He leans to the back and slides down across the back of the seat. He is now sitting on the floor to my right. I move my bag, so it will not be in his way. In doing so, the chord from my headphones gets stuck between his arm and my armrest. I pull the chord and I have to look at him now. "I'm sorry", he says nervously. "It's okay", I respond, smiling. I can tell he was not expecting this. He looks relieved, as though he thought I was going to snap at him. He's probably seen a lot of snapping today. People screaming, daring each other to a fight, beating each other up, yelling, swearing, spitting, drinking, vomiting. The same people with whom we are crammed-up here in this tiny space. It is as if I told him everything was going to be fine. The world is only like that for a day. There are still people out there who do their homework with headphones on and smile. He leans back and pulls his blond bleached hair behind his ears. Everytime someone near us swears or screams, he glances at me, to see how I will react. But I am made of stone. I am an island of peace and calm. I do not even blink. A man next to us start whistling at a blond girl. He doesn't stop. He whistles and whistles louder and louder. It pierces my headphones. The man is getting no reaction. So he starts yelling. His voice scraping, bouncing off peoples shoulders. "Whore, whore, whore." It goes on and on. Tension starts building up. I can feel it in my stomach as I try hard to hold on the the letters on my page. The girl goes to the man. She has to move three people first. When she gets there she asks his what his fucking problem is. He replies: "What, bitch". My eyes are fixated now on the violence that is about to erupt. I can see the built up tension on her face from enduring the whistling and swearing for the past half an hour. She breaks. And gives him a hard blow in the face. People start moving fast everywhere. The man gets up and starts beating and punching the girl. This is the first time I feel my body getting physically scared. My mind is still calm, but my heart is pumping adrenaline. A hand to my right moves over my legs. It grabs the armseat to my left and holds on to it tightly. Everyone jumps upon one another. I see thick vains and red skin and eyes almost popping out of skulls. But his arm hovers over me like a shield. There is a storm in this train wagon. I never once look him in the eyes. But his arm is there. In the midst of this barbaric cruelty. An arm made of brown skin and warm flesh. And as the storm blows over, he draws his arm back. I go back again to the island I was before.
I do not understand the need of man for violence and destruction. I do not understand why people are wired for them. But I know in the midst of them you can see tenderness.
