I’m on the train, traveling alone, with two seats to myself. I have to use the restroom. Without thinking about it carefully, I ask a couple across the aisle if they would please watch my things for me for a moment. Then I take a closer look at them and have second thoughts: they are young, for one thing. Also, they seem very nervous, the guy’s eyes are bloodshot, and the girl has a lot of tattoos. Still, it’s done now. I get up and start moving back. But, as a precaution, I ask someone, a man a few seats behind me, who is dressed in a suit and looks like a businessman, to please keep an eye on that young couple for me, because I have had to leave my seat for a moment and all my things are on it. I could just go back and retrieve my bag, giving an excuse—in fact, this is suggested by the man, who objects to being put in that position, the position of having to stop what he is doing and watch a young couple who have done nothing wrong—so far anyway. But I feel it is too awkward to go and get my bag, and even if I went and got my bag, I would still be leaving on my seat a valuable coat.
—Can’t you wait? asks the man, though it’s none of his business.
—No. Then I have another idea: Maybe you could go sit in my seat while I’m gone?
—No, says the man—then I’d have to leave my things.
He is not being very cooperative. I say, But that lady across the aisle could watch them for you—she looks trustworthy. She’s old and she’s sitting very still.
—She’s asleep.
—You could wake her up.
—I wouldn’t want to do that.
The old lady is sitting next to a younger woman. The younger woman is slumped over, asleep, and the old lady is also slumped over, leaning against her.
—Just nudge her a little.
—No, I won’t. In fact, I don’t think she’s asleep—she may be dead.
I think he’s joking, though I’m not sure.
Our voices have been rising. Now the people around us are disturbed by our conversation and by me standing over him in the aisle. All except for the old lady, who really might be dead. Her mouth is open but I can’t see if her eyes are open.
—Can you keep it down? someone says. It’s the woman on the far side of the old lady. She has woken up and is glaring at us. My mom is sleeping, she says.
I don’t like her tone. Now I get a little aggressive.
—I thought she was dead, I say.
The woman elbows the old lady, and says, Mom, tell this goofball you’re not dead.
The old lady opens her eyes and looks blankly at her daughter. I’m not your mother, she says.
—Oh brother, says the daughter.
Meanwhile, someone behind them is beginning to hum. It’s a teenage girl, or maybe she’s a little younger, maybe twelve. The humming is getting to me, given all the commotion that is already going on. I’m sensitive to noise.
—Why is she humming? I ask the woman next to her, who seems to be her mother.
Her mother says, It’s you guys—you’re making her nervous, she hums when she’s nervous or people talk too much, when anyone talks too much.
She stares at us, though peacefully, while the girl continues humming. Now I am interested. Some other people have turned around to look at her. The old lady tries to turn her head, but she can’t turn it very far.
The girl’s mother continues to explain her daughter’s neurosis. The girl is humming louder.
The old lady is becoming agitated. She looks at each person around her and then glares at the woman next to her, saying, I don’t know you from Adam!
I still have to go to the bathroom, though I forgot it for a while.
Now the businessman, having lost patience, gets up and says, All right, I’ll go sit in your seat. Just get going and come back. Let’s get this brouhaha over with.
I think that’s a strange choice of word, especially for a businessman, but I don’t say so.
He pushes past me and goes to my seat. I want to make sure he sits in the right place. I have taken two seats, as I said, and they’re on the side by the river. He bends over, moves my coat, and sits down in the aisle seat. Now, through the noise of the old lady and the girl behind her, who is still humming, though her mother has stopped talking, I hear the young man with the bloodshot eyes saying loudly, Hey man, there’s someone sitting there.
The businessman says he knows, and that she asked him to hold her seat.
The young man is surprised. Why would she do that? he asks. The businessman is silent, probably thinking what he should say.
The young man waits. Then he says, Really?
—She asked me to sit here while she was in the restroom, says the businessman.
—Why, man? That doesn’t make sense, says the young man. He seems a little defensive.
The businessman is still silent. Finally he just shrugs.
—Oh, for Christ’s sake, says the young man, for Christ’s sake. Goddamn.
But he says it quietly. He is still saying it when I walk away up the aisle. And I’m feeling a little bad about making such a fuss, since, after all, he is trying to defend my seat, so maybe I was wrong about him in the first place, him and his tattooed girlfriend. I didn’t trust them, just because they were young. On the other hand, his language was pretty bad.
