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Jul 01, 2023

‘A Nice Young Man Helped Me Find Wood and Hardware for the Shelves’

Advertisement Supported by METROPOLITAN DIARY New to the neighborhood, cutting

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METROPOLITAN DIARY

New to the neighborhood, cutting greens for later and more reader tales of New York City in this week's Metropolitan Diary.

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Dear Diary:

It was 1988. I had just left my husband after three years of marriage, moved out of our Woodside apartment and taken the first place I could find that I could afford. It was in Bensonhurst.

Young and newly single, I was excited to decorate the apartment with shelves and other homey touches, and a trip to the neighborhood lumberyard proved fruitful.

A nice young man helped me find wood and hardware for the shelves and then continued to walk with me as I scanned the aisles for anything else I might need.

"So, uh, where ya from, anyway?" he asked.

I paused for a second, trying to decide if he was asking about ethnicity or geography. I decided he meant the latter.

"I just moved here from Queens," I said.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said in the most Brooklyn voice I’d ever heard. "Ya got an accent."

— Amy Hall

Dear Diary:

I placed my bag of vegetables on the bench at a bus stop on Broadway, across from the farmers’ market, and said hello to a woman who was sitting there.

She took a plastic bag out of her cart and a pair of scissors out of her purse and began to cut some greens she had in a large baggie.

"How come?" I asked, motioning toward the scissors.

"It saves me time," she said.

The bus pulled up, and I walked to the curb. The woman was still cutting.

"Coming?" I called.

"No," she said, smiling. "I’m walking home."

— Jane Seskin

Dear Diary:

I was riding down Chrystie Street toward the Manhattan Bridge when I passed a man about my age on a bike that was weighed down with traveling bags.

Since my bike was electric, etiquette dictated that it was OK for me to pass him. At each light, though, he would sidle up next to me and then move just ahead of me, stealing sidelong glances before shifting his eyes to look directly in front of him.

At one point, I thought I’d lost him. But as I reached the entrance to the bridge, there he was again, pulling to a graceful stop before I did.

I smiled slightly, trying to decide whether I admired or disdained his obvious pride. He preceded me onto the bridge, visibly straining as we mounted the path's steep curve.

I rode serenely some feet behind him, admiring the view from the bridge as my rented bike carried me up with ease. He glanced over his shoulder once or twice, but I did not try to pull ahead of him.

I smiled as we glided downhill toward the other side of the bridge. We wound together for a time through Downtown Brooklyn's knotty streets, looking at each other each time the other looked away.

We parted ways at Atlantic Avenue with no words or gestures of farewell, content in having engaged in the tender urban tradition of flirtation by proximity alone.

— Camille Jetta

Dear Diary:

After lunch at Broadway Au Lait, where it's almost allMiddle Eastern food, and Tony speaks Arabicwith the owner, and we look out the windowto make sure that Dante, Ellie's dog, is stillattached to his leash and waiting patiently,

I stop at the barbershop next door,because during weeks of readingand then finals, my hair has gotten shaggy.The woman who cut my hair two months ago,remembers me and then comments that Imust have had Alexander cut it in the meantimebecause she recognizes his work.Her accent is still strong even thoughshe tells me she has been in the countryfor 40 years. Russian pop music TVplays on the screen on the wall,and I ask her if she is Russian. "No,Colombian," she says, but then she nodstoward the other barber. "She is Russian,they all are, except me, hereand at the other salon." She complimentsme on my gray hair. "Covid," I tell her, "I stoppedcoloring it during Covid, but now I like it too."She nods.

We talk about grandchildren. An ambulance sirens by,and the men who are building the scaffolding aroundthe building carry more lengths of blue laddersup through the webs of pipes and platforms to the roof.

I pay her and tell her I’ll see her in the fall,and as I leave, I see Alex from the Olive Tree Deli,he calls out to me to ask if I am coming in for sandwiches."Tomorrow," I tell him, "Tomorrow."

— Jane E. Wohl

Dear Diary:

It was 1987, and I was having a dark winter. I was in a deep funk and on the phone with my mother.

"Put on some lipstick and go to Macy's," she urged me.

"If I go to Macy's I’ll need a Valium," I replied.

"Then put on some lipstick," she replied, "take a Valium and go to Macy's."

— Ellen Skehan

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