The M7

The M7 bus was almost full tonight when I got on. I made my way to the back after the doors closed and the bus trundled up Amsterdam. Before I felt I could "back out" and turn around, I sat next to a poor, pathetic bag lady who occupied the middle of the back bench of 5 seats and took up the rest of those seats with her puffed up blue and white plastic bags filled with her life's belongings. She was wearing a filthy satin dress from the 40's with a vintage turban to match. Her legs were spread too far for a lady and I feared if her dress hiked up any higher with the motion of the bus, I might NOT see her underwear because there was none. Her cheeks were rouged deep red like a carved wooden doll from a carnival. She had a blank stare like her eyes were painted on as well. The poor woman was out of it and sat so sadly on her throne of back seats. I was to her left and didn't want to look out of respect, frankly.

Four young girls got on at the next stop. They were all around eleven, that in-between age that is cuter than one recalls until confronted with it. They too walked to the back and halted before getting too close to the bag lady. Two sat in the newly unoccupied seats to my direct left and the other two sat on their laps! It was as as natural as you could imagine. That is what 11 year old girls do. And they continued to talk to each other as if the M7 were a slumber party. They played with each others' long, beautiful hair like loving primates. The talk was about school and cell phones and brothers making pranks! God, it was beautiful to listen to. It was so pure and precious that it broke my heart to think the poor woman to my right was once like them.