The Newborn Doula

The call came at 10 at night. Annie LeVasseur had been eagerly expecting it, but, still, it made her nervous. Annie grew up in the South. It meant that a baby and Annie’s new career as a doula were about to be born. Although Annie had studied photos and videos of mothers giving birth during her training, this was the first time she was going to experience it in real life. “Babies are unpredictable,” she says, explaining her anxiety. “And I like predictability.” She…

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The Woman Wiping Tears From Her Eyes

Ann Kos cannot meet you at the front door. She lives on the middle floor of her three-family house, and she can’t go up and down the stairs any more without a chaperone. Ann was born and raised in Astoria. So she waits at the landing, leaning on her walker, which is what she got for Christmas after she took a tumble on the balcony patio. The guy from the chair-lift company is coming in a couple weeks. The hall is narrow, the chair is wide, and it may not work out. For Ann, the stairs lead…

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The Cerebral Cowboy

Does it smell like cigarette smoke? Jim Ruchalski, a pack-a-day guy, has gone to a lot of trouble to clear the stale-smoke scent out of his apartment. That’s why the candles are burning and the fans are humming on high. Jim’s a geologist for the city. “I can open a window,” he says, looking at the hookah in the corner and the empty ashtrays in the living room. Jim, who has neon blue eyes and smile lines etched into his weathered face, has been smoking since he was 13. He’s…

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The Fairy Godmother

In between a boisterous bar and a game’s-over gambling den, the Arabesque Couture Boutique opened its single plate-glass door, elevating the end of the block from gritty to glittery. Shireen owns Arabesque Couture Boutique. This Cinderella had no fairy godmother. The shop was born not of a magic wand but of a teenage need: Shireen Khan had to go all the way to Forest Hills to get a Sweet Sixteen dress for her daughter. It wasn’t a matter of indecision. Janan, a junior at Long Island…

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The Lover Left Holding the Daffodils

When I first saw him, he was sitting on the stoop. I wouldn’t have noticed him except he was clutching a bunch of daffodils. Daffodils are symbols of unrequited love. The flowers, which were bowing their buttery brows in a nod to nighttime, and probably a lack of water, were married by a piece of crunched-up tin foil. The man, who had lost his youth long ago, looked a little sad. He petted my dog, so I said hello and remarked upon the beauty of the blooms. He smiled. I continued my walk and…

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