I went to this town hall meeting the other night, just because, you know, my days are long now. It’s funny, I used to be the one *at* the front, running those things, making sure everyone felt heard, especially the older folks. That was my whole thing, for decades. My identity, really. And now… nothing. So I’m sitting there, trying to look engaged, like I still have a purpose, and this woman, an older lady, probably 75, a real pillar of the community back in the day, she kept raising her hand. Over and over. And the person running the meeting, someone young, probably twenty years younger than me even, just kept looking past her. Like she was invisible. And the whole time, my stomach was twisting itself into knots because I knew her. Knew of her, anyway. And I remembered her from when I was, well, *me*. When I actually did things. And I just sat there. My hand was practically twitching, like I wanted to raise it myself and point her out, or say something, anything. But I didn't. I just watched. Watched her hand go up, then slowly down, then up again, a little less hopeful each time. And I kept thinking about all the times *I* had been in charge, all the times I probably did the exact same thing without even realizing it. Not on purpose, never on purpose, but you get caught up, you have an agenda, you have a schedule, and some voices just… fade into the background. And now I’m on the other side, watching it happen to someone else, someone who DESERVED to be heard, and I felt this awful, sick feeling in my gut. Like, if I had just said something, ONE little thing, maybe she would have gotten her chance. But I didn't. I just sat there, a ghost in the crowd, just like her. And I drove home in the dark, the whole thing replaying in my head, feeling like a real coward, a fraud. Like, who am I now if I can’t even do that? If I can’t even speak up for someone when it doesn’t even involve me? It’s not like I have a career to protect anymore, right? Just… empty days. And a memory of a hand, going up, then down, then up again. And I’m still not sure why it bothers me so much, why it’s stuck in my head like this. Maybe it’s not about her at all, maybe it’s just… me. And all the things I didn’t do.