crying

more often than not, i'm away on the weekends, and so am not at the gym on a saturday.  i'd almost forgotten that yale hosts various sports youth tournaments, the most disruptive to me of which is squash. the squash courts are adjacent to the locker room my locker is in, so not only do i have to walk the gauntlet of parents, coaches, and players milling about in the hallway to get to the locker room, once inside i also have to endure maladjusted, overly-excited, squawking, teenage girls overrunning the place.

today, while there was the normal preening, the requisite screaming, the loud talking between bathroom stalls, there was also something out of the ordinary.  my locker is in the 2nd row; while i cannot see people entering and exiting, or using the main changing area in the 1st row, i can hear all these activities.  i heard someone enter, and then i heard a lot of sniffling.  giving this mystery person the benefit of the doubt, i figured she just had a cold.  then, i could no longer ignore what all signs pointed toward: the continued sniffling, the whimpering, the sharp intake of air -- she was crying.

i tried to make noise so she knew i was there -- so she wouldn't be surprised or embarrassed when i turned the corner of lockers to use the toilet.  she was facing the wall as i walked by.  while i was in the stall, two other girls entered the locker room, talking loudly, laughing forcedly, and even screaming. the juxtaposition of their outward jovialness and camaraderie (isn't this GREAT? we are such GOOD friends, sharing this HILARIOUS joke, this wonderful saturday TOGETHER) with the crying girl's despondency and solitariness wrenched my stomach. 

back at my locker as i finished packing my bag, i frantically considered the best course of action.  do i say anything?  if so, what?  "are you alright?" "everything OK?"  do i assume i know why she's crying, and even go a step further -- provide her with my insight: "in 10 years, this won't matter." no, rather:  "don't let this matter. you don't want this haunting you in 10 years."  or more to the point: "fuck them all.  you did the best you could."  or, do i simply walk out, quickly, with my head down, pretending her distress was not on public display?

i, cowardly, chose the latter.  but then i got to thinking, what would i have wanted, in her place?  would i have wanted generic consolation from a stranger?  or would i have wanted to be left alone, to be ignored, to be effectively granted my wish to become invisible?  

personally, i usually want to be left alone when upset to the point of tears.  but once, and i don't even recall exactly why i was crying, i was extremely touched by the kindness of this woman who offered a smile and a simple, "everything OK?"  sometimes, when we think we want nothing more than to disappear, we actually want nothing more than to be noticed, appreciated, consoled.

i wish i'd said something. i wish i'd offered a smile, or some tissues. i wish i'd simply asked, "is everything OK?" at the worst, she'd have kept on crying.  at the best, i'd have been the ray of sunshine that might have someday outweighed the memory of what caused her to be so upset in the first place.