DERs
- When the Manhattan bound 3 train stops at Clark Street, women with diamond engagement rings step in. You can bet on it. Sometimes the ring’s band will clink against the pole—one woman steadying herself as the train jerks forward, another woman, flipping her hair as she readjusts her purse, eyes darting once to survey the other passengers. These women are the last ones to get on before the train leaves Brooklyn.
- During last year’s Tribeca Film Festival, I interviewed Taylor Kitsch. Before the interview, me and three other writers, all female, were asked to wait in a tiny hotel room at the end of a long hallway. As I walked in, the three women were excitedly talking. But not about Kitsch. Or the movie. Or the weather. All three of them, recently engaged, were sharing details about their wedding plans. Each woman got up from her seat to show the others and myself, the ring. Diamonds. A band. Shiny. New. There was a sense of ritual to how they spoke, a patience to how they listened to one and other, and an excitement that seemed to fizz like soda bubbling out of a bottle as each woman showed hers off. Out of politeness, or because it would be extraordinary that all four of us were recently engaged, one asked me if I too was, soon to be married. I smiled and said no. They smiled back and went silent, and I briefly felt a tinge of guilt—Why? Who knows—that I may have interrupted their “me too” moment of bliss. Seconds later, the PR girl would come in and call my name. But not before one woman turned to me and said, “You’re excited to meet Taylor, right?”
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