Transport

This story is a small one, but it’s completely true.

It was midafternoon in the desert city of Phoenix, Arizona. The weather was sunny and warm, but it was not yet far enough into midyear to be uncomfortable. I was on the light rail making my way uptown from school.

Like most of the passengers I was in that state of semi-disconnectedness that comes from riding public transport. I try to stay off my phone and have taken to watching the scenery whiz by from the windows. I also indulge in the guilty pleasure of people watching whenever the opportunity presents itself. And believe me, on the light rail, that opportunity always presents itself.  

As usual people shamble on and shuffle off, eager to go a myriad of places: work, school, home, the methadone clinic. They are all people, everyone rides the light rail.

Normally they all seem to coexist in some strange detachment. It’s as if each person has taken some solemn vow not to look up, never make eye contact. Above all else, no matter what you do NEVER speak to anyone else. This adds to the mundane aspect of this day-in-and-day-out travel.

However, the cosmos has decided that not every day may be so mundane.

At one of the stops an older woman, not elderly mind you, but old enough that she requires the use of a walker boards the car. She pushes the device slowly and gingerly in front of her. It’s the type that doubles as a seat, in order to rest weary legs, knees and hips. Eventually, with much effort she settles in to one of the seats designated by society for the disabled.

She follows all the rules, keeping to herself, she gazes only at her own hands, which are folded in her lap. One gets the impression that she wouldn’t have said ‘shit’, not even if she had a mouth full of it, or however the saying goes.

This pattern repeated for a couple stops, with people entering and exiting. The woman sat still, making no sounds. With the ruckus of the city noise and whirring and clacking of the light rail’s movement, it wasn’t even possible no know for sure whether or not she was even drawing breath. If the events that followed would not have happened, I’m certain I would’ve forgotten she existed at all.

The electronic voice, that female goddess of public servitude, announces that we were approaching the next stop. The woman finally reacted. She steadied herself against the internal momentum of the car, and stood. It wasn’t a quick or graceful act. She exerted a great deal of energy traveling the few feet from her seat to the automatic doors.

Lucky for her the car wasn’t near capacity and she had no obstacles, people or belongings with which to negotiate.

Now the woman, she stood only inches from me. In my periphery I note nothing exceptional about her. In this moment she’s another nameless and nearly faceless passenger, much like the hundreds of others I’ll encounter on various commutes this month.

The doors come open with a gentle wisshhh. She attempted to exit. Several seconds pass. Again from the corner of my eye I saw her. Somewhere, almost subconsciously I wonder why she hasn’t broken through the threshold of the door. Even moving at her pace, she should have been on the platform by now. And yet she had barely moved at all. She was still close enough I could place my hand on her shoulder if I wanted.

This was a potential problem, as the doors on the light rail serve neither man nor beast. They operate independent of feelings or concern, and they don’t stay open for longer than maybe forty-five seconds, not even for those that may need forty-six seconds to exit.

At this point, I also heard some muffled discourse coming from just outside the doors on the platform. Out of some vague concern I fully turned my attention to her situation.

I saw a man standing directly in front of her, blocking not only her path but the path of the wheels on her walker.  I noticed the wheels were sitting in the small rut between the rail car and the platform. And although I can’t be sure from my obstructed viewpoint, I thought this man’s foot might actually be planted in front of the left wheel of her walker.

Is he deliberately blocking her from getting off the light rail?

Now I was alert, possibly angry, definitely suspicious, and this man had my full attention.

He was dressed in combat boots, and woodland camouflage patterned BDUs. He had a dirt brown t-shirt adorned with cartoon hot rods and a full beard, hair cropped short. I remember thinking how odd it was that his beard was the same dirty-brown as his shirt.

As soon as I had given him the once over, the man grasped the handle of the woman’s walker, and while he didn’t try wrenching it away, he held it firmly enough that I can see the veins bulging from his arm. He then started screaming in her face, “Somebody tell this bitch to get out of my way!”

A few straggling passengers exited, making wide berths around the pair.

“Bitch can’t drive this thing,” the man said in a raspy taunt.

The women responded meekly, trying in vain to shake the man’s hand loose, “Please no, someone help me…”

I’d like to say that I looked around the light rail car at that moment to see if ‘someone’ was stepping forward to help this woman, but that would be a lie. However, my gut feeling is no one so much as batted an eye.   

I stepped forward, now unquestionably angry, and with a confidence that was no doubt brought on by adrenaline. In a tone and manner that I might not be able to ever replicate, I looked the man in his eyes. “Let the her through. Now.”  It was calm, authoritative, and deadly serious.

The man eyed me up and down. A few seconds passed between us like that. Both of us wondering what might happen next.

He stepped aside, letting the woman pass, before boarding himself. She had just enough time to get firmly onto the platform and whisper a quick Thank you, before the doors drew shut.

The man brushed past me, not making eye contact. I looked around at the other passengers, no one stirred, most hadn’t even looked up from their phones. Stranger still, some were watching me as if I was on a stage, and seemed perturbed that the show was likely over.

I was no longer angry at the strange man, just disappointed in everyone else. I moved back to my spot in the corner.

A few minutes passed when the very man that had caused all this, hollered towards me, “Thanks brother for steppin’ in back there.” I couldn't tell if be was being sarcastic, or he genuinely couldn't grasp what had just happened.

All I could manage was to roll my eyes.