The Crying Stranger

She was crying. I couldn't hear a thing, but I could see the tears that slowly ran out of her big, grey eyes and fell down on her red blouse. Se was staring out into the dark night, but her eyes had that frosty, distant look of someone whose mind was far away. I didn't know what to say or what to do. A stranger was crying right in front of me, silently, as if she didn't want to disturb anyone. Should I respect that and leave her alone? Should I ask her what was wrong?

Ah, the dilemma of being a Swede; raised to mind your own business! The sadly so often justified fear of getting scolded for caring, which we confuse with being nosey!

Besides, what if she WOULDN'T yell at me to "mind my own business?" What if she instead would actually tell me what was bothering her? Did I really want a crying stranger to tell me all her troubles? Didn't I have enough of my own? And what if she would think that I was trying to come on to her? That I was the type who'd take advantage of a sad woman's vulnerability?

I glanced over at her. She was somewhere between her late 20'ies and early 30'ies. Her make-up had been washed away by tears; they made her look like a raccoon. This was just the kind of excuse I needed. I offered her a paper napkin. She seemed a little surprised when I handed it to her, but took it and wiped her face clean. She blew her nose and threw the napkin in the trash.

"Thanks," she said hoarsely.

"You're welcome," I answered.

I half expected her to start telling me her life's sad story, now that we had broken the ice, but instead she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair, as if she was going to sleep. I felt a little rejected. I looked at the window, but I didn't see anything but darkness. Every now and then we passed a lonely house, and the light shone softly among the fir trees, only to disappear just as quickly. I discretely turned my head to look at the young woman again. She was sitting very still and very quiet, as if she was a porcelain doll, but she was still crying. Big tears ran down her cheeks and down her neck. She swallowed, and the muscles moved under her skin. That was the only visible movement. I scratched my head to have a plausible excuse for why I had my head turned in such a way that I looked right at her - just in case she'd look up and catching spying on her.

What could be the reason for her crying? A break-up? Loss of a family member? Or had she perhaps recently lost her job? She was still reasonably young. She should be out with friends or hurrying home to a young man; she shouldn't be travelling all alone, crying.

I turned away again. It really wasn't my problem, she had made that clear by not talking to me. I looked at my wrist watch. We should reach our destination in about 45 minutes. Good. I bunched up my jacket against the window and rested my head against it. I looked out into the night. The light of distant houses came and passed with higher frequency now. I closed my eyes and decided to take a quick nap. I was just about to fall asleep when I heard a loud sniffing sound. Apparently the crying woman was in need of another napkin. I had one in my jacket pocket from my lunch at McDonalds earlier today. Should I give it to her? What if she would be embarrassed? I'd be, if a stranger kept giving me napkins when I needed to blow my nose. Perhaps it would be better if I just pretended to sleep? The girl solved my problem herself by wiping her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. I closed my yes and pretended to sleep. She obviously didn't want my help if she rather sullied her clothes than speak to me!

I made myself comfortable and dozed off for a while. When I woke up, we were just arriving at the station. The crying woman was gone. I put my jacket on, picked up my briefcase, and walked towards the door. The night was chilly and the air seemed a little moist. Perhaps it was going to snow? I walked through the station and out to the main street. A long line of cabs were waiting for passengers. I chose one, and was about to get in when I caught a brief glance of the crying woman again, just before she stepped into her own cab. She was still crying.