Observations on the Tram #5

'So mothers keep your girls at home,
Don't let them journey all alone,
Tell them this world is full of danger,
And to shun the company of strangers'
- Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, The Kindness of Strangers

The girl walks up the steps, doesn't punch her card. Sits down with one foot on the back of the seat in front of her. Small, dark skin, doe eyes. Straightened hair. Cheap perfume.

She wears a white puffa coat, jeans, a black belt. Nameless sneakers. She eats McDonalds fries out of their paper packet and watches the door. Her mp3 player, (it's not an ipod), blasts nameless music into her ears.

She taps her foot against the chair.

Opposite her a middle-aged woman, shopping bags in hand, lifeless skin, deflated breasts, soul escaped. Bags from Blokker with gifts for her children who are probably just as lifeless as their mother.

Destined for a bleak future.

Then a boy walks in, sits down, kisses the girl for just a little too long for them to be only friends. She leaves the headphones in. They don't talk. His hand rests on her thigh, near the top, just below her crotch. She eats her fries and listens to her music.

The middle-aged woman watches them. She's trying not to watch, her eyes pretend they're looking out of the window. She's not watching. But she is.

If she would speak she would say, 'I was 17. I ate fries while my boy put his hand on my crotch. I pretended I didn't care.'

If she would speak she would stand up and howl. The windows would shatter.

She likes to think she wouldn't be invisible anymore. She likes to think the boy and girl would notice her.

She'd be shaking her fists, roaring into a void.

Screaming, 'I'm here. Look at me!' Her voice would rasp and grate along the words.

They'd keep listening to their music. Their feet would tap to whatever it was.

The girl would leave his hand near her crotch. He would think about how he wanted to get into her pants. She would think about nothing.

The woman sitting opposite them is invisible.