Making an emergency stop, ode to a first lipstick and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Luggage Check
Dear Diary:
Several years ago, I was walking around Manhattan after visiting my niece in Brooklyn. I planned to visit the Metropolitan Museum and then call a taxicab to take me to La Guardia for my return trip home to South Florida.
When I got to the museum, I was told I could not check my luggage. I decided to return to a nearby jewelry store where I had stopped earlier and ask whether they could hold it. Happily for me, they agreed.
On my way back to the Met, I tripped and fell on the sidewalk. A bystander called an ambulance.
When it arrived, the EMTs asked if I had anything besides my pocketbook to take to the hospital. I told them my luggage was at a store a few blocks away.
They drove me there, walked in, asked for my luggage and loaded it in the ambulance. The shopkeeper, amazed, watched as I drove off to the hospital.
— Billie Grover
First Lipstick
Dear Diary:
Its slim gold cartridge might
have been WAC surplus,
(matte) “Medium Red”
chalked up my pout.
Now that my mouth
could take a guy out,
I got moxie, grew some
cheekbones overnight,
strolled home, heels
slung over one shoulder,
in stocking feet — gliding
the sidewalk of Park Avenue
silky underfoot,
way past midnight.
— Rachel Eisler
Touching Base
Dear Diary:
I was panting heavily, and sweat was dripping from my bare chest onto my shorts. It was dark out, but it still felt like it was over 100 degrees.
Hidden from view, I crouched quietly in the bushes until the prison guards had moved far enough from the flagpole for me to make my move.
I heard my grandmother calling me for dinner from our fifth-floor window. Now is my chance, I thought.
Feeling the pressure to make a move, I burst out of the bushes, lunged 20 feet and tagged the base of the flagpole with my foot, freeing my teammates from Joey Pagano’s seemingly impenetrable fortress.
Everybody scrambled, prisoners and guards alike. I had caught them all by surprise with my brazen sneak attack. As I peered up toward my grandmother, I felt a hand grab my arm. Joey had caught me mid-sprint, making me his captive.
As I sat there, heart pounding, sweat dripping, I was gauging my grandmother’s patience. And just at that moment, I watched each lamp post and apartment light in our complex go out one by one.
On that hot July evening in 1977, all the electricity in New York City drained out like sweat into my dirty socks.
It was one of the best nights of my young life.
— Oliver Quillia
Meeting a Friend
Dear Diary:
I was on the F to Manhattan when I noticed a woman sitting across from me who looked familiar. I realized that I knew her from social media. She was a “friend,” but a digital friend, not the in-person kind.
It was her glasses that tipped me off initially. Then, when I was able to make out the book she was reading, Balzac’s “Cousin Bette,” my suspicions were confirmed.
I was tempted to leap out of my seat and introduce myself, but I quickly thought better of it. It might not be her, I thought, and if it was, it might be intrusive for me to do that. After all, we were actually complete strangers.
Plus, what if I did introduce myself and the result was less than rosy? I had many more stops left and it could be very long and awkward ride. I decided to wait until 34th Street, the stop before mine, to say hello.
When we got there, I got up and introduced myself. To my great relief, the encounter was surprisingly easy, even fun.
Later, I sent her a brief message saying how wonderful New York could be when such chance meetings occur.
I closed with an invitation to lunch.
— Cynthia Chaldekas
Make Way
Dear Diary:
I was walking in Morningside Park when I saw a mama duck and her ducklings heading out of the park. I tried to get her to go back but she wouldn’t.
A woman called out and said the ducks were headed for Central Park.
Really? I asked. How is she going to get there?
We’re going to help, the woman said.
And we did. Seven of us, all strangers, guided the duck and her ducklings through the street, stopping traffic, picking babies up onto the curb and following closely to make sure they all got there safely.
When we got to Central Park, all the babies intact, they emerged from the bushes and hopped in the water. We all cheered. It was so energizing. We parted ways, and I walked home with a huge smile on my face.
The highlight was a truck driver who cursed at us when we stopped traffic, only to let out a gasp when he saw the ducks.
“Oh my God,” he yelled. “They’re so cute.”
— Linda Herskovic
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
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