good luck
Holding still, I am holding still, I am waiting. I am boarding the train, I am moving my body to a seat six feet away from that person and…
Holding still, I am holding still, I am waiting. I am boarding the train, I am moving my body to a seat six feet away from that person and that person, and I am seated, hands folded and listening to music on a train up up up uptown. Transfer to the D and the D is right there like it never was before when I used to make this transfer, good train luck there, then I’m on the other train, stepping in, standing clear and sitting down, moving when the dude with no mask and a face tattoo boards at 145th. I move my body down the train car, settle beside no one, when we all used to be surrounded by one another, touching bodies pressed and relaxed into one another without consent, without apology like when their head falls onto your shoulder and then the train stops with a start and they wake say, I’m sorry real embarrassed, you say It’s ok and mean it.
In the hospital hall corridor, I sit on a chair, and when the line moves, I move, I sit in the chair one closer musical chairs one step closer and so close now. There’s more older folks today and they want to talk to one another about parking, about the snow, where’s the form and stuff. We inch forward a seat, then three seats and now I’m in the small hallway, making myself small. An older woman being escorted by a tall nephew, she wears a mask that says QUEEN OF SOCIAL DISTANCING. She might be 87 or 99 or maybe ageless but she has walked this long hall and long life and deserves a seat, so I offer her mine and the nephew helps her down into it. Shouts and a rackett from folks down the line, further into the other hallway calling out what is she doing? and the line starts back here these are not employees of the hospital, they don’t live in the neighborhood and neither do I but I toss back to them she needs a seat, take it easy! and then, with a wink I tell the nephew that I will fight them and he smiles I think and the tiny old woman is moved to a better seat where she will wait her turn in comfort out of the way of the scarcity worriers in line behind us.
The worker who puts the sticker on my card says it’s the triple platinum card. This will be the only triple platinum card I’ll ever see.
Melissa the nurse is dancing when I walk around the partition, so I start dancing too. We laugh and dance and I drop down into my chair like the fun and funny person I am, this is what happiness feels like, I remember. After my shot, I step around the divider and into a circle of distanced chairs and people in them, smiling eyes and laughter, spinning in a graceful circle arms wide, looking up at the low ceiling of the Murray Cohen Auditorium. I sit down into my seat and wait.