Giving Someone a Lift

Yesterday morning, while driving on Helena’s Park Avenue near the Civic Center, I saw someone sitting in deep snow—flailing—just off the sidewalk.  I immediately pulled over and ran back to see if the person needed help.  The temperature was something near -5°F.

I found a woman of about eighty.  She was wearing a backpack.  A plastic bag filled with groceries was looped around one arm.  She had apparently fallen while walking through the heavy snow on the uncleared sidewalk.  “Do you need help?” I asked.

“Maybe you can help me stand,” she suggested.

“Be happy to.  Hand me the bag and then you can grab my arm.”

After taking her bag, I stood on the sidewalk and extended my arm.  Working together, we brought her upright.

“The snow is deeper than I thought,” she admitted.

“Almost a foot right here.  Where are you going?”

“To my apartment down the street.”

“How far?”

“Above the Library.”

“That’s too far to walk in this mess.  Let me give you a ride.”

I helped her into my truck and we drove off toward the library.  We talked.  She told me she grew up in Butte.  All of her loved ones were gone.  I had found her on one of her regular walks to Thriftway to get groceries. 

“I like walking she said.  And I like the snow.”

“But not when you are swimming in snow,” I amended.

Her apartment, it turned out, was a bit more distant than she suggested.  We ended up at an apartment complex between Cruse Avenue and Rodney Street.  I pulled up to the front door, helped her out of my truck, and walked her to the apartment entry.  “Have a good rest of the day,” I told her.

Fishtailing away in the deep snow, I suddenly realized we never exchanged names.   Sometimes, I suppose, names don’t matter.

— Mitchell Hegman