5:55 am train to Grand Central. It’s the 2nd stop. My head is down, I’m flipping through the morning papers.
The voice is soft, kind: “Excuse me.” She struggles to avoid contact as she slides to the middle seat; she’s directly across and to my left.
Someone’s Mother, Someone’s Grandmother, a Nana.
She settles in, straightening her neat, navy skirt. Her hands clutch a thin, pocket umbrella and rest on her lap, on top of a small black purse attached to a black shoulder strap.
Of Central American origin, Guatemalan, if I was guessing, of Mayan origin, guessing again.
I catch her in a quick glance at me, she was guessing: “Suit. Privileged. WASP. Ivy league educated. Money.” Wrong on most, but not all counts. OK, let’s call it wrong on some counts. [Read more…]