The Sobbing Girl.

Tuesday, 7 p.m.

A woman spots me sitting on the ledge. She nudges her husband. They both stare up at me with obvious looks of concern on their face. Maybe they can’t tell I have enough room up here to sit comfortably cross-legged.

What if they called the police and reported a jumper? But why would a girl who was preparing to commit suicide do so with a computer on her lap and a full glass of wine next to her? I am obviously serene, you see, otherwise I’d be drinking whiskey out of a paper bag, and I wouldn’t be wearing my friend’s sweater. If I were ever to leap off my balcony, I would for sure do it in my own clothes.

Someone in my building is cooking something that smells much better than my Lean Cuisine pizza-for-one was. Nothing makes a girl feel lonelier than a Lean Cuisine for dinner. Lunch, sure, Lean Cuisines are acceptable. But dinner is an occasion. There should be multiple courses involved. Some chopping of herbs. At least one simmering pot.

Something about sitting up here tonight makes me nervous all of a sudden. I blame the couple who stared up with concern at me. Now they have me reconsidering the dimensions of my perch.

A young couple is below me. They consider illegally crossing the tracks to get onto the waiting side, despite the prominently painted black and white warning, “DO NOT CROSS TRACKS.” It makes me think of Ghostbusters. “DO NOT CROSS THE STREAMS.” They rethink their decision and head to the crosswalk down the street. Everyone is nervous tonight.

Another older couple arrives for the train and spot me, exchanging looks of concern again. I smile this time. It doesn’t work. Their expressions remain skeptical. Now they think I’m suicidal and manic. I want to shout down to them, “I just don’t want to watch TV anymore!”

I hear her sobs first before spotting the woman they belong to. She is middle-aged, dressed in a black tank top and black capris with her hair up. She wipes away her tears as she walks and cries. I feel awful for her and wish I could ask her if she is all right. I send up a little prayer for her instead. She is carrying nothing. What could have happened? Did she just run out of her house? Did she just get dumped? Did she just get sick of her bratty children? Why didn’t she at least bring a snack? People walk past her. No one asks her if she is all right. She leaves the waiting area and walks back the way she came. Maybe she just needed to have a good cry.