Fellow Pilgrims

Every morning when I work, I wake up before dawn, outside black as midnight. It is only the last couple of weeks when a thin pink line highlights the horizon by the time I pull out of my driveway and speed towards the east.

I have a long drive to the children’s hospital where I work. The landscape changes as I travel from the middle of cornfields to the middle of the city. The traffic is light as we all home towards Chicago. Over the months I have made this drive, I have become familiar with many of those who make this same journey.

We’ve never spoken. I’ve never seen their faces, not by the dim pre-dawn light.

But we are still connected by our combined path.

A cobalt pick-up truck, with oversized wheels, bears bumper stickers proclaiming support for George Bush and “I just got a gun for my wife– best trade I ever made!” Clearly, the driver and I have little in common. And yet without trying, we meet and travel together.

It is an odd camaraderie, but undeniable.


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