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Have a nice day

He pushed back on the sliding doors long enough to slip through. The metro driver’s horn wailed in frustration.

The officer in plainclothes smelled blood. His cohort had also managed to make it on board. They approached from opposite sides, ready to pounce. We all watched like spectators in the Colosseum.

A QR code was scanned. “Have a nice day,” they said.

She helped us forget

Stampedes of doctors and nurses passed by at regular intervals. A few of them mistook me for a pharmaceutical rep.

Most that waited in front of me were older, so it was understandable why they were there. Some looked at me with curiosity. Others envious of me for having more time left. But most were slouched over in heavy breath lost in their own worry.

I watched as she greeted each of them one by one—something I had never seen before. Their reciprocal smiles helped them forget why they were here. For each one she knew about their interests, about their storied careers, about their loved ones. And every single palpitation in between.

She appeared at the door again. I was next.

To the birthday girl

My sister was the one who liked birthday parties. I didn’t care for them. But she still does.

One year for Kim’s birthday all her friends gathered after school. We danced the Hokey Pokey at Sparkles roller rink and ate pizza and birthday cake.

Today will start with her morning phone call to God. She will be doted on all day by her three kids, husband, dog, our parents, and friends.

And she might sneak a swig of Hershey’s syrup from the bottle in the fridge.

Who moved my eggs?

It was the weekend and so there was more time for breakfast. But I was one egg short of a big enough omelette.

At the store I scanned the dairy aisle. It contained everything but eggs. “Weird, this is where they’ve always been,” I told myself.

There must have been another bird flu crisis. All those poor chickens culled. Or maybe there was some new tariff on eggs that had come up over night? Was there a hidden camera somewhere? Was I about to be the joke of a reality TV show?

A sign with tiny print pointed elsewhere.

It used to mean something different

Each year I’d address the holiday cards from our family to others. It was a tax I paid for having received so many compliments from teachers about my handwriting.

I would refill my calligraphy pen with a fresh ink cartridge, and attach extravagant loops to each letter. Many of the cards featured a cozy winter scene along with the word “peace” printed on them.

I had a lot of time to sit with that word. It seemed absurd that it existed. Like trying to divide something by zero. An unattainable, wasted word. After all I had a pen pal who was a commander in the Gulf War.

Some words have the power to change their meaning over time though.

When to stop?

I only met one of my grandpas. He was the most determined person I ever knew.

He would fix roofs under the oppressive Georgia sun. He would make a garden sprout in the harshest soil. He would help neighbors with their projects. And if you ever needed to borrow a ladder or a tool he’d drop everything he was doing and bring it right over to you.

Keeping going is the dominant gene in our family. No one knows how to stop even when our bodies are worn and sick and tell us to.

For a couple of days this week, I allowed myself not to be like him.

This way out

There’s an escalator at a Metro stop here in the city center. It’s not calibrated like the others. It’s stubborn that way, and has been for years.

If you lean against the handrail, your upper half will advance out in front of you. It’s easy to lose your balance and almost fall.

The escalator stretches to the center of the earth and back. So the ride gives me plenty of time to ponder. Is war coming closer, will robots take my job? Did I remember to pack my lunch?

The way out appears.

Everyone is infected

It took me a while to accept that numbers could be words. At least that’s what the gatekeeper of trending words proclaimed last year.

“As long as it stays on the other side of the pond we’re fine,” I convinced myself. And so began my rigorous campaign of checking everyone here for infections.

It started to spread as fast as the pandemic. First it fell out of the mouth of a teenage girl in the store. Then a colleague. My sons.

I looked out my window. Etched into the snow below were those numbers, one right after the other.

Sorry for helping you

We stood in line like food aid recipients. It had been two-and-a-half days since we last congregated here.

Shoppers, now anxious to prepare for the new year, cut me off. I knew that if I could just make it to self-checkout I was almost home.

Store employees stocked already full shelves. Perhaps their frantic movements were a result of complaints. And each of them received news of these complaints as the assistant manager broadcast her disgust through her headset.

Several boxes of Earl Grey fell at my feet. The assistant manager’s hands were full. Automatically I picked them up and handed them over. She snatched them back.

Simply the best

My mood was pulling me down. When that happens there’s always one person that can bring me back up. I queued up her best hits and plugged in there on the platform.

She started singing to me how I’m “simply the best” and “better than all the rest.”

My head bobbed up and down and that’s when I spotted him. Hunched over, clinging to walking sticks, he too was plugged in.

Tina danced on his screen.