Sometimes, there’s no better way to travel than by tram. Sure, it’s a bit stuffy – reeks of cheap beer sometimes, too – and granted, there’s always the odd chance that you’ll either get (a) hit on (b) cussed at (c) stomped on, or (d) held up by other passengers and miss your stop. But looking at its green factor and being as how it’s a cheaper alternative to parking on some overpriced concrete slab of borrowed land, sometimes, you watch as the cars drive past behind tinted glass and think, ‘If they knew what they’re missing…’
Like the children who choose to stand along the windows, giggling heartily as they squeal out familiar landmarks. They make you and the other commuters smile, and when you catch each other’s eye, you silently ask the same question, “Where has the child in me gone?”
Like the young lad in school uniform, who automatically stands to give his seat away to the madam with the bad leg. He doesn’t make a show, and you think no one sees it but you – he unknowingly gives you hope for the world’s future. Impulsive chivalry isn’t quite yet dead. It’s only you who thinks twice to be selfless.
Like the young friends who talk of high school days past with calculated cool and affected manners. They mock mutual acquaintances, who have yet to embrace adulthood. They laugh at the odd shared memory and rattle names away. You long to shake your head in disdain, but you remember that you’re no better, and you are humbled.
Like the mother who feeds her struggling toddler chips in the moving, shaking tram. That’s dinner, because going home takes too long. He has the bluest eyes and ambling limbs, climbing all over you and the seat. He’s tired from daycare; she’s tired from work, but they both make do. You can only give what you hope is a comforting smile, as you say goodbye and he begins to cry for the company of a stranger who merely pointed out the moving buildings in the darkened sky.
Like the woman with her eyes seemingly bound shut, her front teeth gone away and her raspy voice drunkenly wooing the cautious young men who walk past. She puts you on your guard, and you shrink away from her and the ruddy man alongside her. Then you hear them chat loudly and profanely. And you realize he doesn’t know her, but with his coarse, kind words, he treats her more humanely than you ever could. Your heart burns with shame and you try to look away.
Like the elderly gentlemen who guesses your nationality on the button where so few can, and discusses politics as if you were brilliant and wise. He admits that there is too much evil in the world to wake up to – you tell him you find beauty in the rare good. And he calls you beautiful in return and makes you cry a little when alone, because he is the first to tell you so.
You lean on the heels of your feet, balancing yourself as the carriage swerves the corner, its creaking helplessly betraying its age. You look beyond the person’s shoulder, into those four glass walls set into its metal frame, so lonely and so cold. Almost patronizingly, your mind tuts away and thinks, “If only you see what I see.”