As soon as I sit down on the empty patch of bench in the front of the train, I notice her. Her sweet smile sweeps innocuously from one side to the other: at me sitting down, at the baby in the stroller in the middle of the car, fussed over by mom and grandpa. Grandpa tells the young child they’ll soon be getting off the train, and succeeds in unsettling the babe, while mom searches for something under the stroller seat.
My eyes again find the young woman sitting across from me, her child-like smile still puffing her cheeks. I take in her cut-off sweatshirt that somehow holds all of her arms and hands inside it for warmth, while exposing part of her thin belly under the broken coat partially wrapping her atop the piece of cardboard she’s sitting on. She can’t be much more than 20. Her smooth, velvet skin frames soft, innocent, doe-like eyes with long lashes that look around the car in sweet smile. She tugs her canvas bag on the seat closer to her with slender fingers, her hand having magically appeared from underneath the remnants of her shirt. Her smile never leaves her face.
I’m digging in my bag for cash, trying to do so without incurring attention. She stirs as we pull into 33rd, and stands, takes hold of her bag. I get up too, hand her a folded $20 bill before sitting back down. She smiles at me, nodding her eyes while holding me with her gaze, and I return her smile. She gathers her bag, some of the crumpled paper surrounding it, and her cardboard as quickly as she can, then shuffles through the doors.
A left-behind crumpled paper ball rolls where the baby’s stroller was a moment ago. A few newspaper pages have stayed where she sat; the 3 french fries she didn’t eat atop the pile. The grandfather hovers for a moment, staring at the remains of her life instead of following his daughter onto the platform. Decision made, he snatches the paper ball off the floor, then gathers the scraps from the bench and hurries out before the doors close. Through the window, I watch him find a garbage can and catch up with his family.
A few stops later, as the train clears out again, the young woman sitting further back in the car picks up a small backpack purse by her feet, and follows the crowd to the door with her hands stretching onto the platfomr. “Is this yours?” I hear her say. Movement outside my vision makes her smile. She tries to pull her arm back inside through the just-closing doors, is stopped short for a moment until those release her. She returns to her seat as we move towards W4th Street, and the young man next to her whispers something in her ear.
I smile.
Just a bunch of us New Yorkers on the Coney Island-Stillwell Ave-bound local F train heading downtown in the middle of the day.
Just another rainy Monday
Happy New Year.