Sad Beauty

The man and woman get on the bus, reeking of pot. The woman holds the baby, dragging the stroller packed full of blankets, bottles, toys behind her up the stairs. The woman grabs the trashcan as she enters, propping it on the chair next to her. She passes the baby off to the man, and cradles the trash can instead. As she turns, her flaccid, stretch marked stomach flops over the top of her hip hugger jeans. Disgusted, she moves to pull her shirt down, but instead leaves it how it is. Coughing, she turns to the trashcan and vomits. Opening the window—either to allow fresh air into the bus or to dissipate the stench of marijuana, I can’t tell. The husband has caught my attention. Face still pocked with acne and scars, he nibbles on the baby’s ears. “Hello Mr. Baby” he repeats, over and over again. Insecure but trying to make the best of it. Still a child himself. Then the baby catches my eye and holds me with his bright, unblinking blue-eyed stare. “What are you?” I can see him mentally asking himself, just as I silently ask him “What are you to become?” I notice tears in the young mother’s made up face, and she dabs at them, hoping her mascara won’t start running. Hoping the makeup will hide her sadness, but knowing it doesn’t. She reaches over to the man, begging him to sit next to her, maybe hold her hair as she vomits again. “We’re almost there” The driver tries to comfort “I don’t know where you’re going” Neither do they. Just away. I press the yellow strip to signal I want to get off. I leave them like that, man cradling woman, woman cradling trash can, baby wondering what it all means.