I was heading into the Mt. Kisco Target for a new kitty litter scoop today when the two Westchester County Public Safety prowl cars rolled up by the front doors. At the same time, an elderly woman and another woman, probably a caregiver, came out to talk with them. I kept walking; I had two containers of Edy’s ice cream from the adjacent Stop & Shop in my car, quickly melting, and I needed to get the scoop and get going. Lost wallet? Angry voices over carts bumping? I didn’t know. I wasn’t sticking my nose into somebody else’s business, especially since the cops were there.
Ten minutes later I had my scoop and hit the exit, wondering if I’d find a puddle of ice cream in my Hyundai. The prowl-car boys were wrapping up with the women. The older one spoke with some agitation into her cell phone and told the caregiver she needed to call Social Services. Something about an alarm going off.
“But I don’t have a pen and paper to write things down on,” she said, as I walked by
I went five steps and remembered I had a pen in my shirt pocket. I turned around and took it from my pocket.
“Ma’m, here’s a pen for you,” I said.
“Thank you!” she said, sounding relieved.
“You can keep it,” I replied and turned back to the melting ice cream in my car.
When I see a dame in distress, I don’t look away. Sometimes I’ll give her the shirt off my back, sometimes the pen in my pocket. What can I say? I’m a writer. I carry a pen.
When I got home, the ice cream was slightly mushy, but tasted great.