nine middle-schoolers on camp-out night, if you google "Jane and Rochester," you're sure to find the newspaper articles which we found to be so disturbing. For our part, Shelby and I are still divided as to the appropriateness of the relationship which Mr. Rochester had allowed to ensue despite his lawful marital status.