The Bus

When I lived in Baltimore there was a woman on the bus with her two kids. She wasn’t looking at them. One was older and one was a baby. When the baby would cry the older boy would hit the baby. That made the baby cry even more. I stared at them. I wondered why she wouldn’t hold the baby. I wondered what had happened to the older boy. If he had to watch the baby all the time. I thought about the time I threw a door knob at my sister. And how we were always alone. The woman looked at me and then told her boys not to worry about the woman staring at them. She said something mean about me like I couldn’t hear her. I got really mad. I told her I don’t like to see children being hurt. I told her that her son didn’t know how to take care of a baby. I told her that kids don’t know how to be parents. I told her to stop talking to her friend. I told her that if she didn’t want her kids she shouldn’t have had them. I screamed at her. I started shaking. People looked at me. She told me if I didn’t want to see kids get hurt I shouldn’t take the bus. I didn’t know what to say. A full minute later I said the next time I would call the police. She rolled her eyes at me and grabbed her child. She sang a song to her baby. I didn’t look at them again.