Worth Street

Dear Diary:

Unable to find our marriage license, I’ve taken the train from rural Columbia County to Lower Manhattan to verify a marriage made 45 years ago. Social Security requires it for survivor benefits.

The Office of the City Clerk hides the bustle of life inside. “Enter through the glass doors,” a sign says. Brides in white gowns or bright dresses light the rainy December day. Couples, some with children in strollers, surround me as they pose for photos. A white-haired woman in jeans and fleece catches my eye. Has she too lost her husband? We all file in together.

Down a long corridor, fresh roses and orchids await buyers. The Records Room opens like a cave. I take a seat. Overhead, my number appears: B073. The clerk’s diamond engagement ring flashes as she hands me the marriage license.

Time shifts. Our third-floor walk-up at 57 Charles Street comes alive like a well-lit stage set: makeshift kitchen, gray walls, a sleeping alcove off the living room and a skylight over the bathtub.