THE METRO // MICHELLE GOFF

When you take public transportation you might see and experience just about anything you can think of. I am not an exception to this rule; I am the reality of it.

1.
The first time I got on a bus that wasn't headed to my high school and wasn't painted an obnoxiously dirty dandelion yellow, I was with my first boyfriend, Andrew. We were on our way to the King of Prussia Mall, which I had never been to before, and I was nervous to the point of wanting to puke. The snow and ice on the sidewalk of the bus stop was dark with pollution and grime. It made my skin crawl to think that I would be stuck on two busses that day when I had never even ridden any form of transportation that wasn't either owned by my family or my school district.

We had been standing for fifteen minutes when I started to feel my feet freezing up in my thin canvas sneakers. Andrew was rubbing his hands together and shivering in his hoodie. The boy was poor as a pauper and skinny as a rail. If I recall correctly, I was the first person to buy him a decent jacket (just days after this chilling adventure) and procure him a blanket of his own for his bed at home. I remember stomping my feet agitatedly as I careened my neck to the left in the hopes of spotting the big, hulking mass of the SEPTA bus as it flew down Baltimore Pike… not that the bus showed up or would have been easily visible against the white of the clouds or over the hilled highway we were standing on. We waited another half hour, which ended up making a mess of my already deteriorating relationship with Andrew.

By that point in our two-year courtship, I was hanging on for dear life to a thread of hope that was fraying at both ends. I wasn't ready to lose the first boyfriend I had ever caught, and he couldn't wait to move away to college and leave me behind. Andrew was an emotionally, and sometimes even physically, abusive ass. I believed every word he said about me being unlovable, fat, ugly, and stupid. To this day I still don't know if I stayed with him purely because I was stubborn or afraid. If it was out of fear, I am not quite sure what I was afraid of specifically. The point is relatively simple though: I was on a street corner, in the freezing cold, with my abusive boyfriend at 8:30 in the morning on a Saturday - waiting for a stupid bus to a stupid mall to meet up with people I didn't even know or care about.

Silly, gullible me, I had only agreed to go on this ridiculous journey because I was jealous of Andrew's friends who I had seen pictures of on Facebook. Most of them were girls. All of them were skinny bean poles with dazzling supermodel smiles that I couldn't even compete with.

Instead of talking to me to pass the time, Andrew started blaming me for missing the earlier bus to 69th street, saying that now we would be late and his friends would be angry with me. He even went so far as to say that we wouldn't be freezing our asses off if I had just left my scarf at home and that his hoodie would have kept him warm if we hadn't had to stand so long waiting for the bus. I was understandably upset, thinking everything was truly my fault because he said it was. I stood there and took it, all his anger, resentment, and hatred. The bus showed up thirty minutes later to find a fuming boy yelling at a girl with tear-streaked cheeks, a red nose, and swollen eyes. The driver asked me if I was okay as I stepped up into the bus. I remember shivering and saying that I was only cold. I'll never forget what he said next-- it's burned into my brain like a red flag, one I probably should have noticed and went running towards at the first sign of conflict between Andrew and myself. He said, simply, "If he's bothering you we can get help."

I remember looking straight into that man's sad, hazel eyes and wondering if what was happening to me warranted help of any kind, and if I even deserved this man's obvious concern.

I don't know how long I stood there pondering the older black gentleman as he clutched the arm rest of his seat while collecting the bus fare from me, but I know it must have been noticeable since Andrew had to grab my arm and forcefully pull me to a seat.

For the rest of the ride, I stared blankly at the back of the driver's head as we made our way into the wilderness of the city. I glanced at tall buildings as we passed them, but even my first sighting of the glorious 26 story high structures couldn't stop me from wondering if my relationship with Andrew was so obviously horrible that other people noticed it who didn't even know us.

"Why would you even talk to that dirty old man?" Andrew hissed at me from across the seat, "There's nothing wrong with us. How stupid can you get?" He grabbed for my hand and held my knuckles harshly in between his fingers and his palm. I knew I would have bruises, not only on my arm from moments earlier when he tugged me to my seat, but also on my hand from the way he held me to him like a struggling bird trying to escape a cat. He was crushing my wings between his fingers, snapping them to make it impossible for me to ever fly away.

I flinched at the harsh words Andrew threw at me and glanced up again to see the driver looking in his rear-view mirror directly at us. He grimaced and shook his head from side to side. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Even he knew how hopeless it was to try and save me.

When we reached 69th Street and went to exit the bus, I trailed behind Andrew like a puppy on a leash. He still had my hand squished inside his own. My muscles were starting to cramp from the strain of pain that was pushing my bones together uncomfortably. The driver reached out to touch my shoulder as we passed and then got up to follow us off the bus, since we were the last passengers to exit. He followed us all the way to the connecting transfer that would bring us to the mall, and he watched us board and sit down before he went inside the terminal.

He was probably going to grab himself a coffee to work the chill of the day out of his system. I'll truthfully never know. But I watched him disappear into the crowd and silently lamented the loss of security he had given me for that twenty minute ride; this man, who didn't know me, sacrificed a moment of his time to try and rescue me.

As he turned to go, I could see the fear settling in the wrinkles that now scrunched across his face. His shoulders slumped just a bit to the front as he started to shuffle away. I realized then that it wasn't that he feared Andrew or what he was capable of doing. His fear was truthfully for me.

2.
freshman year of college was a whirlwind. Andrew had just dumped me for his new boyfriend Steven. Turns out I was ugly to him because I wasn't a boy. My fear of him leaving me, my jealousy because of his friendships with girls, and my fear of being with him forever were totally unwarranted. I was just a beard, and I guess I got to be too itchy for him to handle because after lying about his sexual orientation for three years he finally shaved me off and moved on to his new lifestyle.

But, there were other problems, bigger problems for me at least. The biggest problem was that my status at school was a commuter instead of a campus resident. I had no ability to drive and every time I tried to learn from my dad I would end up fighting with him about stopping at a yellow light or not hugging the curb enough when I tried to master right hand turns. It was a nightmare that only grew worse as I struggled to master the use of the trolley and speed line train.

Most people would think that my irritation was mostly anchored to my confusion around the stops and payments, but it wasn't. I was more concerned about the people I was being packed with into the tin cans we rode to and from our destinations like a herd of cattle being led to slaughter. I learned I was claustrophobic, and anyone who has taken a trolley or train during rush hour knows how truthfully stuffed in we are. There is no room and you are pressed up bodily against the people around you, even if you are seated on one of the small benches provided. It's like being in a trash compactor as the steel jaws try to squeeze you into the shape of a square: full of pressure, very smelly, and as if all the air has been sucked and squished out of you.

The weirdest part of all of it though was the people I sometimes got stuck next to and how they interacted with me. There is one instance on the trolley that sticks out most in my memory. It was the day I was hit on by a man who believed he lived during the time of King Arthur's court.

I only had about four more stops before I could get off the blasted metal death trap, and I was relieved because no one had sat down next to me the entire ride. My happiness was short lived when a man with spiky ginger hair plopped down hard into the seat next to me, making it impossible for me to stand and get into the center aisle without having to lean my body into his. I recall cursing under my breath profusely while I felt him staring at me. It was the most uncomfortable feeling in the world and it was only going to get worse in the next few moments.

"You seem like a strong and resilient maiden," the man stated matter-of-factly to me. "Would you like to go on a quest with me?" I looked over at him, stunned into silence. I noticed that he was wearing a shirt that had a decal on the front to make it look like chain-mail along with grey leggings. I was so shocked I felt my mouth hang open. I wondered if he was playing a joke on me or if he actually believed in quests or… well, he might have wanted to do other slightly crazy things that I wanted no part of, like role-play fantasies. I looked up at his eyes and saw this odd glint - you know, that shimmer that foreshadows someone slightly crazy or mischievous?

I refused to answer as he continued to declare, "I am Sir Galahad and I am in search of followers to help me in my quest to procure the sword Excalibur!" I winced as he yelled next to my ear and I pulled further into myself for more protection if he were to strike out. "I would like you to join me, my fair maiden, for it would be nice to have someone of a cunning quality and more than plain face to entertain me during slow paced times during my journey." I felt a sudden bile rise in the back of my throat at his words. First of all, I did not appreciate being called "cunning" because that insinuated that I was partially "evil." And secondly, I was not just some female to be yanked around and used for someone else's pleasure.

That was it. He kept talking and my anger mounted exponentially. I could sense the other weary passengers on the trolley becoming scared by this man and the way he was acting. My stop was so close. I pulled the yellow cord next to my head and heard the ding stating that a stop had been requested.

"Good day, Sir Galahad!" I yelled in the most pleasant octave I could muster in my anger, "I am unable to join you in your quest to find and manage a sword of Excalibur's high quality at this time, not only because I believe King Arthur has owned this sword for many long centuries, but because I would not want to challenge my strong and mighty liege." I scooted in front of him as I said this and out into the center aisle. His hands came out to grasp my waist as I pulled away and said, "Now Sir Galahad, you would not take such a pure woman as I to be a swot?!" I let my voice rise as I made my way to the front of the train and smiled at the conductor.

She tipped her cap at me and grinned like the Chesire cat as she took my token of payment. I looked back one last time to see the red face of the man who called himself a knight. I could not tell if he was angry at my ability to play him for a fool or because he truly believed himself shameful for requesting me in such an inappropriate manner to be his bed warmer. It didn't truthfully matter as I waved at him and exited the trolley at my street.

As the trolley passed in a whirlwind I saw him staring out the window at me, a sad look prominent on his face.

3.
By the time I was a sophomore everything had changed. I only took public transportation to school if I had a ride home at night due to my oddly-scheduled courses. There was no wiggle room and no escape from the clutches of my horrible classes.

Within the first few weeks of school, I procured a job working with freshmen students who were commuters as well and had become part of a community on campus. I was to be one of two leaders working to help them assimilate peacefully into college life. It helped exponentially that two of my favorite staff/faculty members were my advisors for the job and that I was already partially trained in teaching. Being with a group of younger students was like swimming for me, natural and refreshing. I loved my job and I loved my bosses.

That didn't mean I was having the time of my life, though.

One day, a few weeks into classes and working, my bosses set up a dinner for the commuter group I was working with. Because it was to be held late in the evening, I was unable to get my dad to allow me to drive the car. I begged with him for hours only to be turned down. I went into school the day of the event crushed. I thought I wouldn't be able to attend, only to be told by my boss that he would drive me home if I found my own way to school.

The only thing I could think of was to go home after classes, get changed, and then take SEPTA back to the station closest to the college. Then I would grab the shuttle back to campus. It would take me a few hours, but it was do-able.

I hopped on the speed line and made my way to the stop that arrived about a mile from the school, where I would have to wait about an hour to catch the shuttle from campus.

The ride was uneventful for sure, but knowing my luck, the adventure was far from over. And, knowing that the wait for the shuttle was another hour and a half after I reached the stop... well, I knew there was no way I would make it to school that day without an event as I innocently waited for my opportunity to jump on the next public transportation to school.

After a half hour of waiting, I got bored and started calling the few commuters I knew from campus to see if they could give me a ride. No luck, of course. After about another five minutes, the next speed-line stopped on its run to Morristown, dropping off another small pack of people waiting for their next buss or shuttle to work or school.

That was when the three Hispanic men showed up. They pulled beautifully crafted knives from their jean pockets and proceeded to flick them around and between their fingers. If I wasn't so afraid that I might scare one and end up at the wrong end of their knives, I would have been tempted to ask them to teach me. I slid my hand into my own pocket and fingered the slim metal switchblade I had hidden there as I tried to envision how they let the cool steel run across their palms and between their fingers fluidly. It would be easy to teach myself later, but not here, not now.

I was starting to feel a bit awkward after another half hour of waiting for the college shuttle. The men were getting rowdier and had started to race each other across the tracks, seeing who could jump further, or higher, in attempts to scale the chain link fence sitting in between the opposing speed lines.

That was when "he" showed up. He had to be my age, maybe a few years older, and his whole persona screamed, "Look at me! I wear retro clothes and think I can dance!" At first it seemed innocent. Kind of cute, in a weird, psychotic, creepy, nerdy... never mind, he had started dancing. He kept trying to brace himself by placing one forearm against the asphalt in an attempt to lift his whole body into a parallel position. I almost felt more concerned about his physical safety than I did about mine. He kept falling face first on the concrete. I couldn't even look at him closely for fear of him taking my attention the wrong way, but I didn't even have to glance at him to catch his fancy.

"Do you dance?" he asked me.

"I don't," I replied quickly.

He sidled up next to me as I sat on the ground. He put his thigh up against mine and leaned into my shoulder. "You have to dance. You go to college. All college girls ‘dance,'" he said as he wiggled his eyebrows at me suggestively. It was like watching a five year old flirt with a snake. I wanted to bite him, hard, to show him I wasn't what he thought me to be. Plus, how in the hell did he know I went to college? I tried to remember if I had ever seen him before at this stop.

The men on the other side of the lot were watching us now. I was outnumbered. All I kept thinking about was how I would fend them off if they all tried to pounce on me. It was getting dark out and I was looking for the shuttle, praying under my breath for a miracle.

"Want to go somewhere?" he asked me as he tried to lace his fingers in between mine. I was flinching. I hated contact, especially after how Andrew treated me. My heart was clawing up my throat as I thought about how I would flip my body over his and knee him in the fortune cookie if he even attempted to get any closer than he already was.

"Is he bothering you?" came a sharp question from where the other men had been comparing their knives again. I flicked my head to the side and glanced at the very intimidating man now making his way towards us. He was flicking his knife in and out of its sheath like a professional thrower. I envied his ability to stand there.

"Yes," I stuttered out.

"Move, kid," the man said in a deep, guttural undertone as he sat down on my other side. His arm went across my shoulders as he held his knife in the opposite hand. I could feel my throat bob. If he turned out to be worse than White and Nerdy, who had just scooted far away, I had no idea how I would deal with him.

"I'm not unarmed you know..." I trailed off as I inched my hand into my pocket again and fingered my knife.

"I know kid, don't worry. He won't have a chance to hurt you now. We'll watch over you." The whole group now moved up behind me, knives in hand. I could feel my hair stand on end.

They sat with me for another half hour as we waited. My shuttle came an hour late. As I walked up the steps, the man who initially protected me from the horrible, nerdy break-dancer slipped his knife into the palm of my hand.

As I sat down in my seat and took my first deep breath of the day, I held the knife up in front of my face.

In God we find Protection. We love you Paul.

•••

Over the past couple of years I have found protection, uncertainty, fear, and realization within the confines of the screaming, metal deathtrap that is public transportation. I may not be the rule, but I am definitely the reality.



Michelle Goff is a senior English/Secondary Education Major who has an affection for waxing poetic lines and witty banter. Her love lies within the pages of Harry Potter books with the enigmatic Professor Severus Snape.