At 30,000 Feet, I Watched My Wife Crawl Across the Floor With Both Legs in Casts While My Mother Hid Her Crutches—Then I Noticed What Was Recording Behind Them
Rearranges flowers on other people’s tables.
Once told my barber he had cut my hair too short.
I said:
“Mom.”
She stopped.
“Sorry.”
Progress.
Not transformation.
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