Every month I take a train from Philadelphia to New York City and walk around, because I love Manhattan and because I am a retired and elderly widow with spare time. My husband died three years ago today, so I will tell him about my trip and the reader will just have to listen in and put up with it.

I got out to the bus stop in time, but when I looked at the app I could see the scheduled 49 wasn’t coming – you know how you see one, but it’s off the route completely, so it’s probably an entirely different bus? – so I took the 48 and walked over the bridge to 30th Street. Still got there with plenty of time to spare. You probably would have known the driver, he was familiar even to me. A lot of new drivers these days. Lots of women. Sensible of them. The pay is good, even if the job is kind of sketchy sometimes.

The train was fine. It was the Keystone – the one they were going to cancel because of the funding crisis? The one that runs on SEPTA tracks from Harrisburg to New York? I don’t know if I told you about that last time I went to see your grave. There was a court order, so they’re back on the regular schedule for the time being.

When I got off at Moynihan, I took the elevator because the escalator was going the wrong way. I had planned to go North first, but it was drizzling, so I figured I would do the inside errands. I took the A South, and got off early because I was afraid it was an express, but it would have been fine. I caught the C, anyway. When I came out of the subway, I was turned around. I’m always turned around when I get out of the subway. It only took me a minute to get redirected, because I could see City Hall Park. I was lucky I knew where I was, because they took the scaffolding down over the fountain pen store and I might have walked right past if, I hadn’t known where I was. I always used to know which direction I was facing, but I guess I’m a little less oriented now that I’m old. 

Yeah, of course I bought a fountain pen. And it had a fine nib. You always tried to give me broad nib pens because you figured I already had a lot of fine nibs. You’re dead, so you can’t argue with me about it. Don’t press your lips together, I know what I like, and I have the money for it, because we did pretty good all things considered after being poor for so long. And I was right to go to grad school, so there, because the job I got had a 401(k), even though you thought I was going to get a doctorate and leave you. You were sadly deluded about the cash value of doctorates. Stop giggling at me.

After that, I walked across City Hall Park and caught a train uptown to the bookstore. I thought I was turned around there, but I was going in the right direction. I could see myself walking on Google Maps.

It was still raining when I came out of the bookstore, but I had my umbrella. It’s a little compact one, like the Tumi one you had, but colorful. I walked to the subway and caught a 6 up to 103rd. Did you know the Metro North line, on that heavy bridge? It goes all the way up Park from Grand Central. I hadn’t realized it because I don’t usually go north past the Metropolitan Museum when I’m on the East Side. It was weird going under the bridge, but that part of the city reminded me of the way New York used to be in the 70s, and it felt more like it was when I lived there. Gritty. Tired. A proper city.

The gardens were fine, and the main point of my visit, but I know you don’t care about gardens, not really, so I won’t say any more. I told Rebecca all about them, of course. Of course she misses you, probably as much as I do. You were her best friend.

I walked down Fifth and caught a M1 when I was tired, though it was jammed with school kids. I ran some more errands, then sat in Bryant Park to organize my bag. You would have been so fed up by this point, and I would have had to argue with you because you would want to leave early, the way we did that day in London when you wanted to go back to the hotel and take a nap before we went to Buckingham Palace.

I texted with Jill a bit. You liked giving her advice about work, so I gave her some good advice as if I was you. People still quote you to me, you know.

Then I went back to Moynihan, a little early as usual, because I had done everything I planned.

We all got in line at Gate 5 because sometimes the Keystone 655 leaves from there, though nobody knew (not even the conductors) where the 655 was going to be this time. Then Gate 5 turned out to be the line for the Empire State instead, and everyone surged over to a different gate like monsters when the announcement came, just the way they always do. I got all the notification texts and emails from Amtrak about ten minutes after I was on the train, which was also normal. The train was sold out, but I snagged a seat from a guy who was trying to keep a row to himself by putting his bag in the window seat.

We had that conductor I like, the sensible one who is built like a brick and makes good clear announcements. When we were coming into Philadelphia, the guy sitting next to me got up in a flash and darted down the aisle to be first in line at the exit, and the conductor came on the PA and asked people please not to line up early. The guy didn’t come back, though.

We all got off at 30th Street and started walking in the wrong direction, because I wasn’t the only one who was turned around. A different conductor called out and got us going the right way, though.

The 49 was a way off, so I headed over to JFK. A woman in a car coming the other way didn’t have her headlights on, and I yelled, but she didn’t hear. A panhandler was sitting there on the traffic island in his wheelchair, with a pizza box in his lap because he was on his dinner break. “I already tried to tell her,” he said about the woman with the headlights. He shook his head. I shook my head. We parted on friendly terms.

When I got to Arch (there’s a stairway now from JFK, I forget if I told you, they renovated it, and about time too), I could see they were doing night construction and the 48 was rerouted, so I walked two blocks but missed the bus anyway. There was another one coming in 8 minutes, though a guy who came to the stop after me got on before me, which was rude.

I didn’t know that bus driver. Maybe you would know him.

I fed the cat. You don’t know this cat. I’ve had him two years now. I sprinkled Sugar’s ashes on your grave when she died a year after you, so you have your own damn cat. This one is mine. His name is Louie. Yeah, the boy cat I always wanted. You liked girl cats. He disapproves of me and adores me, the way you did.

You would have been grumpy with me today, because you were always grumpy afterwards when I left town, even for a day. You figured I was going to walk out on you, all the time, god knows why because I never did, you pain in the butt.

Stop giggling, you silly boy. You love it so much when I yell at you.