The woman on the trolley
There’s this trolley I take. My rides are usually short, but when I’m on it, I see all kinds of people hop on and hop off — seemingly old, young, rich, poor… Not many of them make an impression on me. Most times I’m lost in my zone with my headphones on. Or maybe I’m looking out the window, impatient to get home.
Other times, I notice. For different reasons, some people are hard to miss, like an elderly woman I saw today. I think I know why, but I still can’t explain all that went through my head. I felt this sadness quickly build up the more I looked her way.
She sat on one of the front seats, a couple of rows from me. The first thing I noticed was how many bags she was carrying. They were grocery bags from a grocery store nearby. Didn’t seem heavy, but they were many. My guess was she doesn’t drive and goes shopping by herself. She looked older than 65; light-skinned visibly turned-coppery in the Miami sun. Her gray and frizzy hair was undone, but parted to the side and clipped with a snap hair clip.
The second thing I noticed was she was wearing a sort of a track suit. It was 90 degrees. Already hot from my walk before the trolley, just looking at the many layers she was wearing made me sweaty. I lowered the volume on the music in my ear, as if trying to read this woman. Why was she carrying so many bags and where was she headed? Does she not have help? Where is her family? I had so many questions, just like I do when I see homeless people roaming the city.
It was easy to see why looking at that lady tugged at my heartstrings. She made me think of my disoriented mom. I was glad I was wearing my sunglasses so I could hide the rush of emotions I felt at that moment. But seeing my mom in her wasn’t the only part that triggered my emotions. I felt sad for the woman. Truth be told, she might be a wealthy senior, given the city, who just lives alone and actually enjoys city strolls and riding trollies to the supermarket. Who knows! But for some reason, I couldn’t see past her blank stare and expressionless face, and her million bags.
Her stop came quickly (mine would be next) and I saw her hop off. When she turned around and I saw the other side of her head and her scalp, the third thing I noticed about her, that’s when my heart asked for courage. She had big bald spots. I felt this urge to get off the trolley with her, ask if she needed help, and find out what her story was while at it. But I didn’t. All I could do was let a little silent sob in the middle of a busy trolley ride. I took a hand to my chest and breathed out. Gosh, I hope it’s nothing. I hope she’s fine, I thought. And, since, she stayed on my mind for the rest of the day.
I might be acting a little melodramatic, but I had to write about her and find closure with that strong emotion. That’s the downside of being an empath — the feelings are too strong about people we don’t even know.
It seems that we live closely, so I am hoping we cross paths again because on a second encounter, I must start a conversation. Not many people make an impression on me on ordinary days, but this one did. I hope she’s okay and at peace.
