I was sitting at a bus stop
I was sitting at a bus stop, shivering, when a willowy person walked by. They wore a flowery red dress and a denim jacket, much distressed.
Beneath hunched shoulders came brisk steps. There was no one else around, none that I could see, but fear spurred those heels and quickened their feet. I caught their gaze. In their eyes sat a teary, red-eyed hurt.
Love, I wanted to say how proud I was; how stunning you have done up your hair, curly like mine, yet wrestled by miracle into fashion. I wanted to compliment your dress, daring in this dire cold, and how neatly your purse matches. I wanted to tell you--even as you tried to hide it--that you were beautiful no matter how much stubble grew on your face. To say that you are safe, in this moment, even under a stranger's gaze.
Despite my knowing, I wanted to ask if they were okay.
But they passed--ran--fled far too quick for me to muster up words, leaving me with nothing but my own tears. I am alone in the back of this bus. My mask is drenched. It's hard to breathe. But I remain hopeful that the night and all that remains will prove gentle, for them, for all of us, and if not this one, then all tomorrows; for in defiance of their fears, it was courage they held, courage they gave, and courage I will take home and remember.