I know nothing about her except she takes the express bus back to the Bronx most days at 5 o’clock.
I love how she looks in her old-fashioned charcoal gray suit as if she were on her way to church, a little feathered fedora angled on her head…
our repartee going something like this:
“Hi, there,” I say, how you doing today?”
“I’m good, thanks…and you?”
“Good, happy to be going home.”
“Me too…me too.”
This little exchange has been going on now for a good 8 months. I’m actually surprised when I don’t see her leaning on the wall by her stop.
Wednesday, right on schedule, there she was all bundled like a tiny Christmas package.
“You look warm,” I say, glad she takes such good care of herself.
“I am, and I have somethin for you,” halting me, surprised by this.
She reaches into her Museum of Modern Art tote handing me a little gold bag tied with curly red ribbon.
“May I open it?”
Her smile gives me permission.
Inside was a little crocheted pink and light blue doily, the kind you put on the arm of a chair or side table, she clearly made herself, with the word LOVE sewn in the center.
“This is so beautiful,” I say, visibly touched, “what made you give me such a special gift?”
“Because you remind me I’m still here breathin and livin, every time you ask how I am.”