Downward
Dear Diary:
I was walking downstairs on the building’s service elevator with Mike, the elevator operator.
Suddenly, he stopped at one of the lower floors.
When the door opened, he held out his hand.
An elderly woman was standing there with her hands in her hands, holding a jar that she couldn’t seem to open.
Mike took the vial, opened it, and handed it back with a smile.
“Thanks,” she said.
He closed the door and we continued down.
– Anne Oshman
Amazon golden nap
Dear Diary:
My sister, who moved to California over 30 years ago, came to visit. Feeling nostalgic, we decided to go to Coney Island, where we grew up.
Strolling along the boardwalk, we came across a small crowd gathered around a street performer. He was playing the guitar and was accompanied by about 10 parrots of different colors, shapes and sizes that were singing with him, to everyone’s delight.
My sister couldn’t contain her excitement.
“Oh, my lust!” she spoke in her distinctive Brooklyn accent.
A golden-crown Amazon who was the most talented singer in the ensemble had stopped singing.
“Oh, my lust!” it squeaked like a perfect imitation of my sister, repeating it over and over and widening its beak to put more emphasis on “gawd”.
The guitar player tried, but he couldn’t coax the bird to give up its new catchphrase.
– Arthur Mann
Glass harmonica
Dear Diary:
I was on the 1st block in November 2013 when an elderly woman walked in on 34th Street. I offered her my seat, and she happily accepted.
At 66th Street, she got up from her car and started walking past me.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’ll go to the opera at the Met.”
She laughed.
“I’m in the orchestra,” she replied.
I was on my way to a show that night, and together we walked toward Lincoln Center.
“I play the glass harmonica, an instrument invented by Benjamin Franklin,” she said.
When we parted, I said I would try to go down to the orchestra pit and see her instrument. Then I went to see my niece Amanda.
We had plenty of time before the show, so we headed down the front, looked into the pit, and spotted my subway companion.
She looked up at us and smiled.
“Oh,” said Amanda, “a glass harmonica! That was invented by Benjamin Franklin. ”
I turned to her and stared.
Last October, I read the obituary of Cecilia Brauer, 97 years old and a member of the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, and recalled the time we met.
– Thomas J. Russo
Subway partner
Dear Diary:
I went to New York City last fall to attend a writing workshop with eight women from around the country. It was hosted by a famous author at her home in Washington Heights.
I reviewed a hotel on the Upper West Side. It’s hard to navigate the metro to 155, I think clicking “reservation” for a non-refundable room.
Harder than I expected.
Hoping a friendly expatriate would be nearby, I emailed the team, hoping to find a metro partner, only to receive some version of “I wish I could help” .
Then a woman who lives in Chelsea responded, offering to Citi Bike more than 50 blocks to go to my hotel and catch the subway with me from there.
I said I would wait with coffee and asked what kind she wanted.
When it’s bright, the weather is perfect for late September. I held each cup of coffee in my hand, while I waited outside the hotel. Careless, I took a sip from her cup, and then nervously greeted her with my confession.
Smiling softly, she lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. We bustled past the busy 72nd Street station and down the steps to 1.
We were soon there, a cozy pre-war apartment filled with the scent of warm blueberry pies, the chatter of spirit women and the barking Newfoundland every time. there’s a boat going through the Hudson.
And, of course, there was a French press that topped our half-baked latte.
– Elizabeth Weiner
Folded roses
Dear Diary:
I was hurrying out of the Canal Street station when I saw him: a teenage boy, hunched over a table and methodically folding origami roses for sale.
Roses – blue, yellow, red and everything in between – were strewn around him in piles that were already four or five deep.
I was late, so I didn’t pause. But as I walked away, I wondered how he would go that day. I didn’t notice anyone else glancing at him as they left the station. How often does he make a sale? Does he come out every weekend?
Then I was in SoHo, walking behind a man and a woman moving slowly, their pinkies linked together. What caught my eye was a blue origami rose stuck in her backpack.
I laughed. It’s one or two people: a sale and love in one.
– Connie Long
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Illustration by Agnes Lee
