Something Wicked

The three sat together on the E train to Queens. They sat in order of body size so the largest was to the left and the smallest to the right. Whenever a passenger caught their attention they began an assault:

“Look at that vest—why’s she wearing that vest”
“She got it at K Mart”
“Kmart’s too good for HER.”

The woman with the vest looked over her shoulder, not sure of what to do or of whether they were speaking about her. There was a man near her, holding himself steady against the train doors. They started on him:

“What’s wrong with his hand?”
“They shouldn’t let him on this train like that.”
“He’s probably sick in the head.”
“Sick to look at is what he is”

That’s when I noticed the man’s hand was knotted with calcified bulges from what I imagine to be severe arthritis. As a consequence of the deformations, he always looked like he was sticking up his middle finger. That hand that held his weight against the subway doors.

“You guys are terrible, I can’t hang out with you, you’re a bad influence.”

So there was one good one, I thought, not all are evil. Maybe they’re possessed. Maybe one of them is the devil controlling the other two. I hope they don’t start talking about me. Junior High all over again.

Some time passed and I began to think about my day, at some point I must have smiled, well it was just my luck that in my day dreaming I ended up looking in the direction of one of The Three’s pieces of carry-on luggage. I felt her looking at me so I snapped out of it and made eye contact with her, she didn’t flinch. Instead she turned to her sisters and said—

“He’s staring at my luggage! I think he’s gonna steal it.”
“You better be careful, they let all kinds on the train these days.”
“Ew, just look at him.”

I don’t consider myself the catch of the day, but I certainly don’t merit an “ew.” So I turned at looked at Miss Bitch with the luggage, the slim one of the trio, and made eye contact. Again she didn’t flinch. I stared and she stared right back and then she turned to her friends and said:

“He’s staring at me—he’s crazy. What’s wrong with him—look at him!”

And I said “Excuse me, was I staring at something that belonged to you?”
“Yes, you were staring at something that belonged to me,” she parroted even my intonation.
“And is there problem with that?” I pressed.
“Thers IS a problem with that,” she echoed.

So I did the only thing I could. I stared. Stared at her hard and wouldn’t let go, pressed into her with my eyes so I could choke the devil out of her. And she continued to talk to her friends about me, asking why I was staring and what was wrong with me and telling me to mind my own business. “You’ve been making fun of everybody on this train,” but she just yelled some nonsense at me to drown out my voice, so I kept staring. All my loathing I poured into her eyes and finally I said, “You need to take a good look at yourself in the mirror and see whatchu are.” “YOU need to get outta my face!” is what she said. The train came to a halt. This was my stop. “You’re right. I do,” and with that I turned and walked out the door.