Scene and heard

Descending into Bay Ridge Avenue Subway Station, I saw a very attractive young lady, immaculately dressed - a Brunette, probably in her early 20’s, at least 5’9” and slender. She was wearing a tailored off-white jacket, knee-length white skirt with a lace-type trim and 2” heeled dressy sandals. And she just looked so awkward – a Jeans and T-shirt girl all the way, she had real difficulty making it down the stairs.

On the same journey, I saw a woman get on the train whose hair just somehow didn’t look right. She too was wearing a 2-piece, but higher heels and shorter skirt. The slightly orangey straw coloured hair didn’t go with her medium brown complexion. I watched her sit – she saw me and almost fell off her seat, leaning in my direction, smiling. There was something disquieting about her. I wasn’t looking because she was so gorgeous, but out of that morbid fascination thing that we are all susceptible to. And as I got off the train at Rector Street, I saw what it was. She had make-up caked on and was probably around 60 years old. Sad that her identity is so tied in with her sexuality that she now needs to wear an all-body mask to hide her advancing years. And so different from Marianne, a woman of over 50 who I used to see on the subway, who is classy and elegant and would be so much less beautiful if she tried to be anything other than herself.