My body is squeezed tight packed into bodies, between bodies.
It is this sardine sequence, or something worse. Another hour standing in heels. Getting, milled into another crowd till rush hour ends. Then, this anyway, later tireder. Half a bus load didn’t fit on last bus. I’m pregnant, I’m brave. If I don’t get home soon it’s trouble. I’ll need to pee.
Getting green faced, feeling weak, tired and just terrible, is a sure thing if I don’t eat pretty quick, too. The nausea lasts days, afterwards. This scares me. Right now, I feel good. I want it to stay this way. If I get home soon, I’ll be fine.
I can handle a crowd. The bus pulls up. Crowd rushes pushing and shoving. I hang back. When there is no more room on the bus so some people step back. I step up then, fitting my body into the crowd of other bodies wanting to get home.
Home is in about an hour. I’ll have to change buses. Not sure were to get off yet. The directions are in my head, a very unsafe place. One miscalculation, may mean walking endless blocks or waiting for a long time. I’ve never come from this way before. The intersection from the other side, is what I’m used to. The usual is coming from the other direction. My stop will be just after I pass Avenida Morones Prieto. What I’m looking for, again?
The bus windows are low. My head is close to the roof. Heads are packed tight, around my shoulders. We’ve been swerving around curves, leaning bodies on bodies, one way then the other, for a while. Where am I, now?
Not getting off at the right stop worries me. Slanting my head careful not to disturb the people around me get’s me a peek of the street. Avenida Vasconcelos is blowing past. It will be a few more minutes then the overpass, I remember, before I get squeezed out of this birth canal.
The throng of people getting off and on is digesting me in my crowd of passengers toward the back-end. I’m already packed tight half way down this old Turkey Jet isle.
I relax. I’m holding on to the bar close to my head, resting my head on my arm. Holding on, even with the turns and swerves of the wild bus ride, is hardly necessary. The packed bodies around me hold me up. I’m just three months pregnant, so it’s not a big deal. Not comfortable for a pseudo-American with our need for personal space, but throwing up or peeing on myself is worse. It’s not really comfortable for anyone else either, especially the short ones.
Then, I realize it is comfortable for someone.
A rhythmic moving.
Double check. Yeah, rhythmic and yeah, hard right up against my ass. I can’t see. But I can feel. Helpless. I can’t move.
All of something that built up, bursts.
Oh hell no!
Snap. My whole body twirls around, knocking people into the seats around us. Pushing my way around I face the asshole.
There are about seven possible assholes.
I’m going to punch them out. It dawns on me. I don’t know which one. I could punch them all. I could yes. I feel like I can. That feels really crappy though. Punching the innocent. Nah, I couldn’t stomach that. The looks on their faces… I want to punch the guy, but not the other guys. I desist, and back off defeated. That felt so crappy, too. Neither option is okay. But to just punch some innocent guys, my arm won’t move. Protective instinct dominates. I’m at least gonna look the guys in the eye. Fierce eye to eye. I’m look killing, telling the faces, oh no you don’t, all hard in the eye. I make eye contact.
A surprised face.
An indignant face.
A what can I hold onto? face.
A what the hell? face.
A shocked face.
A blank face.
An innocent face.
The innocent face gets my elbow in the chest and knee in the balls.
There is no room for him to bend over. I’m about to get my balance, give him the knee again. But there are to many other people who may get hurt. The man with the innocent face slithering escapes past me, crouching squeezing, thrusting through the crowd, loudly moaning.
I didn’t do nothing!
What did I do?