As the BART pulled in to the penultimate stop, I was half a dozen pages from the end of tuesdays with Morrie: an old man, a young man, and life’s greatest lesson, a “long paper on what was learned” as the author comes to the terms with the slow deterioration and death of his favorite teacher.
An old lady who sat across from me for most of the train ride, looked directly into my eyes and said, “That is really good book.” She smiled.
“Yes. I have to stop reading now, because I’m liable to cry if I finish it.”
(I’ll confess my eyes were a little bit wet.)