By now I have my car door open, one foot on the ground when two shoppers, a man unloading empties from his trunk and a blond reedy woman driving an overflowing cart abandon their tasks and run over to help. The three of them manage to bring the immobile woman to her feet only to have her fold up again. The two Samaritans prevent her from totally sprawling. The man braces her back against his leg while the woman shopper has a hand on her shoulder restraining her from pitching forward in a sprawl. She appears conscious, eyes open though I do not see her lips move. Her companion says something to them. Then turns leaving the three of them in the middle of the lane. She strolls without haste, the slap-slap of her sandals loud on the pavement, to the next row of cars. She gets into a late-model gray Infiniti. She drives it down the lane and around to where the two people stand dutifully guarding the propped up woman.
Leaving the car running, she gets out. I hear a snatch of angry words, something to the effect, “…she always does this.” I wonder who the woman is – is it her mother or someone she cares for? Is the woman someone suffering Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s or some other malady? By appearance and build, the two women may be related.
Working together the three people toggle the inert woman toward the front passenger side, alternately dragging and pushing her dead weight until they maneuver her into the now reclined passenger seat. They back away in concert, the man shaking his head from side to side as if in disbelief and the female shopper with a strained look on her face as she reclaims her cart.
I wait for the car to leave but the driver instead steers it into a space and shuts the engine off. She gets out of the car fuming aloud. She opens the doors and trunk as if she is searching for something in a non-specific absent-minded way. She closes the doors and opens them again. She paces from one end of the car to the other, more than a few times. She mutters, gesticulating while giving great attention to adjusting and readjusting her sweater and dark pants. The passenger is ignored. Perhaps five minutes go by. Then she steps back into the car and turns the ignition. Still she continues to sit for a minute or so more staring straight ahead before finally backing out and exiting the S&S parking lot slowly heading east.
I note her car has a bold yellow bumper sticker that proclaims Teach 20. The reclined passenger is not in view. And I am left to wonder about what I have witnessed.
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