AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |
Back to Blog
Nytimes fire map4/29/2023 One woman, who has just boarded, sits across from us. A teenage boy approaches and says, “Whoa!” beforeīacking away. At the next stop, more people come on, and at this point, everyone within our vicinity is staring at this $100 bill. He seems to have just woken as he peers up at I can feel my face flush as I look over at the man. Right at our feet, it’s a folded $100 bill. All of a sudden, a lady approaches us and asks, in a shrill voice: “Sir? Is that your money?” More people start boarding and crowding around All black-clad, baseball hat, one eye closed and falling asleep. I got on the train, picked a seat, and found myself next to a sluggish, tired middle-aged man. On this October day, it was no different: the G train from Court Square in Queens to Nassau Avenue in Brooklyn. I would love to know two things: how many eyes watch the water at this moment I write just before the dawn, and if a drop of water has ever passed from Spuyten Duyvil to the Battery unobserved since the landĮvery morning, I make the same commute. They were there at 9 in theĮvening, at midnight and at 3 in the morning. They sit or stand, they cuddle and huddle, they drink and smoke and absently flick in stones. Some call to you as you pass, some wave, but most just follow you with their eyes. On every pier, dock, spit, peninsula, jetty, and wharf, no matter what fences block them or how near to completely falling into the water they are, there is a backlit person (or persons) watching the water. I spent Saturday night to Sunday morning slowly making my way around Manhattan island in a canoe, and one thing struck me among the varied scenery and changeable waters: A blonde on my left nods at me and I nod back, and then we both head off to work. The bell dings, the subway doors open and we, women of New York City, snap open pairs of sunglasses and slide them over our teary eyes as we march up out of the station and intoĬolumbus Circle. The tunnel is roaring around us as we lean toward one another to hear the story of how our heroes fought for us, who lived and who died. The A train starts its express run to Columbus Circle. Several women around the car leave their seats and approach the fireman. We want you to open up and let all the stories out we love your stories and we love you. Yes, we want to hear every detail about him, and about you, and about the towers, and the flying ashes, and the bodies hitting the ground, shoeless. The fireman says yes, then asks, “Do you want to hear about him?” “Was it someone from your station?” asks a woman in black heels and a pencil skirt. Every fireman is going to funerals this week. He is heartbreaking in his dress blues, with his broad shoulders. A New York City fireman gets on at 125th Street, and everyone I’m thinking about my morning commute, 14 years ago today. Reach us via email or follow on Twitter using the hashtag #MetDiary. Read all recent entries and our updated submissions guidelines. It’s kind of happy/sad for me, but probably It’s probably best for me to stop, especially with all those people and cars and bikes and buses in Manhattan. And that was it! I walked out with my license. At the very end came the Yes or No question: Can you driveĪ car? You can guess my answer. I went to the local license bureau to apply. In 1936 I turned 14, the legal driving age in Minnesota back then. “Have you driven by yourself?” “Yes I have!” I don’t know if he knew I was lying, but he tossed me the keys and off I drove, proud as a Paul Boat Club on the Mississippi, he discovered he’d forgotten something at home, a couple of milesĪway. Once, when I was 11, and Pop and I were, as usual, fiddling with our little cruiser down at the St. And if nobody was looking, I’d do it for my great-grandchildren. Law, but it was so much fun I did the same for my own two and for my much younger stepsons. Like sitting in Pop’s lap at 7 and proudly steering our used Willys-Knight. Strangely it’s been mostly a very happy day, flooded with great car memories. Tomorrow, as we prepare to move into our West Side co-op, I’ll turn in my New York vanity plates and get rid of my I’m 93, a World War II Navy vet and all that stuff. More Reader Tales From the City » Dear Diary:
0 Comments
Read More
Leave a Reply. |