I was travelling to work on the Tram the other day. What I normally do is I read. The ride in gives me time to catch upon those things that I enjoy and reading is one of those.

Luckily I don’t play golf as riding the tram would be of no use at all.

There are often a lot of people travelling in and I notice no one. I am in a world of my own. Just me and the world created by the book.

This day was different. I looked up and noticed a lady sitting in the seat opposite me. She was non-desript, small, blond hair whose colour came out of a bottle. From her choice of clothes, she may have been a manager; she probably had a lot of responsibility; a successful person who has known the feel of many rungs up the corporate ladder. And I was sure she was travelling to meet and surpass another rung.

She was looking out the window, watching the rain crash against it. Drops formed into streams and raced off to see which would be the fastest to the ground.

She looked like any other person in this sardine can. Except for one thing. I saw something run down her face. I looked quickly and discretely as possible.

It was a tear.

It slowly crawled down her face. She did not move to wipe it away or hide it. It reached the base of her chin and then dived into her lap where it was soaked up into the fabric of her society threads. Clothes that were meant to hide your inner emotions, your sexuality, your desires, and human expectaions.

Her face softened, there was a sadness which you rarely see openly displayed in such a public place. I had no idea what had happened, but all her success at this moment meant nothing.

Another tear escaped and rushed to freedom. It screamed down her face, but she didn’t hear it. She let it find its own way onto her lap. There was a vulnerabilty in her face at that very moment. She wanted someone to hold her and comfort her. That person was not me.

The stop before mine, she collected herself, her face changed and she got off.

I have never seen her again.