Swinging to the Music

Dear Diary:

We were apart for seven months. He was in Alabama, at Fort Rucker, and I was at Columbia. We spent three days together while he was on leave.

The day before he left, we were on the No. 1. In the twitching subway light, a band swung into our car and seasoned the tight air: One musician kneaded a metallic accordion, and another sang.

He smiled — there is a slight gap between his front teeth — and we danced. In the music, the moment felt infinite. I didn’t think about saying goodbye, about the distance from Alabama to New York. I just thought about him, on the No. 1, with me, swinging to the music.

The next day he boarded his train at Penn Station. I walked to Times Square, crying and cold, and I caught the No. 1. After two stops, a band swung into the car: It was the one from the day before. I couldn’t help but smile and swing my hips to the music.

— Emma O’Leary