I can’t get this woman I watched last night out of my head.
Short hair, beautiful dark tanned skin, lite, bird like, so frail but moving quickly and smoothly.
Alive completely within her own world. Speaking with herself, moving and walking to rhythms only she can hear and fathom, this small little ghost forgotten by the world.
I wonder …
I wonder so much
I wonder so much about her life. All the questions trail around me, small tears that fall without warning, whispers that tug at curtains and won’t leave you alone.
I arrived early, so I had time to kill. For some reason I didn’t want to sit down and start drinking alone just yet, so I found a corner to disappear into and watch. It was from that corner that I noticed her. Quietly sitting alone, oblivious to the world. She was a perfect juxtaposition of looking healthy somehow while all the while knowing, something was completely not healthy within. A world that had gone off the normal track and lost its way somehow. How she moved, small quiet movements, little steps that took her to a faucet I hadn’t noticed on the curb. Washing her hands. A conversation started and ended with only her. Back and forth within some story I couldn’t catch.
My friend arrived and we became captured in our own world of catching up and filling in all the small details life had left us. One drink turned into another and another. The ice all melted and was replaced. More drinks and still we hadn’t exhausted all life’s mysteries.
At some point, we were drunk. My friend was smoking. We sat in the alley, a small soi, outside her friends restaurant, a wonderful vibrant local bar that made me wonder about all the larger than life characters Bangkok somehow manages to hide and squeeze into every corner. An influencer, someone important and thriving in their sphere of the world. Just a normal crazy Wednesday night in Bangkok.
And the whole time, that woman. Filling me with sorrow, wonder, empathy, desperation.
There are parts of me that want to reach out, try to help her, how do I even do that? What does help look like in her world? There is a part of me that is too sad to recognize that I probably couldn’t help even if I tried. This world doesn’t have enough understanding, it doesn’t have enough love.
Somewhere along the way, something broke for her, or it just slowly eroded, one tiny fragment, piece by piece, until only the outside shell was left.
Remnants of a life that keeps on going.
It started to rain. We didn’t notice. We had moved on to another bar, another drink. Hours of conversations about all the worries, troubles and adventures that make our lives feel important.
I love my friend.
We’re both a mess.
Broken pieces of glass that glint in the light when turned just the right way.
When it was time to stumble home, I wanted to see that women again. So I carried my friend back over to where we were earlier.
She had moved. The bench she had lain on before was soaked, but i was so relieved to see she had a different area to sleep in, covered and sheltered from the storm.
Funny how that works.
A blanket. Loose pants and a tank top. Flip flops. A bag of items tied off, sitting in the corner. A whole life story just hanging in the rain with us.
Maybe I’m haunted because I know deep down, there is no difference between that woman, my friend, and me. We’re all a little too far gone for help. All a little too broken in whatever twisted way life has touched us.
I should buy some food and share it with her.