The sign in front of the modest, industrial looking building said, "Livingston Rehabilitation and Care." I read it from the drivers seat of my car as I waited for the light to turn green. There was a row of handicap accessible vans lined up in the parking lot, and about a dozen patients waited to board them. They all sat in wheel chairs, while a handful of employees scrambled to organize the transport.
My eyes were drawn to 2 patients, a man and a woman, adorned in typical hospital attire. He was a few feet in front of her, and when he turned his head around and saw her, he reached back his hand. I watched as she began cranking the large wheels on her chair. I glanced at the light, hoping it was still red. She drew closer to him, releasing a wheel and stretching out her arm.
The light at the cross intersection turned yellow, then red. I watched the couple with eagerness. "Oh please let me see it," I said out loud to no one. But my light turned green, and I was forced to press the gas pedal. As I drove away, I looked in the rear view mirror just in time. She had closed the distance. And they waited to board the vans, hand in hand.