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Tears. They were running down her face, streaking across red freckled cheeks. She was loud, despite her attempts to hold back the sobbing. Elsa bit a lip, trying to think of what she could do. It just seemed very out of place to just go up to the woman and ask why she was crying on the bus. Rude too. What if she was in mourning? Or it could be happy tears. There was always the possibility of that.
Elsa took in a deep breath and stood up. She turned the little bit she needed in order to face the woman and grimly she swallowed her fear before she spoke, “Are you okay?”
The woman seemed startled at the question, her face turning up to show Elsa the entirety of its messy glory. She wasn’t the kind of woman that looked well when crying and Elsa pulled out some napkins from her purse almost without thinking at the sight. She quietly handed them over as the woman tried to recover her composure.
“No. No I’m not.” Elsa was shocked to receive an honest answer. Why she had expected a curt reply and then a return to normalcy she didn’t quite know, but the answer shocked her. So she moved to sit in the bus seat across from the woman and handed her another napkin.
“I must be a mess.”
“Yes, yes you are.” Elsa literally slapped her a hand over own face at the honest reply. Now the woman had her doing it, and hers were rude. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very courteous of me.” For as rude as she had been, the woman gave a little laugh at her honesty, wiping her eyes as a small smile came and went from her face.
“It isn’t like you’re the reason I’m crying.” They both quieted, looking out as the awkward silence started to grow large and fat. Eventually Elsa broke and spoke again.
“I find it's helpful to rant about things. I write a journal, or rant to my cat. He isn’t very appreciative however,” Elsa blinked as she realized, “I can be a strange ear if it helps?”
“It was my boyfriend, he was cheating and… and… Why can’t I be pretty?” The woman wiped at her face harshly with her last line and Elsa grabbed her hand, keeping her from being too cruel to her teary eyes. It felt natural to place her palms on the cheeks, to gently push them up so they met each other’s eyes.
“Oh no, you are beautiful. He’s a rat bastard that doesn’t know how good he has it. No one looks pretty when they’re crying.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Not at all,” When she got a disbelieving look she continued. “Honest, I look like a troll. All snot, red-faced, and blubbering with big tears running down my cheeks. It’s quite the sight I tell you.”
It devolved into laughter, then a few questions that would slowly but surely have led to a friendship. Then, years down the road that friendship could have led to a relationship and marriage. From there who knows?
That could have happened. Instead, Elsa never stood up and asked the questions. Instead, unknown to either of them, it was a moment they would never get back. A chance meeting that never happened and a future lost. She hadn’t known the red haired woman and the woman would never know her. Because Elsa decided to leave the woman alone and the woman had already left.
Instead, the woman got off the bus, her hands deep in jacket pockets and shoulders slumped. Elsa sighed, but returned to her book. Trying, but not quite succeeding in forgetting the sad face she had glimpsed.