They were seated like dolls piled on a bed, shoulders and legs touching.
A mother, father, son and daughter stacked in height by one inch. They could have been a painting, a trompe l’oeil, playing tricks on a wall.
They had my attention for seven stops as I watched the affection dancing between them.
A girl of 8, slept on her mom’s shoulder peacefully, as if she were in her own bed. What caught my eye was how her mother gently held her head so it wouldn’t jump every time the train stopped.
The dad, in bright red Bermudas and a shirt with a peacock across it, clutched his young son’s hand who was smitten with a package he held tightly on his lap.
The woman was beautiful, like Selma Hayek, in a printed black and white dress, breasts spilling over its eyeleted front…her husband holding her round the waist, like a precious gem.
I watched as she tenderly woke her daughter who smiled all refreshed.
They then, like little dolls once piled on a bed, tip-toed off the train…or a painting perhaps, once seen on a museum wall.