ERIN
My laptop rests in my lap as I try to get some work done before I head back home to New York. LAX is always busy, and I was lucky to get a seat at my gate. I’m struck by the thought that I spend more time on planes and in hotels than I do in my own apartment these days. The sad thing is that I’m okay with it. I look around at exhausted families waiting to go home with that peaceful look on their faces because they know they are going to be sleeping in their own bed tonight. For me, the thought terrifies me.
My neighbors barely know who I am. The only person who recognizes me by name is Dawn, the mail carrier, and it’s only because whenever I see her in the lobby, she berates me about not collecting my mail often enough. I’m a stranger in my own building that visits every once in a w
