I loaded my cart at Target, a stack of the various tools of clean, organized, daily life:  spray bottles, dog chews, paper towels.  I pulled the buggy into an open lane and greeted the cashier.  Do you want to save 5% today and every day, she started, but I shook my head.  Strange as it might seem, I don’t.

She began ringing the items which I had selected — the hand sanitizer, the cough drops, the vitamins.  As she worked, she slid each item into a floppy plastic bag, one, two, three and I began to regret deciding to get all of this stuff bought before the polar vortex settled on the city.  I pictured myself carrying those five plastic bags, heavy with supplies, from car to door.  Maybe I better get one of your re-useable cloth bags, I told her.  As she filled the first 99 cent cloth bag, I added,  I guess I’ll need two.

I turned to swing the loaded bag into my cart and then it happened.  I fell backward, through the opening where she had just rung my purchases above the scanner.  I did not twist my ankle.  I did not hit the counter.  No one bumped me.  My legs just gave way, as the weakened legs of a disabled person will do, sometimes.

She caught me, easily, without hesitation.  Her hands held my arms and she let my body rest against hers for the briefest of moments.  Then, easily, with the strength of youth, she righted me.  She continued ringing my purchases while I fidgeted with my wallet and tried not to let on how embarrassed I was.  I kept my face down as I scanned my debit card.  She stood straight and steady, never said a word, as she handed the receipt to me.  I looked up, then; and felt her liquid brown eyes warm and soft on my pale blue gaze with its hovering tears.  She said, softly:  Would you like some help to the car, Ma’am? and I replied: No, no, thank you, I’ll be fine.

Then I left.  I felt this one moment in time settle into a quiet space, beside all the other moments when someone has touched my heart with their gentleness.