A crying soul

It is lunch time now; but my mind keeps going back to this morning.

I was busy reading my book (Open by Agassi). Suddenly I hear this voice, "I want to sit". She is a lady. Neatly dressed in a hospital attire, may be a nurse or attendant or janitor I can't tell. African American. About fifty years young.

Being Friday there are plenty of empty seats in the train; but she seems lost and repeats, "I want to sit". A good soul across from me braves to help her, "Here", she says pointing to the seat next to her, "You can sit here". She takes the offered seat thanking her.

She starts a conversation, "I am tired you know. Kind of giddy. I worked all night!" The good soul acknowledges her with her "mhm"s and "ahang"s.

Then suddenly she asks, as if waking up from her sleep, "What time is it anyway? Is it morning or evening?"

"Morning! Almost nine!", comes the response.Good soul gets down in the next station.

As the train starts to move she is getting panicked, "Is this train going Uptown or Downtown?"

Someone answers, "Downtown"

Moments later she asks, "Which station is this?" I answer, "14th Street". She asks me to repeat. "14th Street!" She thanks me.

And then suddenly she starts to cry. It is audible in spite of the noise of the train. I take a side way glance at her. She is searching frantically in her bag, tears rolling down, crying - audibly.

"What is it? Are you okay? You lost something? Are you lost?" I think of different ways I could reach out to her; but I remain silent like the rest of the New Yorkers.

The train comes to a halt. It's my stop. 8th Street. I get down. Walk away.

She lingers on... still crying...