• Close to Home

    John held on to the grocery cart with both hands. He stood by the automatic exit door at Wegmans Onondaga Blvd, off to one side. He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, so softly that I was out in the parking lot before I realized what he was saying. “Can you give me a ride home? I’m right nearby.” I must have heard him because I heard myself, saying, automatically, accurately, but not truthfully, that I had to get back to work. Before I reached the car, I started to ask myself if I really was in such a hurry. As I unloaded my necessary but certainly not…