Member-only story
I Just Wanted to See My Mom Again
One Day Can Change Everything
Picture this: a little boy peering through a closed second-story window at the sidewalk below, focusing on the farthest tip of the street that he could see. He wasn’t fixated on the sway of the trees in the autumn breeze, nor the assortment of passenger cars and delivery trucks that sped down his busy street. He only cared about seeing his mother rounding the corner on her way home.
That was me for most of my childhood. I used to stand in the upstairs window waiting to see my mom walking down the block. I wrapped myself in the huge curtains, making it impossible for the rest of my family to find me whenever I began my morning search. It started with an innocent curiosity. Each night, she’d kiss me on my forehead and promise to see me in the morning. And, she did. Then I started waking up early. Then earlier, and then even earlier. Before I realized it, I was up before the sun, taking up my post at the upstairs window.
My mother worked for the New York City Transit Authority during the days when tokens were needed for each ride and bus transfers were made of paper. Riders were sure to put the transfer receipts in their pockets before the ink bled onto their hands and avoided train car walls out of fear that a graffiti artist’s latest work would transfer to their clothes. Every night, my…
