During my drive.
Nathaniel and I proceeded to unload our moving truck into our new apartment, and even though he swears it felt like only a half hour, the moments I spent laying on the floor during that nearly three hours felt like a lifetime.
Laying in the midst of the cardboard city in our living room, I silently prayed for one of two small miracles: that the heat wouldn't wipe me out as much as it usually does, or we'd have help unloading our truck.
I started to dose off when I heard Nathaniel laughing outside. Picking myself off the surprisingly comfortable floor, I walked outside to see a big smile on Nathaniel's face as he pushed along our too-heavy-for-me-to-lift-dresser on an industrial dolly cart.
I was confused until I looked up and saw a white-headed, pot-bellied, bare-chested man casually leaning on the railing, a line of smoke rising from the cigarette perched between his fingers. He cheerfully told Nathaniel how useful that dolly had been over the last 20 years.
And then I laughed. A miracle? Maybe, maybe not, but hey, I'll take what I can get.