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The supermarket was crowded when I rushed inside, intent on getting my shopping done as quickly as possible. I was hurrying down an aisle, when a wispy voice asked, “Excuse me, Miss. Can you tell me where the coffee is?”
I turned to see a small, white-haired woman in shabby clothing. She looked lost, frail, and helpless.
“Sorry, I don’t know.” I wasn’t a coffee drinker, after all. And as a brand-new high school teacher with several English classes, four levels of journalism classes, and newspaper production, TV dinners were just about all I was subsisting on. I hardly knew where to find anything else.
Critical thoughts swirled through my mind as I turned back to my shopping. Really, this woman has a serious memory problem if she can’t even remember where her coffee is! She shouldn’t be out by herself. How can her relatives let her go shopping alone? I’d certainly never let my parents do that.
“Could This Be Me?” My monologue went on awhile, but I had pretty much forgotten about the woman by…
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