Home to the Bronx

Dear Diary:

We sat close together, trying not to slide too close to the people sitting next to us, the one sitting to her left and the one sitting to my right.

It was summer. The rattling sound of the train car moving through the tunnel from Hunts Point to Whitlock Avenue lowered as we emerged onto the tracks taking us above ground.

My sister and I had taken this ride time and time again. On this particular day, we were coming from Midtown Manhattan. I don’t think we were allowed to explore the city below 34th Street and Herald Square at that point.

The sun was setting, and the train was so packed it was difficult for me to do what I always did: scan the trees along the Bronx River before looking into the sky to replay the conversations that had consumed us. The talk was often about our future successes and about getting out of the neighborhood.