Take a Good Look Around

            I notice everything. I’m the girl you want to be your witness in court because I’ll remember exactly what someone was wearing and where they were standing when they were doing whatever they were doing. If someone has a mole that is not covered by clothing, I can tell you where it is faster than their dermatologist can. 

            It’s easy to think I’m this way because I’ve spent my adult life working as a journalist, but this skill goes back farther than that, as I can still remember how the pens were arranged at the office store my mom frequented when I was kid — and that store has been out of business for at least 30 years. 

            So while I try my best to pay attention to the road when I’m driving, I always notice the folks walking along the sidewalks. Catawba Avenue is the main thoroughfare near my home, and it’s not the most pedestrian friendly street, but you’ll see your share of runners and walkers. Some walk for exercise, while others walk to work, dressed in their required uniforms. 

            Almost every morning I see this older lady with short snow-white hair barreling down the sidewalk. If she’s walking toward the drug store, her hands are empty. If she’s walking away from it, she carries a plastic bag filled with whatever she just bought. My guess is that she lives in the apartments nearby and that this is her daily outing. 

            Every time I see her, I hope and pray that I’ll be able to walk to the drug store when I’m her age. She doesn’t walk fast, but she walks as fast as she can. Her back is permanently hunched over, and she consistently wears capri pants with socks and sneakers. (Because she’s a senior citizen, she can get away with this, but don’t try this at home, kids — ever.)

             The other day she was wearing a bright red crossbody purse, and she was carrying a single red rose. The stem was clipped to almost boutonniere length, and the rose hadn’t fully bloomed. She was carrying this rose as carefully as Horton carried his piece of clover in Dr. Seuss’ Horton Hears a Who, and all I could think about was where that rose came from. 

            Did she snip it from her yard or someone else’s? Did someone give it to her? (Am I being outdone as her biggest fan?) Did she rescue it from the sidewalk after someone dropped it? I wondered. 

            Regardless, I was glad the rose had found her. The rich redness of the petals brought out the vibrant color of her crossbody so much so that she looked like one of those black and white photographs with pops of color that was popular in the 1990s. She was walking a little faster, as close as she could get to having a skip in her step, and I know that the rose had something to do with it.

            Most of us would take a single rose for granted, especially one with a short stem. But this lady treasured her floral gift just as much as I treasure seeing her walk every day. Instead of stopping to smell the roses, she opted to carry the magic home, and I know she enjoyed it.