She may be old, but she radiates like the sun.
My body bounces back and forth in a nearly hypnotic motion as the train tumbles down the track. On my way to work, I begin to harbor on my distaste for my current situation. Stuck and worthless, I am nothing more than a drone in the corporate system who could probably count paper clips all day or make murals out of staples and notebook paper and still get a raise.
Realizing I’m not the only one in the car, I begin surveying the passengers in my immediate view. I make up stories about them and paint mental pictures of their immediate situations. There is a man, two children, and an elderly lady, all in separate rows.
The man is eating his breakfast, a strawberry Pop-Tart. Not two, just one, because he can’t afford to eat both today. He is wearing what appears to be a fancy suit and paisley bow tie, making sure to keep up his appearance, as he believes it’s the key to success.
The child closest to me is a boy, age 10, with brown hair and a giant band-aid on his right knee. I’m guessing he got that booboo from slipping off his bike as he rode in tight circles in the cul-de-sac outside his parents house on a cool, rainy day in October.
The second child, also a boy, looks to be 14 or 15. He seems troubled, like he just got into a fight with his kind of, not so sure, things-are-awkward-because-they-are-too-young-and-scared-to-talk-about-it girlfriend after she skated with another boy during couple’s skate at his friend Paul’s birthday party.
And the elderly lady, she’s wearing a new pair of beige walking shoes, equipped with both velcro and laces and has a fresh pair of white socks on over her pantyhose. She appears elated, possibly headed into the city on a fantastic sightseeing adventure.
There are four of them, and I take each person in one at a time. Three out of the four of them appear more than miserable, which makes the elderly lady’s smile even more apparent. Apart from her obvious dentures, it is perfect. And it brings me joy.
This joy doesn’t come from the fact that it’s perfect in an aesthetic sense, because it’s not. It’s perfect because as the other three passengers begin to look up and make the rounds with their eyes, scanning from passenger to passenger, assuming things about others’ lives that they have no right to assume, their gazes rest upon the elderly lady. And as they stare at her just as I did, each of them begin to appear slightly less than miserable.
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