![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I don't feel bad.
Jun. 24th, 2002 11:01 amI'm not sure why I chose the Brown line, since I was on the platform so late that I knew seats would be available on the faster Red line. But somedays I just feel too claustrophobic to go underground, only to emerge triumphantly with big gasps of not-so-fresh Loop air.
Usually the trains clear out at the first stop on the Loop, the station closest to Price Waterhouse and Northern Trust and Sears Tower and other large firms and corporations I don't know names. As the train thinned out, I normally wouldn't notive the woman across from me and would remain absorbed in listening to Bulletproof Wallets for the umpteenth time. But there was something about the way she was moving in her seat.
She was somewhere between the ages of 45-55 and wouldn't necessarily strike me since she was rather innocuous in dress and style -- not great, but not so horribly delicious either. She would've been right at home in a JCPenney catalog, looking rather snappy and typical in non-suit women's professional wear. Her hair was blond and I don't even remember the style and her makeup was tame, and I only noticed it because I kept trying to find her eyes to see if what I perceived was true.
She was crying. Not in the sobbing, tears rolling down your face way, but in that way where you're on the train and you know it's inappropriate and you don't want to be seen as upset or blubbering so you darts your eyes arround and turn your head to peer out windows behind you so no one will see you. She never made eye contact with me for more than a tenth of a second, and I probably blended in with the other seated passengers since I was wearing a baseball hat that covered my mohawk. No one else noticed her at all -- it was nearly imperceptible.
But she was definitely crying. For some reason I started staring at her hands after I'd deduced this, partly because I didn't want to make her more self-conscious. She was wearing a huge wedding ring and bad set, with a diamond-shaped diamond (I obviously no nothing about techinical terms and jewelry!) and for some reason I immediately deduced her problem were related to her husband. But then I realized that was a stupid thing to think and didn't fit the situation that well.
Why was she crying on her way to work at 9:15 on a Monday morning?
My mind started to concoct scenarios, but then I stopped because I felt guilty for entertaining myself with her life, though I wasn't exactly enjoying my 'fantasies'. So instead I became obsessed with saying something to her, but what?
How ridiculous would it be to say to a complete stranger "are you okay?" I mean, she obviously wasn't in need of physical aid and who am I to think I really care about what's going on her life. Instead I realized the best thing to say would be a simple "I'm sorry". Which is still problematic because it implies I know things I don't. Besides it would probably end up making her feel worse and vulnerable to know I had seen her cry. Yet somehow just sitting there knowing this information felt wrong.
She seemed to pull herself together more as the train rounded the corner, waiting for the orange line to pass so we could pull in to the next station, which was my stop. It was also her stop. At this point, there wer 3 people on the train including the 2 of us, and we were the only ones on our half of the car. I got up moments before she stood and walked to the other door, so I wouldn't be standing next to her waiting to exit. At that point she probably knew that I saw her and I knew my momentary inspiration to reach out and say something had passed and who was I to try and enter her life anyway? Some young guy immersed in his headphones wearing jeans to work staring at her on the train, that's all.
Usually the trains clear out at the first stop on the Loop, the station closest to Price Waterhouse and Northern Trust and Sears Tower and other large firms and corporations I don't know names. As the train thinned out, I normally wouldn't notive the woman across from me and would remain absorbed in listening to Bulletproof Wallets for the umpteenth time. But there was something about the way she was moving in her seat.
She was somewhere between the ages of 45-55 and wouldn't necessarily strike me since she was rather innocuous in dress and style -- not great, but not so horribly delicious either. She would've been right at home in a JCPenney catalog, looking rather snappy and typical in non-suit women's professional wear. Her hair was blond and I don't even remember the style and her makeup was tame, and I only noticed it because I kept trying to find her eyes to see if what I perceived was true.
She was crying. Not in the sobbing, tears rolling down your face way, but in that way where you're on the train and you know it's inappropriate and you don't want to be seen as upset or blubbering so you darts your eyes arround and turn your head to peer out windows behind you so no one will see you. She never made eye contact with me for more than a tenth of a second, and I probably blended in with the other seated passengers since I was wearing a baseball hat that covered my mohawk. No one else noticed her at all -- it was nearly imperceptible.
But she was definitely crying. For some reason I started staring at her hands after I'd deduced this, partly because I didn't want to make her more self-conscious. She was wearing a huge wedding ring and bad set, with a diamond-shaped diamond (I obviously no nothing about techinical terms and jewelry!) and for some reason I immediately deduced her problem were related to her husband. But then I realized that was a stupid thing to think and didn't fit the situation that well.
Why was she crying on her way to work at 9:15 on a Monday morning?
My mind started to concoct scenarios, but then I stopped because I felt guilty for entertaining myself with her life, though I wasn't exactly enjoying my 'fantasies'. So instead I became obsessed with saying something to her, but what?
How ridiculous would it be to say to a complete stranger "are you okay?" I mean, she obviously wasn't in need of physical aid and who am I to think I really care about what's going on her life. Instead I realized the best thing to say would be a simple "I'm sorry". Which is still problematic because it implies I know things I don't. Besides it would probably end up making her feel worse and vulnerable to know I had seen her cry. Yet somehow just sitting there knowing this information felt wrong.
She seemed to pull herself together more as the train rounded the corner, waiting for the orange line to pass so we could pull in to the next station, which was my stop. It was also her stop. At this point, there wer 3 people on the train including the 2 of us, and we were the only ones on our half of the car. I got up moments before she stood and walked to the other door, so I wouldn't be standing next to her waiting to exit. At that point she probably knew that I saw her and I knew my momentary inspiration to reach out and say something had passed and who was I to try and enter her life anyway? Some young guy immersed in his headphones wearing jeans to work staring at her on the train, that's all.
