The technician from Glasgow
and the Little Rock nurse break
through morning. I hear that brogue and
roll over in my sleeper, my bed for
the last too many days, and I say
“talk to me,” to the Tech. She blushes
like a woman half of half her age
and asks “what would you like me to say?”
“Tell me about your home,” I start
but the nurse stops me short.
“You are from London?” she asks.
The wrong question at 4:45 in
the morning. The Tech turns.
“No” she says, cheeks flaming and
Looking for the right response but
she is flummoxed.
There are few things cuter
than a Glasgowian in her
sixtieth year rendered speechless
at 4:45 in the morning by
a Little Rockian with no large
penchant for geography. I roll over
and there is Amber, laughing on
the foldout couch, hair awhirl.
Amber begins defusing the fire by
sharing about the time she visited
the motherland, the countryside,
the fish and chips, the hospitality.
The Tech turned to Amber and smiled,
saying “it’s so much more civilized than
London town.” Yes, flummoxed
Scottish women are cute at 4:45,
outdoes them all.
Amber gives a Titus update today. The good news? Today we’re going home!