METROPOLITAN DIARY
What’s the Count?
Dear Diary:
I was walking home through Central Park when I decided to stop and sit on a bench near the Balto statue and do some late-afternoon people watching.
I soon became aware of a loud voice coming from a grassy hill just over my shoulder. At first I thought it was someone making a speech, but I gradually realized it was someone announcing an imaginary baseball game.
I turned slightly and saw a young man pantomiming pitching from a mound. After each pitch, he announced the count. By now, the bases were loaded.
Strike 1.
Ball 1.
Ball 2.
Strike 2.
A small crowd had gathered, attracted by the young man’s energetic performance.
Ball 3. The suspense was growing.
The pitcher wound up for the next critical pitch, released the make-believe ball and paused.
He stood for a moment before making the triumphant announcement: Strike 3. He had won the game.
The crowd burst into applause.
— Susan Englar
Icy Cold Day
Dear Diary:
On an icy cold day a few years ago, my husband took a bad fall on the Brooklyn College campus. He was taken to Kings County Hospital, where I found him on a gurney in an overcrowded room when I arrived.
Very close by was an older woman who had also been injured. There was a younger woman with her who appeared to be her niece. We couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. The older woman did not speak English, and the younger woman would translate when the doctors and nurses asked questions.
After a few hours, the younger woman had to leave and the older woman was on her own. At one point, when a doctor had some questions for her, someone brought a telephone to her bedside and got an interpreter on the line.
Eventually, my husband was allowed to leave. By this time, there were visible bruises on his arms and legs. After getting out of bed gingerly, he got dressed, but his winter coat was hanging open.
As we passed the older woman’s bed on our way out, she beckoned my husband over. He stopped and bent down to hear what she was saying.
She didn’t say a word. Instead, she motioned for him to come closer. Still not speaking, she managed to sit up enough to reach for his coat and carefully button it up.
— Mikki Shaw
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/09/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
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