She
was the queen of the tram stop. Well, she was the only one there,
sharing the bench with me in her worn, pink hoodie and smoking a
cigarette while she screwed the lid back on her bottle of Carlton
Draught. Eleven AM, even. When I first saw her she looked like a
broken angel, breathing out lung-fulls of ashen smoke and looking
around at her surroundings, eyes darting back and forth.
She didn't seem to notice me, but I sat with my back towards her so as not to intrude. She was in charge, and sat upright with her spine arched – postured like the queen. A stripper bag at her feet ('stripper bags' are the ones like businessmen have in airports, with the pull-out handle and wheels on the bottom; too big to be a backpack, and obviously full of clothes) made me guess that her life was not in order. No one ever carries that bag around at 11am with a clear plan in their head. She had either just finished work (no strip clubs in Richmond) or had been staying somewhere and had to leave. These were my conclusions, to my eyes, the bag said it all. She was smoking and drinking, but those were just plain quirks.
The tram pulled up, only five or six stops to the end of the line, but it's always quicker than walking. We got on, and I sat in the booth across the aisle from her, my eyes peeled to the left as she lugged her bag up the stairs, sat down, and then cursed as she remembered to put out her cigarette. No boundaries. Perfect.
An elderly couple waddled across the crossing while the tram waited for the lights to change, the driver signalled to them that he was waiting, and they waddled faster, shaky on wavering limbs. The man made it up first, his wife followed twenty seconds later – they were very old. I heard m'lady whisper. Something under her voice, maybe? Surely not speaking to me. No, definitely under her voice. Sharp. Hissing; “Don't think I can't understand you.”
Who? Who can you understand? The elderly couple? They seem to be speaking Greek to eachother.
“Fucken hurry up, you're gonna fucken die soon anyway you old cunt.”
That was definitely her, holy fuck, I think she's out of her mind – well that broke the spell a little...
So now I'm sitting there like, holy shit, this fucking insane woman is about to lose her shit because two old people have made the tram wait like twenty seconds at the lights because their old legs couldn't get them across the crossing as fast as she could. She's muttering under her breath at them. At the next stop an elderly Asian woman got on with her cart full of whatever, and pink-hoodie chick said the same shit, only worse, probably. Something along the lines of “don't fucken touch my suitcase”, when the elderly woman's cart bumped her stripper-bag as she hobbled up the steps. So much anger, so much resentment, so much blind spite seething out of her brooding form in the corner. She was no longer a queen, but a serpent hissing viciously with a piercing gaze. Still looked pretty though.
It's strange how much I want to like people who I can immediately see are in some way 'damaged' or at least from the areas of our society that are sick with something. Drinking from a bottle of beer and screwing the lid back on before midday on any day of the week is not an action borne of confidence and a life well going – she was scared to finish it and be left alone, it seemed. But the first thought I had when I saw her sitting proud and upright was, “what a woman!” I wanted to tell her that she was amazing, until she opened her mouth at least, when I wanted to tell her that her scathing half-remarks were “neither intelligent nor funny.” (quoting my own thoughts now)
The only action I took while watching the whole thing play out this morning was to stare openly in her direction. I don't know what I was trying to accomplish – maybe if she'd looked back I would have had to decide whether to fall in love with her or hate her for her spitefulness to her face – but now that she's gone, I'll never know. I will confirm this though: I stayed until the last stop, just so that I could remain a spectator of the performance, or maybe out of hope that she would glance. I honestly don't know why, but I know I could have gotten off one stop earlier.
Peace, Taco.
She didn't seem to notice me, but I sat with my back towards her so as not to intrude. She was in charge, and sat upright with her spine arched – postured like the queen. A stripper bag at her feet ('stripper bags' are the ones like businessmen have in airports, with the pull-out handle and wheels on the bottom; too big to be a backpack, and obviously full of clothes) made me guess that her life was not in order. No one ever carries that bag around at 11am with a clear plan in their head. She had either just finished work (no strip clubs in Richmond) or had been staying somewhere and had to leave. These were my conclusions, to my eyes, the bag said it all. She was smoking and drinking, but those were just plain quirks.
The tram pulled up, only five or six stops to the end of the line, but it's always quicker than walking. We got on, and I sat in the booth across the aisle from her, my eyes peeled to the left as she lugged her bag up the stairs, sat down, and then cursed as she remembered to put out her cigarette. No boundaries. Perfect.
An elderly couple waddled across the crossing while the tram waited for the lights to change, the driver signalled to them that he was waiting, and they waddled faster, shaky on wavering limbs. The man made it up first, his wife followed twenty seconds later – they were very old. I heard m'lady whisper. Something under her voice, maybe? Surely not speaking to me. No, definitely under her voice. Sharp. Hissing; “Don't think I can't understand you.”
Who? Who can you understand? The elderly couple? They seem to be speaking Greek to eachother.
“Fucken hurry up, you're gonna fucken die soon anyway you old cunt.”
That was definitely her, holy fuck, I think she's out of her mind – well that broke the spell a little...
So now I'm sitting there like, holy shit, this fucking insane woman is about to lose her shit because two old people have made the tram wait like twenty seconds at the lights because their old legs couldn't get them across the crossing as fast as she could. She's muttering under her breath at them. At the next stop an elderly Asian woman got on with her cart full of whatever, and pink-hoodie chick said the same shit, only worse, probably. Something along the lines of “don't fucken touch my suitcase”, when the elderly woman's cart bumped her stripper-bag as she hobbled up the steps. So much anger, so much resentment, so much blind spite seething out of her brooding form in the corner. She was no longer a queen, but a serpent hissing viciously with a piercing gaze. Still looked pretty though.
It's strange how much I want to like people who I can immediately see are in some way 'damaged' or at least from the areas of our society that are sick with something. Drinking from a bottle of beer and screwing the lid back on before midday on any day of the week is not an action borne of confidence and a life well going – she was scared to finish it and be left alone, it seemed. But the first thought I had when I saw her sitting proud and upright was, “what a woman!” I wanted to tell her that she was amazing, until she opened her mouth at least, when I wanted to tell her that her scathing half-remarks were “neither intelligent nor funny.” (quoting my own thoughts now)
The only action I took while watching the whole thing play out this morning was to stare openly in her direction. I don't know what I was trying to accomplish – maybe if she'd looked back I would have had to decide whether to fall in love with her or hate her for her spitefulness to her face – but now that she's gone, I'll never know. I will confirm this though: I stayed until the last stop, just so that I could remain a spectator of the performance, or maybe out of hope that she would glance. I honestly don't know why, but I know I could have gotten off one stop earlier.
Peace, Taco.
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