The first September morning on the 1 train felt different before I even swiped in.
At the 125th Street station, which is elevated up here in Harlem, the wind came through the platform and it had a bite to it. Not cold. Just honest. Like the summer finally admitted it was over.
Yesterday I was fanning myself with a MetroCard. Today I wanted a chai and a scarf I don't own yet.
The 1 train came screeching in and everyone stood a little straighter. September does that to New Yorkers. We stop slouching. We remember we have things to do.
A man got on at 116th with an iced coffee that already looked like a mistake. A woman next to me had a tote bag full of notebooks, brand new, corners still sharp. The whole car smelled like the possibility of getting your life together.
I love this about the first September morning on the 1 train. It is the closest New York gets to a fresh diary page. Mumma used to buy me new stationery every June before school, and I would smell the pages like a weirdo. This felt like that.
By 96th Street the sun had climbed high enough to warm the windows, and for one stop everything glowed gold. A little girl pressed her forehead to the glass. I did too, quietly, on the other end.
I got off at 66th and the air near Lincoln Center still had that cool thread running through it.
September, be gentle with me.
Love,