Stand and Deliver
Dear Diary:
The E train to Queens is always crowded at 4 p.m. On this day, I was standing and perfecting my scowl when I noticed a restless older man sitting in front of me.
To my left stood an older woman. She was holding three large bags and kept drifting off. The man stood up and offered her his seat. She accepted and thanked him profusely.
He and I were now standing together. I saw that he was holding a cane. When a seat freed up at the next stop, he sat back down. He stayed there for only about two minutes before offering the seat to another woman who was standing and carrying a heavy load.
He and his cane were now standing again. This sequence kept repeating. He would sit down, look around, see somebody he thought should be sitting instead, and give up his seat.
He circled the train car, standing and sitting, smiling and you’re welcome-ing. After the fifth time, he was back where he had started, in the seat in front of me.
After settling in for a minute, he looked up. His eyes met mine, and he started to stand, grabbing his cane and offering the seat to me with a soft smile.
I shook my head. It’s OK, I told him. You sit. I’m fine.
He didn’t believe me. He offered again five seconds later.
I told him that I liked his jacket and that I was just fine standing.
He smiled, and that was that.
Then another older man stumbled into the car, grabbed onto the pole I was holding and the whole dance started again.
— Ella Argaluza
After ‘Gypsy’
Dear Diary:
After seeing “Gypsy” on Broadway, my husband and I stopped for a pretzel.
We walked slowly as we munched on our snack. I saw a man and a woman walking together ahead of us. When I noticed the Playbill in the man’s back pocket, I realized that I had lost mine.
We must have passed them at some point because when we sat down on a bench to finish the pretzel, they walked past us. I noticed that the woman was holding her own Playbill.
I jumped up. Approaching them, I explained that I had left my Playbill at the theater and asked whether they might spare one. I said I had seen one in the man’s back pocket when I was walking behind them.
“Are you looking in my pockets?” he asked.
Looking bemused, the woman gave me her copy. We agreed that Audra McDonald had given an award-winning performance.
I don’t usually keep Playbills, but I will keep this one.
— Judi Karp
Hummer
Dear Diary:
Our family had a few routines when it came to riding in the car: As the youngest, I always got stuck in the middle seat, my dad always drove, and my brother always rolled down the window and said ridiculous things to other drivers.
Sometime in the early 2000s, we were on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway when my brother opened the window and yelled out to the driver of a Hummer.
“Nice car!” he said.
I cringed.
Then the Hummer slowed down, and my heart began to race.
The driver pulled up close to us, with the East River in the background.
“I know you,” he said. “You went to Ditmas, right?”
My brother grinned and shook his head.
The Humvee driver pulled in closer.
“No, not you,” he said. “Her.”
I looked up. It took a minute; time had changed his once chubby face. But I did recognize him.
I smiled, and he kept talking. Then the traffic took over and we went our separate ways.
A few months later, I was on Court Street in Brooklyn when I saw a Hummer, a rarity for the neighborhood. There was a man sitting on a bench nearby drinking coffee. This time I recognized him immediately.
He looked at me.
“You went to Ditmas, right?”
— Elana Rabinowitz
Play Ball
Dear Diary:
I was running some errands in my Upper West Side neighborhood on a Saturday in March.
First, I dropped off my shirts at the dry cleaner. From there, I walked briskly up Broadway. As I did, I approached and then began to pass an older man wearing a Yankees jacket. The lettering and logo on the front and back were gigantic.
With spring training in full swing, I asked how he thought the team was shaping up for Opening Day.
He shrugged and chuckled.
“I don’t know,” he said. “My cousin gave me this jacket.”
— Chris Parnagian
Toasted
Dear Diary:
I was having breakfast at the Hampton Inn at J.F.K. The man in front of me had stuffed an entire bagel into one slot of the toaster and was struggling to pull it out.
When he reached for the metal tongs, I suggested we unplug the toaster.
When he finally extracted the bagel, it was in pieces. As he walked off, he thanked me.
“No problem,” I said, “I’m a mom.”
“I’m a surgeon,” he replied.
He certainly wasn’t an electrician.
— Barbara Howard
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
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