The Scene

A plane roared into the skies from LaGuardia Airport. I checked the time: 6:01 am. So it did wait until the law said it’s ok. I hear another and another as I stand on the gum-splattered R train platform. An E train roars through and now the beep, beep and the arrival of the Manhattan-bound R. The tattooed arm of another passenger moves in beside me. There is no fear; I’ve rode this train a 1,000 times before.

It’s my lucky day as an F train pulls in just as the R reaches Roosevelt. Big men, younger than I am crowd in front of me. They take the few vacant seats. Can’t they see, I’m a senior? I got a reduced-fare card this week. I’ve quit pushing to be in front, but I’m still working on being angelic in my feelings.

The train stopped at Roosevelt Island. Someone held the elevator door open in the station for me, and I rode to the top of one of the deepest stations in the subway system, and then walked along the river to market. I had market customer discussions on the marathon, favorite New Hampshire sites, faith over fear, vegetables for soup, how to dress for church, the little girl who dances, how big Juju is getting, chemo treatments, and then there was the customer who can’t talk but made a happy grunt when I told him David is going to be a daddy.

And now it’s tonight after eating Greek food and then standing on the beach in the darkness. The waves that lapped against the shore were long and wide. Someone had a fire in the sand where they roasted marshmallows. Little children played around them. We bounced home on the bus. Laurence was jolly. He suggested I write about the drones on the beach in the summer.

The truth is that I am tired, and sad, and lonely. I’m sure life will look brighter in the morning when Laurence brings me coffee, and I read the Word.

Berniece

P.s. My friend Sarah texted saying, “Love is vulnerable,” so I wrote the last paragraph.