Riding on the train home from work last week, the woman sitting next to me caught my eye. It wasn’t just her bright red lipstick or her retro dress that I noticed — it was a large, ugly, blue-brown-yellow bruise on her upper arm. As covertly as I could, I looked at the bruise, then at her face. She seemed smiley and happy, an otherwise normal woman coming home from work just like me. I turned back to my magazine. But a few minutes later, something on her leg distracted me: yes, it was another ugly-looking blue-brown-yellow bruise. Now I couldn’t read. I looked at her face again and thought about how “normal” she seemed. For half a second, I considered saying something to her about her bruises, but didn’t know what to say. So I sat there next to her for the rest of the train ride, awkwardly looking at the bruises on her leg and arm with my side-eye. We got off at the same stop, but walked off in different directions. I’m still wondering what her story was. Keep reading »
