Empty seat
Dear Diary:
As I was rushing wearily on a full 6 train after a long day, I saw an empty seat opposite the door. I ran towards it, hoping no one else would get there first.
Feeling smug, I sat down and started looking around. When I looked at the man sitting next to me, I saw that he had wrapped what looked like an albino snake around his neck. His head rested on one of the man’s arms and looked at me.
I stared in disbelief and wondered if it was a real snake, because it didn’t move.
At that moment he stuck his tongue out at me.
You’ve never seen someone jump so fast and move as far as they can.
No wonder no one had sat in the chair.
— Anna Sanidad
reflections
Dear Diary:
After college, I lived in the East Village and moved past. I found a barbershop nearby that advertised $10 haircuts and went in.
A hairdresser, Toufik, led me to his seat with a friendly grin. With our reflections in the mirror, we exchanged stories about our cousins—mine in Baltimore, his in Algiers. He was a musician, and so am I.
I became a regular customer. I learned about the ins and outs of renting a barber chair as I followed Toufik from shop window to shop window over the next few years.
One day I showed up for a haircut and the barbershop was empty: doors locked, barber chairs gone. I couldn’t figure out if Toufik had settled elsewhere. I eventually moved out of the area.
Years later, I landed at Kennedy Airport late one night, returning home from a business trip. I threw myself in the back of a taxi and gave the driver my address.
“I know you!” said a friendly voice from the front seat.
In the rear-view mirror I saw Toufik’s familiar grin. Again, our reflections exchanged stories as if no time had passed at all.
— Adam Gwon
At home in Canary
Dear Diary:
Growing up, I told everyone I lived in Canarsie, along the L line.
I thought so too, because that’s what all the subway signs leading home said when we went to and from Manhattan. (My mother didn’t correct me for her own similar confusion when she arrived in New York as a young immigrant.)
It wasn’t until my friend Ian challenged my geography in high school that I was finally corrected. My stop was Bedford Avenue. I lived in Williamsburg.
More than 20 years later, Ian still greets me with “Canarsie in the house!” and it makes me laugh.
— Jennifer Ma
Saturday Matinee
Dear Diary:
I was sitting in my regular Saturday afternoon seat at the Midwood Theater in Brooklyn, halfway to the right. As usual I had my corned beef hash on rye and a pickle. This day was special. The main feature was “Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man.”
All I remember is that the monster was freed from a block of ice. When he came to life – that was it! It was too much for a 10 year old to take. I flipped.
That night I had a nightmare about Frankenstein melting over my bed. And no one was home at the time. My mother was playing gin with Mrs. Langbaum and my father was driving the taxi.
My mother lost her keys and asked the Langbaums’ son, Ira, to climb our fire escape and get the spare. Three floors up, he went to an unknown apartment.
He opened the window, tripped and fell through the blinds onto my bed.
Frankenstein had come for me!
I sat up and moved my lips without anything coming out.
My mom got her keys, and I made it a habit to get up in the middle of the night, pull the blinds aside, and see if Frankenstein was on the fire escape.
More than 75 years later, I still remember you, Ira Langbaum.
— Stewart Steckel
bookmarks
Dear Diary:
A friend and I had plans for a jazz night in SoHo, and we decided to grab a quick drink beforehand at a wine bar. It was a pretty intimate place, and a few minutes after we were seated I noticed how cute the bartender was – a little younger than me maybe, but very much my type.
I’d been trying to be more prolific lately, so as my friend and I were getting ready to leave, I decided to give the bartender my number.
I searched my bag for a pen and a piece of paper and found neither. So I resorted to eyeliner pencil and a McNally Jackson bookmark. After writing down my number, I bookmarked my new crush when he walked by.
He quickly said he had a girlfriend and my face turned impressively red.
A short time later I read my book on my commute, fortunate to have found a seat by the door.
As the train pulled into Canal Street, the page I was reading suddenly went dark. A man on his way out had tucked a folded piece of paper into the spine of my book and disappeared into the bustling crowd before I could respond.
Surprised, I unfolded the paper to find a name and number.
Looks like I got my bookmark back.
— Charlotte Rea
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