Windy Day
Dear Diary:
I recently spent an hour with a man I had just met and will probably never see again.
It was windy, and we walked from the West Village to the Whitney Museum. I asked him if he liked Edward Hopper. Of course he did.
Before he caught his flight, we had time to see the Whitney’s seventh floor, and then we walked to the A train at 14th Street, where we said goodbye.
I happened to be passing by that spot today, and touched the 14th Street subway sign for luck, or something.
I looked up and saw it was right next to the Museum of Illusions.
— Alice Walker
Stuck
Dear Diary:
I was leaving a friend’s apartment in Midtown when the elevator got stuck.
The lights shut off. So did the air conditioning. We were stalled on the 17th floor.
There was a man in the elevator with me. As soon as we came to a halt, he turned to me with a serious expression and a calm demeanor.
“It’s best not to panic in these situations,” he said. “They will pass.”
A minute went by, and my breathing intensified. Claustrophobia was beginning to set in. My mind raced.
Again, the man spoke to me gently.
“We’ll be down in no time,” he said. “I’m sure.”
Another excruciating minute went by. The summer heat continued to rise in the tiny elevator.
Finally, the lights shot back on and so did the air-conditioning. The elevator descended to the ground floor.
The man let out a yelp of relief and cursed gleefully. He placed a trembling hand on my shoulder.
“See?” he said. “You did it.”
— Samuel Willinger
Chess in Bryant Park
Dear Diary:
On a day less wet
I was inclined to finance a rematch
I felt good
Pieces landed on proper squares
I felt good
Giving my combatant reason to pause
But in the end, I was going up against
A champion
A legend
I was going up against
Moses
A man who when asked
When is the last time you’ve lost
Smiled kindness
While softly saying
It’s been awhile
I can’t quite remember
— Danny Klecko
Coney Island in Winter
Dear Diary:
If I had a few bucks and the weather wasn’t terrible, I would bundle up and take the subway from Bay Ridge to Coney Island.
Truthfully, this was about all I could manage. I was 17, and my mother had just died. Soon, I would be on my own.
At some point along the way, the train exited the tunnel’s darkness into dazzling daylight. Then on to Coney Island and Stillwell Avenue, the end of the line.
Downstairs, Philip’s Candy was my source for chocolate licorice. The windows were darkened with dust from the station above.
Across the street was the Cyclone. According to a childhood legend: “Once kids were playing with the controls in the first car, and the coaster left the track and got chopped up in the Wonder Wheel!”
To the right was the original Nathan’s. They had crinkle cut French fries and hot dogs with snap. My mom once bought a crinkle cut potato slicer to make us fries like the ones at Nathan’s.
To the left was Eldorado Auto Skooter: bumper cars with disco lighting and a body-slamming sound system. Possibly the greatest invention of all time.
Further down was the carousel. Majestic and fast-moving, a menagerie of surging, vivid animals amid a harrumphing organ with castanets and cymbals. It was operated by the world’s saddest-looking man.
On the boardwalk, if the sun was shining, people of every stripe would be out and about. Some were ancient residents, their skin like leather from years baking in the sun.
Coney Island is best in winter, when it’s in quiet repose. It’s soulful and shabby and old. And timeless like those residents in their sun-blasted skin.
It was all there for me.
— Vincent Barkley
Unfurnished
Dear Diary:
I had just moved to New York City from Los Angeles in June 1981 and had a studio on 106th Street and West End Avenue. It came with no furniture, dishes, pots or pans — nothing.
I was to start a teaching job in the fall but unemployed until then. I found a matching comforter-pillow-curtain set at Macy’s that fit my budget.
A few days later, on a weekend trip to the Lower East Side, I found the exact set for half the price. So of course I bought it and returned the other set to Macy’s.
A month went by, and the charge was still on my account. I made several calls to arrange the credit. Two months went by, and the credit still had not showed up. More calls.
When the third month came, my account was credited twice. I took the bills, the receipt and everything else I had connected to the purchase to Macy’s in person to try to straighten things out. When I got there, I explained the entire situation to clerk.
He looked at me like I was from another planet.
“Lady,” he said, “buy a dress.”
— Marla Jacobson
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee