‘I Noticed That the Woman in the Orange Shirt Was Losing Her Balance’

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Lifeline

Dear Diary:

I was headed downtown for a meeting, so I got the No. 2 train at 96th Street. I moved to the end of the car.

When we pulled into 42nd Street, riders flooded in. Among them was a middle-aged woman who stepped with an air of confidence. She wore an orange shirt, a long beige skirt and white stilettos. On her way to a corporate meeting perhaps, I thought.

I watched her glancing around for a seat only to wind up in front of me. When she realized we were facing each other, she moved past me.

At that very moment, the train gave a jerk and began to speed down the tunnel. I tried to grab the bar above my head but missed it.

As I felt myself falling backward, I noticed that the woman in the orange shirt was losing her balance as well and searching for something to cling to.

Her arms did some windmills, and my right hand reflexively stretched to hers like a lifeline. She gripped it immediately.

While the train raced on, we tugged at each other’s arm to keep our balance in wobbly fashion. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I could feel her pulse in her grasp.

We remained like that until the next stop, as if a couple. When the speed no longer threatened to topple us, and the commuters had clustered around the door, our hands parted in tacit agreement. The door opened, and she disappeared.

We never shared a word.

— Frederic Colier

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Tony Roberts Says

Dear Diary:

It was 1978, and I was at my first job in New York City: holiday helper in the cookware department at Bloomingdale’s.

There was a video playing on a loop that featured the writer and television producer Burt Wolf giving some sort of demonstration.

One day, the actor Tony Roberts came in. He noticed the video.

“Burt Wolf!” he said. “I haven’t seen him since high school. Does he come in often?”

I said I had never seen him.

“Well, if he comes in, tell him Tony Roberts says, ‘Hi.’”

A few days later Burt Wolf did come in. I told him Tony Roberts had been in and had said to say, “Hi.”

“Tony Roberts!” he said. “I haven’t seen him since high school. Does he come in a lot?”

I said I had seen him only the one time.

“Well, if he comes in again, tell him I said, ‘Hi.’”

A couple of evenings later I was walking down Lexington Avenue to the subway when I saw Tony Roberts walking toward me.

“Burt says, ‘Hi,’” I said without breaking stride.

— John Lombardi

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Summer

Dear Diary:

The Sun sleeps
Tight against these
Blistered city nights
Nature, enervated

Insists, no demands a
Respite from overheated
Burned out broken Summer Days
Until suddenly all at once

Sleep shouts
As do wild fireflies
A smirking moon
And maybe just maybe you and me.

— Roger Granet

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Friend Blend

Dear Diary:

On a recent Sunday I met an old friend, a fellow single mother, for dinner.

Walking home, I passed another friend’s apartment building. On a whim, I texted her and we ended up enjoying the late evening together. We talked about how much I appreciated this new era of life now that my three children were older teenagers.

On my way down in the elevator, I struck up a conversation with three strangers. The next thing I knew, they had invited me to their place for some rosé. My kids were with my ex, so I followed my freedom.

Soon, I was getting to know Jeff and Linda, who had moved to the city from Connecticut now that their children were grown, and their friend Will, a successful businessman in his 70s who was a great storyteller.

The evening was so entertaining that I didn’t resist when they wanted to order food after midnight.

The highlight of the evening came when, after looking through his wallet for money to pay for pizza, Will handed me a tattered piece of paper the size of a receipt.

On it, under the title “Tea Blend,” was a list of the ingredients and their measurements that he regularly took to McNulty’s on Christopher Street.

It reminded me of kindergarten, when classmates would share their precious possessions with the class. Things felt like they had come full circle.

— Sarah Hanssen

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Chai Times

Dear Diary:

Scene: One of the few old-time diners left in New York City. It’s crowded. A fresh-faced young man, maybe 22, takes a seat at the counter.

“What can I get you?” the server asks.

“Do you guys do chai?” the young man asks earnestly.

“What?”

“Chai,” he repeats. “Chai latte?”

The server ducks into the clattering kitchen. Cursing, laughing and screaming are heard.

She returns.

“We have Lipton,” she says.

— Barbara Lippert

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee