Saturday Subway

6:12 a.m. June 17 Elmhurst Avenue Subway Station while waiting on a train to take me to work. I hear the sound. I see the lights. The R train approaches. “This is a Manhattan bound local train. Stand clear the closing doors.” (We joke we’ll be saying this in the Manor: “Stand clear the closing doors.”)

I’ve had almost twenty-four years of riding the early morning Saturday train. It’s ordinary life, but still I feel humbled that I have this blessing of being with people of every tribe and nation. People God loves. (Ok. So I’m a little bugged how the men pushed past me onto the subway car and took all the remaining seats. This isn’t Kansas.)

Each bench seat holds six adults. They are rather squished together in this post pandemic time. One in six wears a mask. A man without a home curls down on half a bench. Some sleep. Some play games. A man reads. I catch eyes looking at me that quickly turn away when I happen to glance at them.

“This is Roosevelt Island.” Have a good day. God loves you. Berniece