Good Seat

Dear Diary:

My husband and I got tickets for “Take Me Out” when it first played in New York in the early 2000s.

We had seats close to the stage, and I started a conversation with a woman sitting to my right who had a thick Texas accent.

She and a male colleague were on a business trip and had gotten last-minute tickets that were unfortunately not next to each other.

She and I discussed the play. With a twinkle in her eye, she said her colleague had given her the seat closest to the stage so she would have a better view during the nude scenes. They planned to switch at intermission.

At the start of the first nude shower scene, I felt a poke in my ribs. I turned to look at my new friend, who was nodding at me with a big grin.

She did not switch seats at intermission.

— Elka Grisham

Long Day

Dear Diary:

After a long day of navigating trade-show booths at the Javits Center, I made my way to the 7 train. When one pulled in, there was an empty seat in the car I got on. I sank into it gratefully.

Next to me was a gray-haired woman who was resting her hands on a large canvas bag with its contents peeking out. She looked as worn out as I felt.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced: A friend once confided her frustration that after a long day, all she really wanted from her boyfriend was a simple acknowledgment: “How was your day, dear?”

I smiled, and then turned to the woman.

“How was your day?” I asked.

She offered a small, tired smile.

“It’s been long,” she said. “I can’t wait to get home, have a quiet dinner and put my feet up.”

I nodded.

We didn’t exchange any other words. The energy for conversation wasn’t there.

As the train slowed to a stop at Queensboro Plaza, the woman stood, got ready to exit, then paused and turned to meet my eyes.

“Thank you for asking,” she said before disappearing into the crowd.

— Carol Bradbury

Home for the Holidays

Dear Diary:

Back home from Boston for the holidays, Dean and Dylan and I watched “Anora” at the Angelika because we were the last ones still on winter break.

We walked uptown afterward, laughing about the movie and about the guy next to us who had laughed though the whole movie.

I was going to turn off at 23rd Street to go to the PATH station. Dylan and Dean were going to keep walking to 33rd Street to catch the Q train.

We walked a few blocks backpedaling as the cold wind blew hard at our faces.

“I’ll see you guys again for spring break,” I said as I got ready to turn.

“I think I’ll be on a spring break trip with some school friends,” Dylan said.

“All right,” I said. “Well, some time else then. Love you bro, see ya.”

“No, bro,” Dean said. “Keep walking to 33rd. There’s a PATH station there too.”

And so we kept walking uptown, the Empire State Building in the distance. At 33rd, we said our goodbyes, and I ran down the steps to the PATH station as I had all through high school.

I caught the last train home.

— Ryan Rizvi

Sunny Side

Dear Diary:

On a recent cold day, a friend and I met for lunch at a restaurant on the Upper West Side.

When we came outside, we had the light to cross Amsterdam Avenue, so cross we did, onto what turned out to be the sunny side of the street.

As we crossed, we started to sing “On the Sunny Side of the Street.” We were in the middle of the song when we got to the corner and then waited before crossing 79th Street.

“May I?” asked a woman who was standing there.

I nodded, and she joined right in.

— Dorothy Cantor

Going for It

Dear Diary:

The M57 bus had just pulled away from my stop as I got there.

Might the driver let me on as he was merging into the line of traffic, just a few yards from the curb? No. Had he even seen me, looking plaintive and hopeful? Apparently not.

I decided to go for it, to catch this same bus at the next stop, at 57th Street and Eighth Avenue.

Weighed down by a backpack, a shoulder bag and a shopping bag full of groceries, I ran as fast as I could, dodging pedestrians as I went.

The bus beat me to the stop, but because a few other people were waiting to get on, I made it before it pulled out.

Huffing and puffing up the steps, I fished out my senior MetroCard.

The driver, without making eye contact, covered the farebox with his hand.

“You’ve worked hard enough today,” he said.

— Elinor Lipman

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee