I was in Union City waiting for the Richmond train to arrive. She came up the stairs with her cellphone pressed to her ear in primary red colored heels rambling about how she was hung over from drinking too heavily at a strip club the night before. Skin tight jeans with a shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination. Her young skin contrasted with her overly processed and chemically damaged hair. Her roots were dark but the rest fell somewhere between orange and blonde. Faded pink streaks subtly ran through her multicolored mane. Her voice was raspy for someone who looked so young of age. She looked no older than nineteen. There was a sadness to her soul that emanated from her being. She rambled for a bit longer and I heard her groan about how she had to go to work. I wondered what kind of job allowed such a dress code to be permitted. I thought and thought.
The train arrived and we both went into the same car. The Bart's arrangement of seats is strange. Some are facing eachother as if there should be a table in between and the rows of seats alternate in which way they face. If you get a window seat you are lucky because you have something to stare at but if you don't you find yourself tinkering with your cellphone or staring down intently at your shoes to avoid looking like a creep who stares at people.
A few times I would steal glances her way when she wasn't looking and studied her. She slumped in her seat and vacantly stared out the window seeming reluctant for what was next. Her red lips shone bright through out the crowd and her smeared eyeliner from the night before made her look even more troubled. I still wondered where she was going, where she worked, but I dared not ask her even if I was sitting near her.
The train went under a dark tunnel and as we were approaching a stop in Oakland she got up to make sure she was first in front of the plexi glass doors so she could see her reflection before exiting. She adjusted her breasts, ran her fingers through her hair to make sure it set right, and gave herself a quick look over. The way a young girl excited to go on a date with a boy she fancies does. Except this girl didn't seem enthused as she emptily when through the motions. She slipped a cigarette above her ear where a pen or pencil would normally go.
I figured out where she was going.
I wanted to save her.