Metropolitan Diary- Clipping #3
Dear Diary,
I saw him walking toward me along the east side of the Union Square farmers' market on the first 90-degree Saturday of the spring season. He had a Bible or some such black religious book in his prayerfully positioned hands.
Keep up the wall, I said to myself, resolutely staring into the fine afternoon at some distant point ahead so I could avoid any sort of interaction with the Bible-stomping missionary heading my way. Of course, what you resist persists, and he had my number. A fallen-away Catholic of mixed Jewish heritage, which I most likely projected with my jeans, gold jewelry and curly hair, an open-minded softy for sure.
But instead of asking if I believed in Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, or Yaweh, he asked the type of question that I, as a New Yorker, willingly stop to answer. He asked for direction. "Do you know where I can find..."
I paused imperceptibly to hear the whole question. Was he looking for a Starbucks? There was one across the street. The farmers' market? It's just a few yards to his right. The subway? Keep walking; it's straight ahead.
But no, he finished his question with "...an organic smile?" And so I gave him what he sought. I smiled, organically, and I imagine that he smiled back, perhaps divinely, though I didn't stop to see his response.
- Mary Vanderwoude
(July 4, 2016)
