My attention was on the elderly gentleman, sunk solidly into the seat of his motorized shopping cart and leaning with his left arm into the refrigerated section for a half-gallon of juice. He didn’t need my help. But I watched anyway. Watched and waited. Watched like I might with my own child cutting an apple with a steak knife. And waited…just in case.
The man’s weight hung on him like a sixty year burden. Only heavier was the burden he carried within. His eyes said so.
But it wasn’t these my son noticed.
As the man beeped his cart into reverse, my son’s head spun to find the melody. As the cart whizzed unsteadily past us, my son’s hand beat against my side. Had I seen it? he wanted to know. He pointed reverently after the man and the scooter. “That,” he sighed, “was one fast ride.”