
Caretaker
November 24, 2007Somewhere over Virginia, someone closed the windowshade to my right. I woke up for good as the plane began its descent, and opened the shade, expecting to see buildings but only catching glints of light off the slate blue of Lake Michigan.
“I’m jealous you were able to sleep the whole way,” said the man who had sat to my left. “I closed the shade for you, but I didn’t think anything was going to disturb you.”
“Thank you,” I said to this man I had slept next to, this man who took care of me just a little.
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