Anne Roiphe on the M5 Bus

Life is weird.
This morning I woke up thinking about Anne Roiphe, the author, most recently, of “Epilogue: A Memoir,” a powerful tale about living in the aftermath of the death of a spouse. I was thinking of sending a note to Roiphe. I had wanted to tell Roiphe two things: first and most importantly, I recently met a stranger on the subway who was reading “Epilogue” and we wound up having a fantastic conversation; second, I got laid off. I tell pretty much everybody about my getting laid off. So does my father. He managed to tell the waiter at Liebman’s Deli in Riverdale.
Anyway, back to Roiphe. I thought about her and then I saw her, about 30 minutes later, on my beloved M5 bus. I was out for my walk when I saw the bus coming. I figured this was the Lord’s way of telling me that I did not need to walk all the way down to the pier below West 72nd Street. I could ride. So I got on. A few blocks later, Roiphe got on.
We chatted about job losses in journalism. I told her about the stranger who liked her book. And when she was getting off, after already having said goodbye, Roiphe turned back and looked at me and said: “Good luck.” Complete with eye contact. I thought that was nice. I had better take my gifts where I can get them.