Expedience

When the Chrysler Dynasty died at the red light, Natalie’s heart sank.  Oh, she could—and did—use her new mobile cellular phone to call the garage; and, a half hour later, her car was hitched tail-up and driven off to meet its fate.  (She could only hope that it would not cost too much.)  But this left her standing on the sidewalk at Davenport and Bay, clutching an awkwardly large box, gaudily wrapped, with glossy ribbon and a big bow on top.  She had been driving to the Luces’ for Cynthia’s birthday; and planned to be early enough to help with preparations.  Instead, she was going to be late.  If it had not been broad daylight, she’d have called Nick for a lift; but, as it was, it would have to be a taxi.  She looked around.  A cab passed; but its light was off.  So she began walking south:  there were bound to be more on Bloor Street.  Then her eye was caught by the TTC sign at the subway entrance.

When she climbed the stairs to the bus bay at Davisville Station, she only had a short wait before the next bus, and took one of the long seats behind the driver so that she could have a clear view when her stop came up.  One by one, the rest of the passengers boarded and filed past.  But then, instead of closing the door and starting off, the driver suddenly got to his feet and stalked past Natalie to stop at the first pair of seats behind her, where a grey-haired woman was just about to sit down beside a younger man.

“You!” said the driver, in a loud accusing tone.  “I’m not going to have you talk like that on my bus!”

She looked up at him, startled.  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“You made a racist remark back there.”

“No.  I didn’t.”

“I heard you!”

“Look,” the woman said, in a level tone.  “I think you must have misheard.”

“I heard okay,” said the driver belligerently.

“If you’ll tell me what you think you overheard…,” the woman suggested.

“I’m not going to repeat it!” exclaimed the driver.  In a hard voice, he added, “You know perfectly well what you said.”  From where she was sitting, Natalie could see his left fist clenched angrily tight at his side.  Perhaps, being closer, the woman didn’t realize.  He was a tall man; and she had to look up to meet his eyes.

Natalie’s eyes flicked down the bus to gauge the reaction of the other passengers.  All were silent, unwilling to draw attention to themselves.

“Get off!” ordered the driver.  “If you won’t admit what you’ve done, you aren’t riding on my bus.”

The woman looked up at him firmly.  “I paid my fare,” she said.  “I have no intention of getting off.”

With alarm, Natalie saw the driver’s clenched fist rise.  If he hits her, she thought.  He’s twice her size and half her age.  It’ll be a police matter.  We’ll all have to give statements; and I’ll never get to Cynthia’s birthday party.

“Get off!”

“No.”

Getting a grip on himself, the driver forced his fist back down at his side.  Natalie allowed herself one deep, relieved breath.

“Excuse me.”  Astonishingly, the youngish man sitting in the seat near the woman spoke.  Sounding more than a little nervous, he continued, “I was there.  She was talking to me.  I can tell you that she did not say anything bad.”

Rather than defuse the situation, though, his evidence only served to infuriate.  “Then you get off too!” the driver said.  “I’m not having you on the bus, either.”

The other man looked startled.

“Get up!” the driver ordered him.  “Get up and get off, both of you.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” said the woman.  There was the faintest tremor in her voice.

“Then admit what you said,” the driver told her.  “Admit it and apologize, and you can stay.”

The woman’s back stiffened.  “Certainly not!” she said indignantly.  “I’m not going to tell you I did something when I didn’t.  That would be a lie.”

His fist began again to rise.  (Oh, no! thought Natalie.)  This time, it was nearly waist high before he managed to force it back down.  “This bus is not going anywhere until you admit what you said and apologize!”

Natalie’s eyes again flicked down the bus to scan the other passengers.  Like her, they were frozen.  Almost, she glanced down at her watch; but she didn’t dare move even a twitch of her wrist for fear she’d also catch the driver’s attention.  I’m going to be so late, she thought.  Bad enough my car broke down; now the bus is stuck here in a bay at the subway station.  I don’t mind missing the kids’ games; but, at this rate, I’ll be lucky to get there for the cutting of the cake.  Why doesn’t she just give him the admission he wants?  Does it really matter so much whether she’s guilty or not?  It’s quite unfair.  Her obstinacy is holding up everyone on the bus.  Every single one of us has somewhere we want to be; and it certainly isn’t here!

Nick could grab that guy, she thought, and make it look like some sort of judo hold.  He’s incredibly good at persuading people to do what he wants.  He could use hypnosis—on her to find if she really said whatever-it-was; on him to get him back in his seat and the bus going.

“Admit it!” insisted the driver, and took a half-step closer.  The woman looked nervous, but stood her ground.

I just wish Nick were here, thought Natalie.  Never mind all I’ve said about not using his powers.  For once, they’d come in really handy.