Ruth the Wallet Friend.

I was at the ticket machine. I felt the eyes on me. I looked down. There, on the ground was a photo of an old bird. I picked it up. She was wrinkled. She looked naked. She had a pearl necklace. She was someone’s passport photo. I looked around. No one nearby matched her appearance. The guy behind me peered at what I had in my hand. Protective of my photo, I cupped my hand around it and looked again. I put her in my top pocket and walked away.

I got off the train and the platform was empty. I reached into my pocket. There was a cream cookie in there which my sister had given to me earlier. It had left my post it note shopping list translucent with light grease spots. For the purposes of this story the grease and cookie are irrelevant. My photo, however is relevant. It was safe. I looked at it again and willed it to tell me its story. The face looked back at me weathered and wrinkled. It told me nothing, just like a mute or a wall. I named her Ruth. She didn’t change her expression but I think she approved. I put her in my wallet next to my ID. She is now the first thing I see when I open my wallet. Some would find it unusual looking at a stranger when they do their day to day activities but I find it comforting.

Ruth has been with me for almost 4 days now and I’ve sat on her face (with my pants and the leather of my wallet acting as a protective guard) but she is my Ruth and I have grown accustomed to her face.

If you recognise her, can you apologise for me and tell her to send a stamped self addressed envelope over to me and I’ll send her photo back. Or maybe I won't, after all I don't want to be ruthless.