MUCK

She faced the Isle sitting next to the pole alongside the door. I sat across from her–her baby nestled against her bosom. The car shook and the steel complained as wheel ground against rail. We entered a tunnel and the comforting interior light became a menacing presence to the tunnel’s absolute darkness.

There were a dozen people scattered among the seats. All of them hyper-aware of each other, yet, inversely distant from one another. Everyone avoided eye contact and no one spoke except for thee guys near me. Their conversation was aimed at making the mother sitting across from me extremely uncomfortable.

Two of them sat closer to her, facing forward and to her side and the other stood mid-isle between us. The two sitting further from me but closer to her spoke of things they knew little about; the legitimacy of Obama’s birth certificate and the Affordable Care Act and the one standing said nothing. He looked physically fit and found her discomfort entertaining.

It was in his eye’s — his body language, a glance at her then a nod to each of his cohorts. It wasn’t her beauty that caught their attention, nor, was it her sweet infant child, but — there — in each of their eye’s, a contempt for both her womanhood and the color of her skin. She didn’t need to look at them to feel the misogyny and the prejudice. I could hurt them, I wanted to, but what would that teach them?

“I see your holding the future of West Ham United in your arms.” I noticed the West Ham emblem on her babies hat. The suddenness of my comment didn’t break the tension but I had derailed the knuckleheads from their objective. I had done something unexpected.

“I found it surprising that you have leagues here in the US.” She replied.

“So did I. My son loves the game and I recall West Ham United was his favorite team. Our version of football typically requires the ball to be passed or carried toward the goal, though I personally like how the Brits do it.” She smiled.

The piss poor speaker garbled the street of the upcoming stop. We had made it back into the heart of the city and this being the last run of the evening, the platform was busy. I don’t think this stop was the one she intended but it was close enough to where she was going. As I stood up, she started gathering her things. I offered the woman my hand, and she graciously accepted.