Empty seat
Dear Diary:
Rushing tiredly onto the packed train 6 after a long day, I discovered an empty seat across from the door. I’m bound to it hoping no one else will get there first.
Feeling smug, I sat down and started looking around. Glancing at the man sitting next to me, I saw that he had what looked like an albino snake wrapped around his neck. Its head rested on one of the man’s arms and turned towards me.
I stared in disbelief, wondering if it was a real snake because it didn’t move.
Right after that, it stuck its tongue out at me.
You’ve never seen anyone jump up as fast and move as far as they can.
No wonder no one took a seat.
– Anna Sanidad
Think
Dear Diary:
After graduating from college, I lived in the East Village. I found a neighborhood barbershop that advertised a $10 haircut and went inside.
A barber, Toufik, led me to his chair with a friendly smile. With our reflections in the mirror, we exchanged stories of our nephews – mine in Baltimore, his in Algiers. He’s a musician, and so am I.
I have become a regular. I learned about the essentials of renting a barber chair as I followed Toufik from shop to store for the next few years.
One day, I went to get a haircut and the barbershop was empty: the door was locked, the barber’s chair was gone. I have no way of finding out if Toufik is opening a store elsewhere. Finally, I moved out of the vicinity.
Years later, I landed at Kennedy Airport late one night, returning home from a business trip. Throwing myself in the back of the taxi, I gave the address to the driver.
“I know you!” A friendly voice spoke from the front seat.
In the rearview mirror, I saw Toufik’s familiar grin. Once again, our reflections swap stories as if no time had passed.
– Adam Gwon
Canarsie’s Hometown
Dear Diary:
Growing up, I told everyone that I lived in Canarsie, along the L.
That’s what I think because that’s what all the subway signs leading home say as we get to and from Manhattan. (My mother did not correct me for her own confusion, similarly when she came to New York as a young immigrant.)
It wasn’t until my friend Ian challenged my geography in high school that I finally got my fix. My stop is Bedford Avenue. I live in Williamsburg.
More than 20 years later, Ian still greets me with “Canarsie in the house!” and it made me chuckle.
– Jennifer Ma
Saturday Matinee
Dear Diary:
I’m sitting in my regular Saturday afternoon chair at the Midwood Theater in Brooklyn, on the right half. As usual, I ate corned beef with rye and pickles. This day is so special. The main feature is “Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man.”
The only thing I remember is the monster being freed from a block of ice. When he comes back to life – that’s it! It is too much for a 10 year old. I’m a bit confused.
That night, I had a nightmare about Frankenstein melting in my bed. And no one was home at the time. My mother was playing gin at Mrs. Langbaum’s, and my father was driving a taxi.
My mother lost her keys and asked Langbaums’ son, Ira, to climb up our fire escape and get the spare. Up a few stories, he came to a strange apartment.
He opened the window, tripped and fell through the curtain onto my bed.
Frankenstein has come to me!
I sat up straight, moving my lips but nothing came out.
My mother took the keys, and I got into the habit of waking up in the middle of the night, pushing the curtains aside, and checking to see if Frankenstein was escaping the fire.
More than 75 years later, I still miss you, Ira Langbaum.
– Stewart Steckel
Bookmarks
Dear Diary:
A friend and I were planning a jazz night in SoHo, and we decided to go for a quick drink at a bar earlier. It’s a rather informal place, and a few minutes after we were seated I noticed how lovely the waiter was – maybe a little younger than me, but very much like me.
Lately, I’ve been trying to be more forward, so as my friend and I were about to leave, I decided to give the bartender my number.
I rummaged through my bag for a pen and scrap of paper, but couldn’t find it. So I use a McNally Jackson bookmark and eyeliner pencil. After jotting down my number, I handed the bookmark to my new crush as he passed.
He quickly said that he had a girlfriend, and my face turned red in an impressive way.
A short while later, I was reading a book on my way to work in the morning, fortunately a seat was available near the door.
As the train pulled into Canal Street, the page I was reading was suddenly obscured. A man on his way out the door shoved a folded piece of paper into the spine of my book and vanished into the bustling crowd before I could react.
Surprised, I opened the paper to find a name and a number.
Looks like I got my bookmarks back.
– Charlotte Rea
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Illustration by Agnes Lee
