Posted by: dsduffy | March 5, 2012

Hands


I could tell she was a tourist, as she sat on the tram looking at a city map alongside a woman of similar age who I assumed was her friend, or maybe her sister. The man sat behind them, looking over their shoulders, pointing to something on the map. I couldn’t hear what they were saying over the song playing in my headphones, I don’t even know if they were speaking english. But the three of them were obviously not from Melbourne, and I wondered for a moment who they were. The hands of the woman holding the map told stories I could only imagine. I looked at them and wondered many babies she held, how many people she hugged, what sort of work she did in her younger years. She had a band-aid on her arm, her paper-thin skin probably injured easily these days. Maybe she cut it while gardening. The veins running along her forearm were so prominent, working hard to pump blood to her fingers, which now held a map of the second largest city in Australia. Maybe it was her lifelong dream to travel all the way here.

Someone said something funny and the three of them laughed, the map-holder put her hand up to her head, brushing her dyed-brown hair to the side, probably just a habit after all these years.

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