Chapter 3: Powerless on the Rails

It was getting ugly, so I got up to find the conductor.

I slid out of my seat, heart pounding, and made my way down the aisle. I could feel his eyes burning into my back, the tension thick enough to choke on. I found the attendant near the snack car, my words tumbling out in a rush. I needed help.

When the attendant arrived and glanced at the man, the bald guy barked, “What, you little punk? You running off to tattle on me now?”

His voice was mocking, loud enough for everyone to hear. I felt the sting of shame, but I pressed on, hoping the attendant would back me up. I needed backup.

The attendant politely reminded him a couple times, but the bald guy just got impatient. “My feet are in my own space—what’s his problem? If you take his side, I’ll file a complaint and get you fired!”

He jabbed a finger at the attendant, his tone turning nasty. The attendant shifted uncomfortably, glancing between us like he wished he were anywhere else. I didn’t blame him.

The attendant paused, weighed his options, then turned to me and whispered, “Sir, please just hang in there for a bit. You know how tough our jobs are. If we get a customer complaint, we can get written up or docked pay.”

His voice was low, apologetic. I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he tried to reason with me without making things worse for himself. He looked like he’d seen it all before. He was tired.

He shot me a look, hoping I’d let it go.

It was a silent plea, one worker to another. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I got it.

Faced with a jerk like this, even the attendant was powerless.

I felt a wave of helplessness wash over me. If the staff couldn’t do anything, what chance did I have? I slumped back into my seat, defeated. I gave up.

I can’t even describe how stifled I felt.

The air felt thick, heavy with the stink of sweat and frustration. I pressed my fists into my thighs, willing myself not to explode. Don’t lose it.

With nothing else he could do, the attendant just said, “Sir, please try to be civil on the train.” Then he turned and left.

His voice was thin, barely more than a formality. I watched him walk away, wishing he could’ve done more, but knowing he was just trying to keep his job. I didn’t blame him.

I couldn’t believe it.

I sat there, mouth open, trying to process what had just happened. The world outside the window blurred by, and for a moment, I felt completely alone.

Seriously? At that moment, the bald guy squeezed the girl on his lap and jeered at me, “What’s wrong, little man? Didn’t work when you tattled to the teacher, huh?”

I looked away. He grinned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The girl giggled, her laughter sharp and mean. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

I forced myself to stay calm. Again.

I stared at the ceiling, counting my breaths. Inhale, exhale. I could make it through this. I had to.

Why can’t people just get along when we’re all stuck in the same train car?

It was like some people went out of their way to make things miserable for everyone else. I remembered the stories my dad used to tell about long bus rides back home—how folks would share snacks, swap stories, look out for each other. This was nothing like that.

I took a deep breath and tried to speak as calmly as possible: “Look, man, we’re all just trying to get home. You took your shoes off and put your feet above my head. I can’t take it anymore.”

My voice was quiet, almost pleading. I hoped, just for a second, that he might have a shred of decency left.

No such luck. I thought I’d swallowed my pride enough that he’d back off.

I waited, searching his face for any sign of understanding. The train rocked gently, the lights overhead flickering as we passed through a tunnel.

Wishful thinking.

He just smirked, leaning back like he owned the place. I felt my hope drain away, replaced by a familiar sense of resignation. Of course he did.

The bald guy sneered, “Don’t try to act all buddy-buddy with me. You’re not even on my level. You’re the one who can’t handle it, not me.”

He spat the words out, like he was proud of how little he cared. I stared at him, stunned by how quickly things had escalated. Unreal.

His tone was infuriating. After he said that, he hugged his girlfriend and gave her a wicked grin. “Isn’t that right?”

He squeezed her, and she giggled, clearly enjoying the attention. I felt my stomach twist in disgust. Gross.

The girl giggled, giving his hand a playful slap. “You’re such a bad boy!”

She leaned into him, her laughter echoing in my ears. I looked away, wishing I could disappear into the upholstery.

I couldn’t stand their flirting anymore. It was like I didn’t even exist.

Their world was a bubble, and I was just an annoyance on the outside. I pressed my palms to my eyes, willing the minutes to tick by faster. Just let this end.

It was Memorial Day weekend. I just wanted to go home. All I wanted was to be with my family in peace, not get into it with anyone.

I thought about the cookouts, the smell of charcoal and burgers on the grill, my mom’s potato salad waiting in the fridge. I could almost hear my dad’s laugh, the sound of my brother teasing me about my city shoes. I missed home.

I bit my lip, remembering how my teachers used to tell us to put up with things unless you absolutely had to speak up. This time, I decided to just suck it up.

Old habits die hard. I remembered Mrs. Carter from fifth grade, always telling us to “be the bigger person.” I wondered what she’d say about this mess. I bet she’d be disappointed.

The girl next to me was out cold, so I scooted further in.

She snored softly, face buried in her arms. I shifted as quietly as I could, trying not to wake her. Maybe if I made myself small enough, they’d forget I existed. I could hope.

I thought that was it. I just had to make it to my stop.

I checked the time on my cracked phone, counting down the hours. Just a little longer. I could do this.