A Life in 100 Words (NYNH RR)

Playing it safe, we were early for the 11:27 to Grand Central, not like the day decades ago when Mother pulled open the polished brass doors as though they were made of balsa wood and I slipped on black ice shredding my first pair of stockings and bloodied my knee. It hurt and I wanted to cry but I was twelve and the look in Mother’s soft, brown eyes told me, It’s ok, sweetie, I have a bandaid in my purse. She linked my arm, Get on the train, we’ll have some oatmeal with brown sugar in the Club Car.