Chopped Cheese
Dear Diary:
I was on my way to a Jackson Hewitt tax office in the Bronx on a Monday night. I stopped at a Bengali place for dinner. I left with two samosas, plus dinner and lunch for the next day.
It was 9 p.m. when I got to the subway station. I looked around and noticed a boy on the platform. He was playing a video game.
I opened the container with the samosas, but before I could dip one in sauce, the boy interrupted me.
Excuse me, Miss, he said. Do you have a dollar for water? I’m thirsty.
I put my food away.
Let’s go, I said.
We went downstairs.
Are you hungry? I asked him.
Yes, he said.
We walked to a Jamaican restaurant on the corner known for its jerk chicken, bread fruit and steamed fish.
Please, Miss, the boy asked, can we go to a deli?
We found one nearby. He ordered a chopped cheese and an Arizona iced tea. I paid, and we ran back up to the station.
The train pulled in immediately. We got on, and the boy took out the sandwich. I listened as he talked about wanting to be a doctor and ate his chopped cheese.
Stay focused, I began to say. Before I could say more, he hugged me and said good night.
I got off at the next stop and walked into Jackson Hewitt.
You are my last customer, the tax preparer said.
Oh, great, I said. I stopped by a Bengali restaurant to kill time and …
Oh really, he said. What did you get?
When my taxes were done, I left without my curry. I saved my dinner to have for lunch the next day.
— Lystria Hurley
Fluttering
Dear Diary:
It’s a blustery day, the kind where the wind barrels down the Third Avenue canyon and seems to be trying to knock the unsteady off their feet.
A dozen loose papers fluttered through the air like leaves. Two women chased after the paperwork into the gutter. One, clutching the slightly crumpled papers in her hand, thanked the other profusely, and they parted ways.
Across the intersection, a crisp Yankees Starter cap flew off a tall young man’s head. A small older woman chased after it, grabbed it and handed it back to him.
— Sarah Jung
‘See Ya’
Dear Diary:
I was in the locker room at my Hell’s Kitchen gym changing into my street clothes. A man who was tying his laces said “see ya” to a friend who was on his way out.
“You just missed a golden opportunity to say ‘see ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya,’” I said to the man.
He looked up at me.
“I’d like to think I’ve outgrown that,” he said.
“Obviously, I haven’t,” I replied.
The man stood to leave.
“Take care,” I said.
“See ya,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to be ya.”
— Daniel Bowman Simon
Brooklyn Taco Truck
Dear Diary:
I stepped up to the window at a popular Brooklyn taco truck just as an older man was doing the same.
I was in a hurry to get home, but I shrugged and indicated that he should go first. He did the same.
“I don’t know who got here first,” he said.
“Me neither,” I replied, “but you go ahead.”
“You could go ahead, too!” he said.
I suggested a game of rock, paper, scissors to solve the problem.
Odds or evens? he said.
Evens, I replied.
After a 3-2-1 countdown, we each stuck out one finger.
We laughed, and I approached the window to order.
“Odds or evens for who pays?” the man asked.
— Emily Spilko
Spin City
Dear Diary:
I was walking home from an afternoon doctor’s appointment in Midtown when I suddenly felt as if the city was spinning all around me.
I tried to lean against some scaffolding in front of a building on Second Avenue, but it wasn’t enough to keep me upright. Everything was still spinning, and I heard myself calling out for help.
There was a woman with a dog a few yards away who was on her phone. I could hear her crying. She came over to me as I hit the ground.
“Are you OK?” we asked each other.
“Yes, but I need a minute to see if I can stand,” I said as a man who worked at a nearby building joined us.
I stood up and, embarrassed and dazed, thanked them both for their help. I explained that I was feeling fine and would be able walk the rest of the way home on my own.
The woman with the dog offered to accompany me to be sure I was OK, and I asked her again if she was all right because I had seen her crying.
“I was talking to someone who called to tell me Chita Rivera just died,” she said.
— Sue Weiner
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