Never having to greet Joan Carlton’s ugly face first thing in the morning.
The two looked at each other, each meeting a sour grimace. Their imitations of poor Joan Carlton prompted a laugh, which cased them to pause. The younger woman almost dropped her box.
The older one conceded; It’ll be nice to be off for a while. We should try to take advantage of it. I intend on it. My husband will make sure of that. When the women reached the subway steps they balanced their boxes on the railing of the stairway. The younger woman sniffed. Well, here you are, safe and sound. The older one smiled with a sad nod. Hey listen, I have your number, you have mine. I’ll call. Next week. We’ll do lunch. The older one nodded at the enthusiasm of her office …show more content…
That’s my problem. Just ask my husband. You take care now. Don’t worry too much. Her words grew louder with each step, as she headed back into the middle of the sidewalk. She yelled, compensating for the growing gap between them, past the bobbing heads of the passing pedestrians—I’ll call you. We are friends. We’ll be fine.
The older woman stretched, waving, watching the younger woman fade within the rush of along the sidewalk. Then that was it, within a moment, she was gone.
She hoisted the box up high onto her hip and started down the staircase, the temperature of the air seemed to fall a half a degree with each step lower. Towards the bottom, the street sounds hollowed away to the lonely shuffle of the rushing heals, sneakers, boots, heavy steps, and walking feet. She paid her fare through an automated turnstile. She went deeper below the city, down another level to the waiting a train below.
The crowd that massed on the center of the platform pushed its way onto subway cars. She placed her box down, next to a steel pole. She was going in a different direction. The train pulled away, leaving her and its echo …show more content…
Alone, on the platform, her thoughts raced from a memory, to one version of the future, then back to a memory again. That memory of lovely midday rendezvous, from a happier time, those moments before sad news powerful enough to break a heart, way before the settling on estranged husbands, teenaged sons, mortgages, and pink slips. She lingered in that lovely memory from when she was at her best, and it was appreciated, and doing her best counted.
She sighed.
Rocking back and forth on her heals, she looked to her right and then to her left. She was the only one waiting on the platform. She sighed again. She reached into a side pocket for something useful, but found a permanent marker instead. Glancing at the steel pole next to her, greasy, dirty, grimy, it was decorated with graffiti. She stared at the pole, at the artwork of past riders, and she thought. She hesitated. She paused.
Pulling off the pen cap, she leaned into the pole, and made her own graffiti. Upon the completion of the last word, a subway train rolled to a stop. She smiled at the words, and turned to the opening doors. She and her box found a seat right away.
On subway pole 62 an inscription reads: There are moments in my day when I still miss you Henry. I was here, just me, by myself.
The two looked at each other, each meeting a sour grimace. Their imitations of poor Joan Carlton prompted a laugh, which cased them to pause. The younger woman almost dropped her box.
The older one conceded; It’ll be nice to be off for a while. We should try to take advantage of it. I intend on it. My husband will make sure of that. When the women reached the subway steps they balanced their boxes on the railing of the stairway. The younger woman sniffed. Well, here you are, safe and sound. The older one smiled with a sad nod. Hey listen, I have your number, you have mine. I’ll call. Next week. We’ll do lunch. The older one nodded at the enthusiasm of her office …show more content…
That’s my problem. Just ask my husband. You take care now. Don’t worry too much. Her words grew louder with each step, as she headed back into the middle of the sidewalk. She yelled, compensating for the growing gap between them, past the bobbing heads of the passing pedestrians—I’ll call you. We are friends. We’ll be fine.
The older woman stretched, waving, watching the younger woman fade within the rush of along the sidewalk. Then that was it, within a moment, she was gone.
She hoisted the box up high onto her hip and started down the staircase, the temperature of the air seemed to fall a half a degree with each step lower. Towards the bottom, the street sounds hollowed away to the lonely shuffle of the rushing heals, sneakers, boots, heavy steps, and walking feet. She paid her fare through an automated turnstile. She went deeper below the city, down another level to the waiting a train below.
The crowd that massed on the center of the platform pushed its way onto subway cars. She placed her box down, next to a steel pole. She was going in a different direction. The train pulled away, leaving her and its echo …show more content…
Alone, on the platform, her thoughts raced from a memory, to one version of the future, then back to a memory again. That memory of lovely midday rendezvous, from a happier time, those moments before sad news powerful enough to break a heart, way before the settling on estranged husbands, teenaged sons, mortgages, and pink slips. She lingered in that lovely memory from when she was at her best, and it was appreciated, and doing her best counted.
She sighed.
Rocking back and forth on her heals, she looked to her right and then to her left. She was the only one waiting on the platform. She sighed again. She reached into a side pocket for something useful, but found a permanent marker instead. Glancing at the steel pole next to her, greasy, dirty, grimy, it was decorated with graffiti. She stared at the pole, at the artwork of past riders, and she thought. She hesitated. She paused.
Pulling off the pen cap, she leaned into the pole, and made her own graffiti. Upon the completion of the last word, a subway train rolled to a stop. She smiled at the words, and turned to the opening doors. She and her box found a seat right away.
On subway pole 62 an inscription reads: There are moments in my day when I still miss you Henry. I was here, just me, by myself.