Dear Diary:
I waited for you at the Bedford stop on the L train. We said we’d meet up and spend some time together. It was my birthday and you wanted to do something special with me in spite of my protests of celebrating.
I sat on a wobbly wooden pallet, waiting. You were running late and I was running early so I sat for a while staring at the crowd passing by, excited to be living another Friday night. After a while I stood up to stretch and noticed a van selling marijuana lollipops on the corner of North Seventh and Bedford.
“Hurry! Get your lollipops before we go to Philly!†one enthusiastic sales rep yelled from the front seat of the van. It was one last plea from the purveyor to partake in the product before departing to another city. I didn’t know if I would ever see that van again.
I received your phone call shortly after that scene.
“Hey. I just got off the train. I’m on Driggs and North Seventh.â€
I walked in your direction and there you stood, an angelic Japanese woman who didn’t have much time left in New York. Before you disappeared to another land, I wished to partake in the warmth of your love before you became just a memory. You obliged.
I did see that van again. I hope one day I’ll see you again, too.
Read all recent entries and our updated submissions guidelines. Reach us via email diary@nytimes.com or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter using the hashtag #MetDiary.
