Twins
Dear Diary:
I am in my early 30s and live in Brooklyn. I have a neighbor who I would guess is about twice my age. For the past few months, whenever I have seen her on the sidewalk I have complimented her on what she was wearing, and she has done the same for me.
One day, I stepped out of my building as she was walking past. We were wearing the same jeans, same Breton stripe T-shirts, same dark sunglasses, even the same gold necklace.
We stopped and pointed at each other.
“Good outfit,” I said.
“Good outfit,” she said.
Looking down, I noticed that she had on black flats. I had on sneakers.
“You should go back and change,” she said.
I took a picture of the two of us, and we parted ways.
A week later, I saw her again. She was with her partner.
“This is my twin,” she said.
“I changed into the flats,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “I knew they’d look better.”
She pulled a picture of her daughter up on her phone. She was about my age and had the same blond hair.
“I guess I need to have my hair highlighted again,” I said, handing the phone back and twirling for my neighbor’s inspection.
“Yes,” she said, “I do think you need to add some streaks.”
— Grace Bowden
Bronx Tony
Dear Diary:
I was visiting New York City with a friend some years ago. We hailed a cab outside our hotel and headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
We were thrilled. The cab was a Checker and at the wheel was what seemed to us like an authentic New York cabby: heavy Bronx accent, unlit cigar, driver’s cap.
Hearing that we were from Fort Worth, Texas, he regaled us with stories about the Bronx and advised us on where to get the best Italian food in the city. His name was Tony.
When we got to the museum, we paid the fare, said our goodbyes and got out. We were just entering the museum when we heard someone calling our names.
Turning around, we saw Tony walking toward us. My friend had left her sunglasses in the cab. We asked what we could do to repay the favor.
He smiled and pointed at one cheek.
“A kiss here,” he said, and then pointed to his other cheek. “And one there.”
We were happy to oblige.
— Shelly Goetz
Rough Weekend
Dear Diary:
I was walking down the street on a Sunday afternoon with my headphones in. It was the end of what had been a rough weekend.
I was caught up in a song that was soothing my recently broken and rejected heart. I was wondering if I would ever meet someone new who would love me or if I should prepare to live a solitary life.
A beautiful young woman walked past me. She seemed to be saying something to me, so I took out my headphones.
“You are so beautiful,” she said. “I just had to tell you.”
“Wow!” I said, “And here I am having a rough day.”
“Well, if you want one,” she said, “I’d give you a hug.”
And we hugged
— Sarah Hanssen
Rush-Hour Read
Dear Diary:
I was on a rush hour train going uptown with my children, a 3-year-old and an infant. I had to stand with the stroller and the baby, but I found a spot where my daughter could sit a little ways away.
After she sat down with her “Madeline” book, she looked up at me.
“Mommy, you were going to read to me,” she said.
I made eye contact with a man sitting next to her. He was tall and slim, with a beige cotton summer suit and a bow tie.
“Sweetie, ask the man if he will read to you,” I said.
The man gestured toward himself.
“Me?” he said.
I nodded.
Then he read “Madeline” from 42nd Street to 72nd, as riders nearby looked on and listened.
— Claire Steichen
Naked City
Dear Diary:
It was the early 1990s, and I was a young law firm associate living in a Manhattan apartment building.
One night, after getting home from work around midnight, I decided to take my trash to the compactor room down the hall.
As I pushed the door to the room open, I heard a woman scream. I jumped back and asked whether she was OK.
“Yes,” she said, “but I’m naked.”
“Why are you naked?” I asked.
“I didn’t think anyone would be out in the hall at this time,” she replied. “Can you step back and then close your eyes so I can run back to my apartment?”
