People Go So Fast

The reindeer ears were what made me turn around. They bobbed above the traffic like festive little antennas, attached to a woman who couldn't have been much taller than five feet. She stood on the shoulder of a busy road in a bright red skirt, slightly stooped, watching cars race past.

I drove by. Then I looked in the rearview mirror as she grew smaller. Then I pulled over.

Helping an elderly woman cross the street has always felt like the gold star of good deeds. I rolled down my window.

"Do you need some help?"

"No," she said brightly. "But could you give me a ride to Walgreens?"

I swung the car around, jumped out, and opened the passenger door. As she eased herself into the seat, she balanced two bags on her lap, one a crinkled plastic grocery bag, the other a black woven leather tote that had clearly traveled farther than most luggage.

"I'm going up there to sing Christmas carols," she announced.

As traffic honked behind us, she looked out the window.

"People go so fast on this road."

"They sure do."

I asked her name.

"Sampatti," she said, smiling as though she'd just won the lottery. "It's Sanskrit."

I nodded as if I knew what that was. 

Instead of talking about herself, she began telling me about an Indian reservation in northern Montana. She told me the water had been contaminated. People were getting sick. She spoke as if they were her own family.

By then, my five-minute ride had turned into a TED Talk delivered by someone's grandmother wearing reindeer ears.

When we arrived at Walgreens, I offered to help her inside.

"Oh, I'm not going in yet." She stayed exactly where she was.

"Do you need some water or anything?"

She hesitated. "I could use a little contribution for those souls on the reservation."

I handed her a twenty. She accepted it with both hands, thanked me, and climbed out.

As I drove away, I looked in the mirror one last time.

Sampatti adjusted her bags, straightened her tiny frame as tall as it would go, and faced the endless empty parking lot.

Maybe she really was waiting to sing Christmas carols. Maybe she was hoping someone else would ask about Montana. Maybe she simply wanted someone to stop long enough to hear her.

I never found out.

Every time I think about her, I remember what she said before she'd told me her name.

"People go so fast on this road."

I still don't know if she meant the cars. I just hope somebody stopped.