But Really, What Do I Know?

The crowd sweeps by her as she presses her back to the olive green I-beam by the top of the stairs down to the subway platform. She wears very little makeup, but what little she does barely covers the acne and scars on a face that her worried, pinched mouth does not make any prettier.

But there, beneath her thin, dark hair, she wears two, slightly oversized hoop earrings of silver. I can imagine her looking into the mirror with a serious expression as she tilts her head to each side to put them in, and I want to reach out and stroke her hair, soothe her, tell her that everything will be okay.