Smiles

There’s a young woman on the bus whose face is scarred from burns. Long since healed but still, there it is. I like to share smiles with her. She does a good, honest smile. I look around and people are averting eyes or even grimacing at this image of ‘beauty destroyed.’

Except it isn’t. Destroyed, that is. She’s lovely and even if she wasn’t in any classic sense, what of it? There is nothing ‘destroyed’ in this face or the person behind it.

There is an incredible calm about her as she climbs the steps, taps her pass on the reader, looks about for a seat and then walks and sits as though there was nothing unusual about a person with scars on the bus. Which of course, there isn’t.

Lots of bus riders have scars. Trust me, there are some scarred people to be found on the afternoon 212. People with demons, with fears and dreads and resentments and the whole plethora of burdens that twist the soul. Folks with memories they’d rather not have and habits they’d like to break and losses from which they’ll never fully recover. And they look away from this lovely girl whose scars are at least honest.

I looked away for too long. But then one day we caught each other’s eye. I like myself better when I just smile. I really like that she smiles back. At 63, a young woman’s smile can make my whole day.

Sometimes, she even smiles first.