The patrol car drove up and parked, and the officer stepped toward me, where I stood with my homeless friends. “Who’s Pam?” My homeless friends asked me, ‘What have you done?” I stood there, unsure what was unfolding, and answered the officer. “I’m Pam. I don’t have any warrants, do I?”
He laughed but then got serious. “A young woman was beaten by her boyfriend, and she’s pregnant. And now she’s walking a few blocks away,” he pointed. “She is staying at the women’s battered shelter nearby. Will you talk with her and maybe help her find a church group or someone who might get her a bus ticket? Her father lives in Missouri. She really wants to go home.”
I finished my goodbyes with my friends and took off in my car to find the young woman, who the officer said was wearing black slacks and an orange top. I drove up and down the streets, block after block, turned, stopped, backed up, and even saw the officer’s patrol car circling the same area. I would see him to my left and right, but NO girl. He was also going to try and find her. I kept wondering how the officer drove around the blocks so fast, but then I saw the driver of one SUV; it was not my officer friend who stopped to get me. There were two patrol cars. I wasn’t losing my mind.
