The Middle

A woman sat next to me on the train home. I would prefer not to set next to anyone, however the average commuter is lucky enough to find a seat at all, let a lone an entire seat to themselves on a Friday afternoon. She was middle aged, middle height, middle weight; she was the middle. She looked completely average, a nice person; just average. For me, my day was over. She on other hand, looked like she was salvaging the little free time she had in her day to relax. I could picture her getting home, only to have to cook dinner, clean, run errands, who knows. She looked like she’d been in a hurry all day long. I imagine she woke up early, perhaps before the sun was even out; getting herself and her children ready for the day, before catching the train. The train ride there was probably spent making sure she was ready for what lies ahead of her, walking through the morning chill to her average job, and the menial tasks that await her there. She looked like this was the first time she had today to stop and catch her breath, and possibly the only. She, as well as most of the people on the train; looked tired, and glad that the week was finally over. The weekend probably isn’t much different for her. She looked like a mother, she looked like a commuter, she looked busy. It made me wonder: in her middle life, where, what, whom was her sanctuary, her peace? What was the glue that held her together?