“…not made of steel.”

As I crossed the bridge into Roosevelt Square I encountered a somewhat common sight. The woman in the black medical mask and glasses looked around, disoriented, but especially so thanks for construction and the big orange cones set out for the Tulsa King filming blocking the walkways. I waved and called out politely.

“Ma’am, may I help you? Are you looking for the courthouse?” It was Monday morning and almost everybody with a curious stare was in the same predicament this time of rhetoric week.

“I’m totally turned around. I have jury duty,” she replied.

“Ah, well. Because of the filming it might be just a little harder to get there today than usual,” I said. “May I show you the way?”

She agreed. It was her first time being summoned and she’d phoned ahead to make sure her number was in the group being called. I thought a moment and navigated her away from the courthouse entrance, ironically, the best way to get her there at this point. I explained the frequency with which I’d been summoned in Nashville and that I was already familiar with the process here as, having registered to vote on arrival, I’d been summoned to my civic duty promptly.

“It’s my first time,” she explained, elaborating that she’d lived in Gainesville her whole life, working in a nearby flea market. She was the same age as my older daughter, and I remarked that my girls grew up in Flowery Branch. We passed back under the pedestrian bridge.

“Do you mind if I push?” I saw her think for a moment.

“Well,” still working it out, “I would get there faster.” It 8:35 AM and she was already a couple minutes late.

I gripped the handles of her wheel chair and explained I’d done the same for my dad before. So as we took to the street outside the temporary chain-link barricade, she said she ordinarily used a walker. We rounded the corner and encountered a small caravan of tractor trailer trucks unloading for the TV production. The laborers (gaffers?) paid us little attention.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your walk!” she said with maybe a little elation as we climbed the slight grade between the cul du sac and the courthouse side stairs, still heavy with foot traffic for the TV filming. We caught the attention of one of the cops playing security guard who had seen me stroll through earlier.

“No problem whatsoever. It’s 50% of the reason I walk every day.”

I got her past the pedestrians who tarried on their way into the building and I fiddled with the inadequate accommodations for people using assistance. A bearded guy with a man bun and a vape ineptly floundered at the glass doors as if his 30 years had woefully prepared him for the site of a man pushing a wheelchair. Sigh. Through the second set of doors, I settled her into the crowd awaiting the security check.

“Here you are,” I mused with a whimsical grin.

The young woman thanked me and I told her I hoped she had a good day.

As I passed the cops again wearing my bright red t-shirt, jeans, and cross trainers, I felt light as a feather. I jogged across the street with the lit walk signal.

It’s almost a shame she’ll never know she made my week before it really started.