After a sleepless night in San Diego, we wake up by Maman’s knock. It is 4 a.m. in California. And we are getting dressed, or grabbing onto whatever is in front of us. The water is too dark and nothing can be seen but the flickering lights from afar.
I leave a note for the maid on my bed. It’s my fourth thank you note to a stranger who cleans the rooms, washes the sheets and changes the towels. This one is named Eileen, or so it says on a picture frame on the desk.
The flight to Chicago was simply uneventful. We sat Mamanbozorg by the window so she wouldn’t be close to the flight attendants, asking them for water. Maman read more of Gatsby and Baba did nothing. Looking out to the clouds was no longer a joy; I was too sleepy.
Here we are now in the Chicago Airport, eating and napping and letting time pass, awaiting the 4 p.m. flight to the city for lovers, Virginia.
Mamanbozorg prays and I have no idea what she asks from God. But whatever she has asked for so far must have been well because we made it through this trip, happy, satisfied, even if sleepless.
That’s it for this trip. Good times.