The Ride Home

While standing waiting for the bus at the station I found myself observing people to pass the time. Living in Toronto, Ontario the news is filled with gang warfare and recent shootings on the transit system. I’m mostly observing people for my safety, and the safety of the other passengers. A young girl was shot on a Jane Street bus; I remember her photos in the news while I watch a woman with her little girl in the stroller waiting.

A tall thin man with long wavy brown hair and glasses is pacing. At first glance he appears normal, perhaps uptight he missed a bus and had a long wait. He clutches a book in his hands, and I vaguely wonder why he doesn’t sit and read to forget his wait.

Several minutes pass and more people are arriving; waiting for the bus. I observe them noting they all seem normal transit riders waiting for the bus. The tall thin man paces more; I envision a lion pacing back and forth in its cage waiting impatiently for a meal. The pacing is not like those who are also waiting; his movements are sharper. I move away slightly, trying to be inconspicuous.

While more people arrive I glimpse the tall man stepping off the platform onto the road where the bus pulls in. He’s walking in circles near agitated, his behavior stranger than the others hanging around waiting. He steps back onto the platform and paces some more before he moves off the platform again and crosses the roadway to the other side.

There is some kind of out take vent that comes up from the subway on the grass at the other side. I’d seen people sit there before, I admit I did too at one point. I was warned of the danger of sitting there and asked to move. The system didn’t want the trouble of any incidents, and forbid anyone to sit there. It was where the tall, agitated man went to sit and read. Finally quiet, the tall man sits and reads his book.

Off to his left a transit official who had been at the station is about to get into his car parked opposite the platform. He notices the tall man sitting where he shouldn’t be, and instead of getting into his car he goes over to ask him politely to wait on the platform like everyone else.

The tall man is irritated and stands up to speak right into the transit official’s face. I move further off toward the station’s ticket booth, wondering if he should be alerted.

Idling sideways uncertainly watching them stare down each other nose to nose I think of the girl who was shot. I think of the bus driver that was shot, blind in one eye. The tall man stands his ground arguing back his rights while the official firmly stands his ground. It’s like watching two fighters in the center of a ring before the fight.

Little do I know my movement has attracted someone else, I suppose my actions spoke for me. The short gray haired man is watching suspiciously, while he turns his attention to the official and the long haired man I inch further away. The new ally of the long haired man still arguing with the official yells at him, “He can sit there, everyone does it!” I keep going, vaguely wondering if this will turn into a gang up on the official who calmly and firmly states his rules.

The gray haired man spies me moving toward the enclosed area where the ticket booth is, “Hey! Mind your business, he isn’t doing anything!” I duck into the station, and find more officials inside. It is my duty to alert them to the altercation, taking place a few feet away. As long as they’re aware of what’s happening they will be able to help if violence breaks out.

While they are keeping an eye on things, I step back out. The gray haired man hasn’t noticed yet, he’s busy yelling the defense to the official still locked in the argument with the long haired man. I wonder vaguely when the bus is coming, I know I won’t get on with those two men yelling. I think of the woman with the stroller, the other people standing around. Nobody moves; they stare quietly. I wonder if one of them pull out a knife and start trying to stab people how they would react?

The gray haired man notices me; “You didn’t have to tell! They should leave him alone, everyone sits there!” I move back, and disengage from him. He goes back to defending the long haired man. The long haired man doesn’t notice he has help, he’s busy arguing with the official. The gray haired man continues to be his one-man defender as I watch along with the others.

Just before the bus came, the official some how manages to convince the long haired man to move back to the platform. Or perhaps he goes for his own reasons, either way his sharp movements appear abnormal. They argue their way onto the platform where the gray haired man offers more support yelling at the official, “Everyone sits there, are you going to tell everyone to leave?” The long haired man still hasn’t noticed him; his attention is firmly on the official.

Uncertainly I move further down in case they pass me, but they stop there. Then the bus pulls into the bay, and the official moves off back into the station. The long haired man is still staring at the official, like an obsessed man. His ally comforts him arguing his points to him while passenger’s head for the bus. I stand far back waiting for the next bus; it’s scary enough to be this far away from them I don’t want to be closer.

The official heads inside the station now and the long haired man stares after him. He barely notices his ally, the gray haired man stating his points. Even when the gray haired man points to me adding that I went in to get help the long haired man doesn’t seem to notice.

Avoiding the confrontation again I look away wondering if another bus is coming behind this one. The passengers are filing onto the bus, the long haired man and his gray haired ally move to get on. The gray haired man points again at me, “Look, she won’t get on the bus because we are!” The long haired man barely notices me, but I don’t like being signaled out. I head into the station where the officials stand around talking.

The official that had been talking to the long haired man is telling the others about their argument. It’s safer there, and I can watch for another bus without worry of any more verbal abuse. They board the bus, and the official is watching commenting that the long haired man is still jabbering about his rights. I’m guessing the gray haired man is egging him on, I don’t look in case it causes him to start at me again through the window.

The officials watch with more interest now, I wonder why they didn’t ask both men to leave for the safety of others. Yelling at a transit official is clearly unsettling; we are using their system. There is a certain amount of respect the public should have for it, like they would a cab.

As the bus pulls out and moves out to the corner to turn we can all see them still jabbering, the long haired man’s mouth moving agitatedly. I look away and comment to the official, “I thought he was going to hit you, that’s why I came to alert these others.” The official wasn’t worried, and the way he handled the man without contact I found respectful.

I just wanted to ride home on the system peacefully like the others. I didn’t want to witness any violence, I thought of the protection of others. I ended up being verbally abused by a stranger who aided a man that appeared unstable. Unnerved by the situation, and shaken for days following it I can now say I felt good about my actions. The honorable official that reacted professionally to a clearly violent man had someone to watch his back because of me.

I think of the little girl who was shot, and the bus driver shot in the eye, I wonder if more people paid attention to agitated people, that they would prevent violence by pointing it out to officials? I think of the people who witnessed the shooting on the bus afraid to come forward and speak. It could be them as victims; they would want someone to come forward.

Two agitated men went off on the bus that day, other passengers got on with them. With the news full of violent crimes, I watched that night waiting to hear if any was reported about one on that bus. None was, but somewhere out among us is two disrespectful; disturbed men who nearly crossed a line.