Conflicts with and Old Friend

(Art of Democracy)

On September 27, a woman arrived at my house. She met with my mother, crying and pleading, and quick footsteps echoed throughout the house. The two loitered on the driveway, at which point my mother took the woman's keys and called 911. Of course, neither me nor my elder brother were informed that there was a drunken, suicidal woman just outside the door until the police cars and ambulance arrived. She was, apparently, an old friend that had gone fifteen years without being seen by my parents, potentially dangerous due to the fact that she held no care to the repercussions she could cause herself.

My brother, mother, and I argued considerably over the woman and offered our speculations on what we should have done. In the end, though, we all begrudgingly agreed that it was best to have called the police.