A Jester of Goodwill

Yesterday’s run started off unspectacularly.  There were a few people along the sidewalk with us, including the standard dog walkers, people waiting for the bus, the random kid on a skateboard.  As we ran, I saw a key lying in the middle of the sidewalk.  It looked like a house key on a red lanyard, probably dropped by some latchkey kid on his way back from the library across the street.  I pointed to it as we passed and my husband held up his hands as if to say, what can you do?

Minutes later we saw an elderly man in the distance.  He was using a red walker, which I clearly interpreted as, this man’s favorite color is red and therefore that was his key.  “You think it’s his?”

My husband shrugged.

As we neared, I said, “I’m going to ask him.”

“I think you should.”

We caught up to him and I said, “Excuse me.”

The poor man was given quite the fright by the two sweaty runners coming up from behind, swarming him, then screaming in a language it turns out he doesn’t speak.

“Did you lose a key?  A key?   A KEY???”

We kept screaming “key” over and over, as if sheer volume would aid in comprehension.  I almost thought we should keep running and leave the poor guy thinking he just had a bizarre encounter with two lunatics.  In a last ditch effort I pantomimed holding a key and turning a lock.  As I was doing this, I realized my gesture was uncomfortably similar to one that meant “I’ve got a small shiv I’m going to stick in your ribs than turn unless you give me your wallet.”

Luckily the gentleman understood my true intent and finally the light went on.  He looked down to where the key probably had been dangling from the handle of his walker (see, red/red?  Am I genius or what?).

“Oh!”

My husband and I quickly took off from whence we came.  We sprinted the hundred yards or so to where the key lay, and my husband got there first because he’s no gentleman.  He picked up the key and handed it to me so I would have the honor because maybe he’s a gentleman after all. 

The old man was waiting on the sidewalk, his hand at his forehead in salute.  In broken English he said, “Thank you very much.”

We paused long enough to give him his key and a quick thumbs up because we are runners first and good Samaritans second.