She reminded me of my nan. I knew she would even before I finished crossing. Crossing just to cross. A criss-cross in a road that went nowhere. Still, it's good to be out in the sun.
My nan had the exact same shoulder bag, only black, and I thought how is that possible? That these two women got bags from the same long-gone manufacturer, still hoisting them around? Funny, the things you think you've forgotten. The pattern on some stupid, ugly bag, because to me, all her bags were ugly and unfashionable. I didn't understand that before she'd been old, she was a woman who tried. And there's a real struggle there, a gut-rooted anxiety over looking alright that I think only women have. That she must've had that, that she'd look in the mirror in the hallway in the morning and think, I'm edging to my grave and make no secret of it, but am I looking alright?
I wish I'd told her more. I wish I'd meant it. I wish, but it doesn't get me nowhere.
There were, of course, other ways they resembled one another. The alert, slightly guarded eyes. Old eyes that shout I'm alive, I'm alive still. The skin, taut across the cheekbones. The mouth. The hands. She stood elegant as she waited for the green light. They all do, carry themselves with such unbearable elegance. I wonder, will young people look at us someday and think that, also? With our loosey-goosey sweats and our uneven clothes? Will there be elegance in 50 years, or will the world have ballooned by then? Will I miss the chance to remind someone of their grandmother?
I spied her out of the corner of my eye. It happens, sometimes, but when it does, I try to keep my eyes discreet (they can otherwise be very loud). I'd hate for her to think I was staring because she was old. I don't think that matters, though, it's always a terrible thing, to stare at someone because they remind you of someone well-loved. Doesn't it happen to you, sometimes? That you just get lost in the sight of them ambling towards you and they scowl at you as if you say "put your aching somewhere else"?
It does to me. The little green man flashed, and as I was moving past, I heard her. Miss, where do I get the tram to get to the shopping mall? I told her she was so very close, only a stop away and showed her where to go - we were crossing toward the station anyway, so we chatted for a while (I hate people who give you directions like you're bothering them). I was happy to talk to her. It made me so stupidly happy that she talked to me, this woman who reminded me of my nan. It's a silly thing, but there it is. And so, we chatted for a while in that way that people have, to be kind and pleasant to one another for no reason. In that way I would've been embarrassed to when I was younger. In that way that gives me hope for us all.
She told me how she used to get here on a different bus line and I said no, I don't think that goes there anymore, they've changed it. She said she'd asked some boys and they must've told her wrong, and I thought how marvelous and how unusual to people my age and people now, in general.
I have no fear of going anywhere, but maybe I would if I didn't have Google Maps at my fingertips. Because even here is a fairly large city you can get lost in, and to venture out just thinking yeah, I think that bus should get me about there. Without a live tracker? Without a little helpful voice to tell me the stop I should get off at? At that age?
My nan used to do that, too. She carried inside her head routes and maps the city council had long erased or altered. And still, she ventured out. In a world that was visibly, almost tauntingly leaving her behind.
We're so reliant on our phones now - how often do people ask for directions? For me, it's mostly old people like her, or people from more rural areas who've come to the city. It's almost never younger people, though. We have our phones, we don't need to talk to each other. And I'm not knocking technology, it'd be bloody stupid to try, but I do think it's sad.
Older people have no trouble at all starting a conversation with you. We younger folk would be all "excuse me" and get awkward and make a terrible fuss. What's it say about our world when we get too embarrassed to ask one another for help? I was listening to a local professor talking about a study that found more and more people admit they don't talk about their most intimate, private concerns and problems with anyone. Not asking for directions, but terrible, nightmare things. Not even to their mum or spouse. Obviously. If we're so embarrassed to ask for directions and leave that as a last resort, how on earth are we supposed to talk about our worse fears?
And will we talk at all on the street when they go? The old folk? Or will we just bury ourselves in our phones, hoping someone somehow spots us drowning in our own loneliness?
And will they? In time?
