To be a Good Samaritan — or not. That was the question.
The morning was icy cold last week as I headed to an early coffee date with a friend. But as I drove hurriedly down the highway, I spotted a disabled vehicle with its flashers piercing the early morning mist.
Then within a short distance, a man and woman walking on the roadway came into view. Their clothing was inadequate for the inclement weather, a sweatshirt on one, a lightweight jacket on the other. Surely, their destination would be at least a mile or two away.
Should I cross to the other lane, pretend I didn’t see? After all, I had a girlfriend to meet, old times to catch up on. I shouldn’t be late.
Or should I be a Good Samaritan? That was the question.
My little coupe braked, and then I threw it into reverse. At their side, I called to the couple from my passenger window, the windshield wipers keeping time with my heart. Momentarily, my empathy had trumped common sense, and I knew it
I breathed a prayer as the guy climbed into the backseat of my Eclipse and she squeezed in beside me. Maybe an angel could squeeze into the car, too.
"I see your car broke down," my voice taking on a lighthearted tone. “Where can I take you?” I asked the rough face in my rearview mirror.
They went on to explain that the car on the highway wasn’t theirs.
No, they’d hitched a ride in from a nearby town where their vehicle had slid down a snowy hill. (Funny, I didn’t recall it snowing.) But if I could drive them a few more miles, they’d get help from a friend.
“So, what’s your name?” I later called over my shoulder as I slowed curbside, the place they were looking for straight ahead.
“Trigger,” the man said in a low voice as he exited the car, his lady friend in tow.
I paused, and then sped away, my thoughts racing. Was he named after that famous horse or ?
To be a Good Samaritan or not? I think for the next time, I’ve answered my question.