To: Stranger

I looked at her, sitting patiently, a purple shopping bag clutched close to her body. Click. “Attention passengers, I regret to inform you that the train will be stopped for another hour or two until we figure out what the problem is,” the conductor matter-of-factly announced over the intercom. Click. Immediately, sighs of desperation filled the car as passengers angrily muttered to themselves and others about how shitty the subway system was. But this woman, who sat politely holding her shopping bag, didn’t seem to comprehend the inconvenience. I thought perhaps she was deaf or blind as the furious passengers seemed to be almost invisible to her. I’d been told it was rude to stare. My mother gets quite upset when she notices my unmoving gaze, but I couldn’t focus on anything but the thin woman who sat alone on this train clutching her bag as if it were her baby. I continued to watch as she looked up and nodded with a glistening smile to a tired-looking pregnant woman. She stood up, inviting the lady to take her seat. As she stood, I knew she was neither deaf nor blind as the pregnant lady thanked her and she responded with her bright smile what I could only assume to be kind words that backed it up. The train, I now realized, was becoming increasingly rowdy as the frustration of people was being loudly expressed. A man bumped into me as he shouted into his cell phone and made his way to the front. I was shoved, further to the back of the train car where the woman disappeared in the crowd of passengers. My new spot featured an empty seat that was presumably occupied by the cell phone man before he had gotten up to try to speak to the conductor of the train. I wanted to sit, as I had been standing for a while, but before I got the chance, a dark-skinned man wearing an expensive-looking suit sat down, exasperated. Frantically, he typed onto his phone screen and thought he was on the verge of tears as his fingers trembled and his body shook. I wondered if he was late to an important event, or perhaps late for an important person. Click. Over the intercom, the conductor announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we found the source of the problem, it’s getting fixed and we appreciate your continued patience.” Click. As the intercom turned off, a young man shouted profanity at the conductor, the subway system, and the government. None could hear his words except us, who in response did nothing besides a man who clapped and a woman who covered her child’s ears. I couldn’t understand the need for the outburst. These things happen to machines sometimes and I had no doubt we would get going eventually. However, I learned a while ago that trying to make sense of people's thoughts was a waste of time, so I turned to look for the thin woman with her leopard print jacket, the one that willingly gave up her seat to that pregnant lady. I couldn’t find her. Maybe the leopard print was a sort of camouflage in this concrete jungle, but then I spotted the purple shopping bag she was holding ao close. The front of the bag was visible now, and I read the words “Coconut Co.” neatly pasted on the bag. The woman, however, was nowhere in sight. Her purple bag sat alone on the stained car floor. I quizically looked around again, she was not near the pregnant lady, nor the upset finely dressed man, nor was she near any of the other dozens of passengers. I was worried now, unknowing of why anyone would leave their bag, especially one she seemed so protective of. Carefully, I walked over to it. No one seemed to notice as they were preoccupied with whatever they deemed important at that moment. I was standing over it now, hoping that my new position would let me find its owner. And secretly I thought, maybe I could get a peek inside. The dark purple paper bag was stapled shut, one in each corner and one in the middle ensuring that the bag would have to be ripped open to see its contents. Glancing around once more, I still did not see her. Click. “Attention passengers, we are safe to continue now, thank you for your patience.” Click. A couple of men standing near the doors clapped as did a few others I couldn’t see. I heard a few passengers exclaim, “Finally!” and "Took them long enough." as the train now started up and I grabbed onto a vacant handle for balance. As the train sped up I thought of the woman. Why did she abandon her bag? And why was she so kind to that lady? From their brief interaction I assumed they were strangers, her generosity I thought, wasn’t necessary, and yet, she didn’t hesitate. I thought also of the stressed-out man in the charcoal suit. Certainly, he was happy now, his evening could go on as planned. But what about the woman? Could her day continue the way she’d hoped without her bag? I felt the need to grab it, to hold it close the way she did. I acted on my impulse, gently picking it up from the floor. The train had reached its top speed now, and for the most part, everyone was satisfied. Yet here I was holding another person’s bag. Instantly I regretted my choice. What would I do when I reached my destination? I wouldn’t dare walk off with it, but if I put it back, another person, perhaps with less-than-good-intentions would walk off with it. Much to my dismay, I was now conflicted. I went back in forth in my head, weighing my options when I felt the train slow and my stop was announced over the intercom. In an instant, the doors opened and people flooded the doorway going in and out. Amongst the commotion, I thought I saw leopard print leaving the train. I made my way off the platform through the dense crowd and followed the animal pattern out of the flow of people. It was her, the friendly thin woman who I now noticed was headed towards a man sitting on a bench. He looked up from his phone as she neared and he excitedly put it in his pocket so they could embrace. I stood alone, away from them, waiting to see what would happen next. I couldn’t hear their conversation but I watched their lips move and decided now was the time to return her valued possession. I took a step forward to get her attention. I said, in the loudest voice I could muster, “Ma’am!” right as a large man bumped into my shoulder, and in my loosened grip, the purple bag fell out of my hands. Unsurprisingly, I was unable to catch it mid-air, and as it hit the concrete a man with a saxophone strapped to his back stepped on it, quickly replying with “My bad bro,” before hastily walking off. Saxophone man, who hadn’t even looked at me when he apologized was gone in an instant as other people walked around or stepped over the smooshed bag. I prayed that the bag’s contents weren’t fragile as I hurriedly bent down to pick it up. As I regained my composure, I noticed the woman and the man she’d been excited to see, were gone. 

I look at it, sitting patiently, the bag lopsidedly holding itself up on the coffee table. I’m glad my mother isn’t home or she’d have a fit about it. Click. I turn on the tv and try to listen as some character says something about another character. I watch for a minute or two, but I'm unable to focus. I don’t even know what show it is I’m watching. Click. I turn the tv off and slide onto the floor from my place on the couch. I’m level with the bag now, and I notice for the first time that the “Coconut Co.” lettering is covered in glitter. I wonder if remnants of the sparkly purple flakes are on my shirt, but I don’t look down to check. Instead, I inch towards the coffee table and rest my chin on the cold glass top. I wonder if I’m a bad person. I wonder further if I’m an even worse person as I’ve not just stolen, but I've stolen from a nice person. Mom always said some actions are justified even if they seem wrong at first. But this isn’t justified. I turn to lay the side of my head on the glass as if I’ll find a more comfortable position. I sit up now and slide the bag closer to me. Carefully, I inspect the package, unable to figure out what may be inside. There’s a lump in my throat as I cautiously break the first staple open. I take a deep breath. I realize it’s irrational but my hands are shaking as I anxiously break open the second staple. A little bit of the bag rips in the process but I continue to the final staple, more careful this time so that the bag doesn’t tear. It can be fully opened now, but I take a moment to reflect once more before looking in. I thought of my dad’s advice, back when I was younger and he told me to try walking in other people’s shoes and thinking the way they did. I tried this method as it did make sense, but I couldn’t quite grasp the concept. At least, I thought I couldn't as dad seemed disappointed when I told him the way I thought it would be to walk in our neighbor’s shoes. I've come to realize that I don’t know the way other people might react to things, but I know that if I accidentally left my bag on the subway, I wouldn’t want someone poking through it. Perhaps, though, it wasn’t an accident. She didn’t look worried at all, she didn’t even seem to notice it was missing. Now here I sit, hesitantly opening the mysterious bag that seemed only visible to my curious eyes. Peering in, I wasn’t quite sure what it was. An item was wrapped neatly in a delicate white paper, laying nicely atop a handful of light purple confetti that was wrapped so beautifully I almost felt unable to continue. I looked some more inside the bag and noticed a white envelope sticking out from beneath the confetti. I pulled out the crumpled paper, undoubtedly squashed after it met that saxophone man’s footstep. I could only imagine what this bag looked like when it was first put together. I turned the envelope over to read the words “To: Stranger” in gorgeously written gold calligraphy. This must’ve been meant for the man she met with. I feel guiltier than ever peeling the wax seal carefully off the closed envelope so that I may replace it if I need to. Inside, I pull out a small note. It reads: “Thank you for being you, I believe we have the power to make one another’s day better with little acts of kindness, as it is certainly the little things that count. You’re amazing, and if you would like to help spread this message, feel free to pass this note on to any stranger who you think needs it.” I’m shocked, I read the note again, and once again after that to make sure I'm reading it correctly. She wanted me to have the bag. At least, it seems that way. I take the bag once more and take out the neatly wrapped rectangle. I’m careful not to tear the paper too much as I pull it off what is revealed to be a box of chocolates, lucky enough to have not met someone’s foot. I set the box on the table and return to the note. It’s different from the rest of the packaging. It’s not written in gold calligraphy nor is it printed on fancy paper. It’s been ripped from a notepad, scribbled with a black pen, and is slightly wrinkled around the edges. It's almost as if I’m not the first recipient of the note. I touch the letters and wonder how many days have been made with this little piece of paper, and why the thin, leopard-print-wearing woman decided to make it extra special. I slide the note back into the fancy envelope and attach it to the box of chocolates with a piece of tape. My backpack is sitting next to me and I place it into the front pocket. I'll be going out again tomorrow.