Gold

I am standing right outside the elevator, waiting for it, and glancing at this week’s New Yorker when my neighbor’s daughter exits their apartment. She is startled by my presence and we both start to laugh.

Joined by some other neighbors on other floors, we head downstairs. She sets off for school and I trek to the subway station. Aliza B. is on the platform and wishes me a good morning. The train arrives and I board, finding that it is crowded yet serene, the typical chitter-chatter strangely absent.

There are two women sitting next to me, both of Latin origin and both sporting bright red lipstick. One of them is reading Metro NY, the other a book by Jenny McCarthy. At 168th the woman reading Metro swaps her newspaper for a cell phone manual. She is wearing a beige turtleneck with gold lace, a gold watch, and gold shoes. Her hair is short, draped over sideways the way bald men sometimes have it. When the train stops at 145th Street, she asks me if we are at 145th Street. We are at 145th Street, I say. She smiles and gets off one stop later at 125th.