Beautiful Night
Dear Diary:
It was our friend’s birthday, and he wanted the best Thai food in the city. So, of course, Queens it was.
Still in scrubs after a 12-hour shift, we feasted on raw shrimp over bitter melon, tender duck breast enrobed in panang curry, and a whole red snapper peering through a curtain of Thai basil.
The food made us sweat too much and the drinks made us laugh too loud. By the time we left, it was 10 p.m.
Woodside Avenue was quiet. The storefronts were closed. But we didn’t want to go home. Then, from down the street, we heard the echo of a microphone.
Through the window of a dark restaurant we saw a man illuminated by a disco ball who was singing from his chest.
He waved at us. We waved back. He unlocked the door and invited us in.
Over a bucket of cold Singha, we sang “Happy Birthday.” The owner brought out a brownie topped with a blazing flare on the house.
I apologized for the intrusion.
“Please kick us out any time,” I said.
He smiled and handed me Post-its and a pen.
“Just make a list of songs,” he said.
Another bucket of beer appeared, along with some peanuts. It was a beautiful night, and we had found something dumb to do.
At midnight, our party split off for Manhattan, Brooklyn and Staten Island.
I whispered a hoarse goodbye and made my way up 76th Street, grateful that I was home already. In Queens.
— Ileen Park
Flat Fixed
Dear Diary:
I was a young woman driving north by myself on Interstate 87 through the Bronx.
Suddenly, one of the tires blew out, and I couldn’t change it.
I turned off at the nearest exit and looked for a service station but couldn’t find one.
I pulled onto a local street and asked a man walking there for help. He agreed and proceeded to change the tire.
At some point, I noticed that he was changing it with one hand. He was missing his other arm.
— Karen Ocker
Carnegie Deli
Dear Diary:
I took my first business trip to New York City in the 1980s. My list of must-do experiences while I was in town included having a pastrami sandwich at the Carnegie Deli.
Walking in for a late lunch, I was in an almost altered state of consciousness as I absorbed the sights, sounds and smells of my long-desired destination.
I watched the heaping mounds of meat being sliced and served and I knew I had choices to make.
Half a pastrami sandwich, a bowl of matzo ball soup and a cup of black coffee. It was magnificent.
When I took my bill to the cashier, I noticed the total was $17.76. I handed him the check and a $20 bill.
“1776 is a significant number,” I joked. “Do I win anything?
“Yeah,” he said without looking up. “You win your freedom. If you pay your bill, I don’t call the cops.” Then, under his breath, he added: “That was not too bad.”
— Bill Coy
Savor the Moment
Dear Diary:
Late to work on a cold, sunny, spring morning, I decided to take a shortcut through Madison Square Park.
With the sound of traffic and barking dogs behind me, I joined the meeting I was late for via phone and hoped that I would not have to speak.
As it got later, I started to sweat from what had turned into a jog to First Avenue. Dodging the dog walkers, I saw a single white flower petal twirling gently as it fell from the sky.
I stopped and stood still. The sound of traffic, dogs and my meeting seemed to fade away. I was amazed at the beauty of the single, pristine, delicate white petal as it danced through the cool spring air toward the ground.
In my haste to get to work, I had failed to appreciate the beauty of my surroundings: the dogs, the people, the flowers, even the traffic.
The petal landed, and I picked it up. It was clearly a sign that I needed to appreciate the beauty around me, no matter how stressed out I was feeling.
But it wasn’t a flower petal. It was a discarded receipt from the M23-SBS Bus.
And I was late for work.
— David Daniel
And He’s Back
Dear Diary:
My in-laws had an apartment on Fifth Avenue across from the Metropolitan Museum of Art for many years.
Whenever I visited and would go out, whatever time of day, the expression of wonder on my face must have been obvious because the doorman would usually say the same thing: “We now rejoin New York City, which is already in progress.”
— Mark Zalin
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
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