There is a small but significant part of my toenail missing. Not nearly as bad as the story - told on the Big Show this morning - about a 6’7” minister who’s legs were cut off so that he might fit into a coffin, but still unpleasant nonetheless.
Heading downstairs and out to the train station, I run into Baruch H. in the lobby. A volunteer EMT, he says good morning and asks how I am (I refrain from mentioning the toenail). Judy R. is pushing a stroller just outside the building.
At the station, I head down to the platform and see Ezra H. at the foot of the steps. He is carrying a backpack and a Banana Republic bag, and is reading on his phone. He seems engrossed, so I don’t say hello and head towards my spot. I take the A to 59th, then switch to the orange line and exit at Rockefeller. On the stairs I hear someone say my name and turn around. It’s Adina L. We chat for a short moment and then I head out onto 47th and make my way towards the bagel shop.
Showing posts with label Baruch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Baruch. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 16
Monday, June 29
Baggage
I have a small “wheelie” suitcase with me today. Few things are worse than having to carry baggage of any sort on the subway, and for me anything heavier than a magazine counts as luggage. This has put me into a mood of sorts so I’m hoping it’s a quiet morning.
Outside my building Baruch H. is in his car, pulling out while talking to someone else through the window. Baruch is one of four volunteer EMT's that live in my building, and his car is equipped with emergency lights. I think about my own flashing car-lights, the difference being that mine are detachable and yellow, while his are red and typically accompanied by a powerful siren. I am not licensed for sirens, but I remember once trying to simulate them by asking my friend, who has a particularly loud voice, to scream out the window as we drove through the neighborhood.
At the station I see Tamar V. inside the elevators that go to Fort Washington Ave. I wonder if she sees me and continue down to the platform.
One bench is inhabited by a pretty, blond girl in her early twenties. She has a shopping bag that says "365", and her purse, white and clean, has a metallic strap that looks like a giant link necklace. Her shorts are grey, her shoes, with bowties above the toes, are purple, and she has a pink bowtie in her hair that does not match. I am most taken by her shirt. It’s lime green with pictures of eyes. The same single eye, actually, repeated many times, in different sizes, as a pattern across the front. I stare, trying to fathom how this can seem stylish to anyone.
There is another blond nearby. She is older, with a long flowery skirt and a coffee thermos. She is reading a book of sheet music. Occasionally she turns away from the book and looks vacantly upwards to her left, and I believe she is humming the tune in her head. My friend Tanya can hear a tune once and later play it perfectly on the piano, and I suppose this woman can do the same by just reading the notes.
The train arrives and I drag my wheelie on board. In a crowded subway or even on the street, I am ruthless with my wheelie. Stick your toe in its path and there will be no apology when I run it over.
Outside my building Baruch H. is in his car, pulling out while talking to someone else through the window. Baruch is one of four volunteer EMT's that live in my building, and his car is equipped with emergency lights. I think about my own flashing car-lights, the difference being that mine are detachable and yellow, while his are red and typically accompanied by a powerful siren. I am not licensed for sirens, but I remember once trying to simulate them by asking my friend, who has a particularly loud voice, to scream out the window as we drove through the neighborhood.
At the station I see Tamar V. inside the elevators that go to Fort Washington Ave. I wonder if she sees me and continue down to the platform.
One bench is inhabited by a pretty, blond girl in her early twenties. She has a shopping bag that says "365", and her purse, white and clean, has a metallic strap that looks like a giant link necklace. Her shorts are grey, her shoes, with bowties above the toes, are purple, and she has a pink bowtie in her hair that does not match. I am most taken by her shirt. It’s lime green with pictures of eyes. The same single eye, actually, repeated many times, in different sizes, as a pattern across the front. I stare, trying to fathom how this can seem stylish to anyone.
There is another blond nearby. She is older, with a long flowery skirt and a coffee thermos. She is reading a book of sheet music. Occasionally she turns away from the book and looks vacantly upwards to her left, and I believe she is humming the tune in her head. My friend Tanya can hear a tune once and later play it perfectly on the piano, and I suppose this woman can do the same by just reading the notes.
The train arrives and I drag my wheelie on board. In a crowded subway or even on the street, I am ruthless with my wheelie. Stick your toe in its path and there will be no apology when I run it over.
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