Three Million Witnesses

The sleeping baby jerked all at once and burst into a wailing scream.

The woman jostled the child and screeched at the man, her voice pitched higher than the music.

The man hunched his neck and mumbled, "My fault, my fault," fumbling with the volume.

The old woman leaned half her body back over the front seat to soothe the baby, cooing and babbling at it.

She clapped, made faces, waved a toy around, and every motion brushed against my knees.

The thudding bass tangled with the crying, the cursing, the apologizing, the cooing, and every beat landed like a fist against my temple.

I clenched my fist, then all at once had no strength left.

The navigation showed forty-five minutes remaining.

I just wanted this circus to be over.

I put in my earbuds, picked a calming playlist for myself, and turned the volume all the way up.

My finger drifted to the short-video app icon, the little red badge in the corner reading 99+.

I tapped in.

The newest video on my page had gone up two days ago, about how to gather evidence in workplace gender discrimination.

Among the thin trickle of comments, someone asked when the next one would drop.

I tapped the plus sign in the middle, stared at that "Post" button for a moment, and typed a few words in.

"Some family matters have come up. Updates will resume in a week."

The screen went dark.

The noise seeped in through the cracks around my earbuds.

The baby had screamed itself hoarse, the woman was still shrieking, and the DJ track looped that one line, "Love isn't something you can buy," on repeat.

Forty-two minutes left.

I closed my eyes and told myself it would be soon, I'd be home soon.

The car turned onto a rougher little road.

The surface was full of potholes, and the car started rocking side to side.

I scooted forward, gripped the back of the front seat hard, and tried to hold myself steady so I wouldn't tip either way.

But my being careful didn't mean anyone else was.

When the car swung right, the old man's whole side lurched against me.

His shoulder pressed into mine, his rough, faintly clammy skin scraping past me like damp sandpaper.

"Sorry there, miss." He settled back and gave me a sheepish little smile.

I said nothing. I only pulled my arm in closer.

But soon enough, I caught on that something was wrong.

He wasn't doing it by accident.

Every bump, the old man would lean my way with it.

He'd press in, hold there a few seconds, then slowly ease back into his seat.

Several times, the car clearly rocked to the right while his body tipped to the left.

I glanced at the woman on my left.

Through the same bumps, she kept herself steady while holding the child, and if she swayed at all, she snapped right back into place.

Set against that, the intent on my right was already plain enough.

I slipped my hand into my bag and found the pin-style hidden camera.

I'd picked the design on purpose for filming videos; unless you looked closely, you'd only take it for a brooch.

Head down, pretending to fix my clothes, I clipped it to my collar.

Another turn.

I used the momentum to shift myself to the left.

To avoid getting elbowed, I put a hand over the child's head first. I didn't want to give the woman any excuse to make a scene.

But I still underestimated how much she hated me.

"What are you shoving for!" She rammed an elbow into me, like there was something filthy on me.

"All that space and it's still not enough for you? You just have to crowd over onto my side!"

I looked at her calmly, my voice low but enough for the whole car to hear. "The gentleman on my right keeps leaning against me. It's uncomfortable to sit like that. That's why I moved over toward you."

Then I turned to the old man. "Sir, I'd appreciate it if you'd move over that way. I don't want to crowd your grandson either."

The car went quiet for a second.

The old man looked at me, the smile freezing half a beat on his face, as if he hadn't expected me to say it out loud.

Then he switched quickly to an innocent look and spread his hands. "Aiya, sorry, miss, the road's just so bumpy. I didn't mean anything by it."

Before he'd finished, the old woman in the front snapped her head around.

She shot me a vicious glare, her eyes gouging from my face to my chest, then from my chest down to my bare calves.

Then she said something to the woman in dialect.

She thought I couldn't understand. But I heard every word.

"Dressed like such a slut, shorts so tiny it's like she's got nothing on, and the second she gets in the car she's rubbing up against the men."

"You keep a close eye out. Don't let that little seductress get near your man."