Three Million Witnesses

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There were no cabs nearby, so I booked an Uber home.

Four people were crammed into the tiny, stuffy back seat.

The reek of stale sweat mixed with sour milk crawled up my nose.

The old woman cursed me in dialect for dressing like a slut. The wife griped that I was crowding her son.

I shifted toward the side, and the old man's body pressed right up against me again.

The driver had some tacky club track blasting and, without so much as turning his head, tried to smooth it over. "Come on now, let's all say less."

The car pulled into a tunnel, and in the pitch dark a bony, withered hand came down hard on my thigh.

Before I could even react, the whole car erupted.

The wife's hand cracked across my face, the old woman twisted around from the front seat and yanked my hair, and the driver slammed the brakes and roared at me, "You see how old my dad is? What could he possibly do to you?! You just want to shake us down, don't you?!"

I smoothed back my mussed hair, and then I laughed.

I flipped my phone screen around, aimed it at every one of their faces.

"Everything that just happened is going out live, right now, to my three million viewers."

"So. Does your whole family want to come with me to the police station, or would you rather wait for me to call it in?"

...

"Sorry about that, miss, got held up in traffic on the way over."

The driver's-side window rolled down to show a middle-aged man's face.

He gave a sheepish little smile. "Hop in, we'll head out now. I'll pick up the pace on the road and try to get us there sooner."

An hour late, and now the car was going to fly?

I frowned and looked over the beat-up gray sedan.

The body was covered in scratches, spattered with dried mud that hadn't been cleaned off in who knew how long.

My eyes moved to the back seat.

Three people were already sitting there.

On the left was a woman holding an infant, probably the driver's wife.

The baby was wrapped up in a swaddle, only half its face showing, sound asleep.

On the right was a gaunt old man in a white undershirt washed until it had lost its shape, pant legs rolled up past his knees, both legs sprawled wide open.

Each of them was taking up more than their share.

The middle was empty.

Left for me.

I stood by the door and didn't move.

I'd booked a private ride.

But now there was only a sliver of space left in the car.

"Sir," I said, keeping my temper down, "when you took the ride you told me family would be coming along, and I said that was fine. But you didn't say it'd be a whole carload."

"If I get in now, you're over capacity."

The man rubbed the steering wheel, his smile going even more awkward.

The old woman in the passenger seat leaned out and beamed at me, warm as anything. "It's fine, miss, my grandson's just a month old, he doesn't take up any room."

"Besides, if anything happens, the fine's on us."

"You won't get another cab at this hour anyway, so get in, we're only waiting on you."

She smiled at me like an old friend, all warmth.

I stood at the roadside, torn and irritated.

She wasn't wrong.

The train tickets had sold out ages ago, and there was no getting a last-minute ride.

My phone screen was lit up, a booking still sitting in the app after more than forty minutes with no driver accepting it.

If I didn't leave now, I wouldn't make it home today.

Grandma was still at home waiting for me.

She'd said last week that her chest felt tight, and she wouldn't go to a real hospital, just sat at the little clinic by the house getting three days of IV drips.

When I called her yesterday, her voice still sounded thick and off, like she wasn't feeling well.

I took a deep breath, pulled the door open, and got in.

Only once I sat did I realize how tight it was.

My whole left side was pressed against the woman's arm as she held the baby.

The second the baby stirred at all, she jabbed me with her elbow, terrified I'd squash her kid.

My right leg was up against the old man's spread knees.

His skin had a film of sweat on it, damp, rubbing against my bare calf.

Being wedged in the middle like this was unbearable.

I forced down the discomfort and shifted a little, trying to win myself some breathing room.

Instead, the leg on my right pressed in even closer.

And the elbow on my left dug in again.

I wasn't going to let it slide.

Under cover of a stretch, I threw my arms and legs out wide, exaggerating it.

The move forced that sliver of space into a real gap.

The woman clicked her tongue and jostled the baby in her arms, annoyed.

The car started moving.

It was an August afternoon, the sun scorching the ground.

Every window was shut tight, and the inside of the car was stifling as a steamer.

Dust, sweat, that faint sour-milk smell, and the old man's undisguised old-person odor all churned together, endlessly assaulting my nose.

I reached down to the vent by my leg and felt around.

There was a little air. It was warm.

"Sir, could you turn the AC up? It's way too stuffy in here."

The driver was about to say something when the old woman patted his shoulder and turned around to grin at me.

"Miss, bear with us a bit, my grandson's so little and he just got over a cold, he can't take the chill."

I pressed my lips together. "Then roll a window down a little, just a crack, for some air."

"No, no." The old woman waved her hand at once, half the smile dropping off her face. "Open the window and the wind's worse, the little one gets a draft and he'll get sick."

The woman shot me a sideways look, her voice thin and shrill. "You gonna answer for it if my boy gets sick? Kids these days are just selfish, only ever thinking about their own comfort."

That spark of anger in me flared right up.

"All right, all right." The man behind the wheel finally spoke, his voice as spineless and mild as the rest of him. "We're all out on the road together, everyone should cut each other a little slack."

"Miss, how about I put on some music? Listen to a few songs and you won't feel the heat."

"Really, a calm mind keeps you cool."

He poked at the dashboard screen a few times.

The next second, an ear-splitting DJ remix of "Love for Sale" exploded through the car.

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."

The baby was asleep. The old man had bowed his head.

The driver glanced at the back seat in the rearview mirror and said nothing.

The woman's lips curled with a knowing kind of contempt, and she cut me a sidelong look.

I could feel my own heartbeat slamming against my eardrums, once, then again.

I drew in a deep breath, and then I spoke.

Every word crisp and clear, in the exact same dialect she'd used.

"Ma'am, I understand you just fine."

"I'm wearing pants past my knees and a loose T-shirt. That's perfectly normal for summer."

"Those filthy things coming out of your mouth are what's in your own head. Don't throw them on me."

"And I paid my fare. I got in this car to go home, not to be cursed at by you."

The car went dead silent.

The old woman's face looked like it had just been slapped. Her mouth opened and closed, and for a long moment no sound came out.

In the end she muttered a few resentful words, turned back around, and didn't dare look at me again.

The woman turned her face to the window. The old man drew his leg back half an inch.

"Alright, alright, that's enough"

The driver finally found his lines again. "Everybody ease up, ease up now."

"We're all one happy family here, aren't we? Nice and civil. Miss, you'll cut them some slack, yeah?"

I looked down at the camera blinking on my collar and said nothing more.

Let it record.

The baby's crying shattered the fragile quiet that had just settled over the car.

I pressed lightly at my temple and checked my phone.

Thirty minutes left.

The woman started soothing him, bouncing him in her arms, patting his back, murmuring hush, hush, hush.

But the baby wasn't buying it. He only cried harder, his little face going red with the effort.

"Is he hungry?" The old woman leaned back from the front seat and reached out to touch the baby's cheek.

Before the words had even landed, the woman had already undone her collar.

Right there in front of everyone in the car, she brought her breast to the baby's mouth.

The skin of her left arm pressed against me, sticky and damp, clinging close.

The baby latched on, and the crying cut off all at once.

Now the only sound in the car was his suckling, soft and wet.

I looked away, staring stiffly at my phone screen, and nudged the volume up another notch.

The driver flicked a glance at me in the rearview mirror.

He cleared his throat like he wanted to say something, then swallowed it back down.

Just that one cough.

The woman's eyes snapped up from the baby's face. First she skewered the driver with a look, then followed his line of sight in the mirror and landed it on me.

"Never seen someone nurse a baby? Or are you jealous?" Her voice was thin and shrill, like a nail dragged across sheet metal.

"Once you have kids of your own you'll get it. Every mother does this." She bit down hard on the word mother, her chin tipping up.

"Not like you little girls, riding in a car dressed with next to nothing on, squirming around, trying to seduce who knows who."

My fingers tightened, then let go.

I had plenty of ways to shut her down. I could have humiliated her, even.

But I didn't want to corner a mother in front of her own baby.

I lifted my head and looked her straight in the eye.

"Great motherly love doesn't need to prove itself by tearing down other women."

"I respect you. Please respect yourself."

The woman froze. Her mouth hung open, all that sharp venom she'd lined up shoved right back down her throat.

Her face began to flush, and then she whipped toward the driver's seat.

"Who asked you to butt in? Who do you think I did all this for? And you've got the nerve to talk about me?" Her voice was three times louder than when she'd been cursing me.

"Don't be upset, honey, it's all my fault." The driver ducked his head, practiced at it. "The young lady only said she respects you. Don't be mad, don't be mad, okay?"

"We're almost at the rest stop. I'll pull over for a bit and we'll all take a break."

I glanced out the window at the road signs whipping past.

Next stop, four kilometers.

The car turned onto a ramp and slowly came to a stop.

There wasn't a soul around.

This wasn't the highway rest stop. It was a run-down roadside lot off a county road.

I got out, walked to a corner not far from the car, and tried to pin down my location for a ride.

The little circle on the screen spun and spun.

Thirty seconds. A minute. Five minutes.

I screenshotted my location, opened the green chat app, and tapped into the conversation pinned at the top.

My boyfriend, Carl Floyd.

"A rideshare driver dragged me out to some remote lot. Save my location for me." I typed out the lines.

He replied fast. "Stay safe. Call me the second anything's wrong."

"Miss, come here a second." The old woman's voice came from beside the car.

She was standing by the open rear door, something dangling from one hand, waving me over.

"What is it?" I walked over.

"Miss, this is a designer scarf my daughter-in-law gave me for my birthday. Pure silk, the feel of it is just wonderful."

She held out the rose-pink cloth as she spoke. It was grimy, the hem even coming apart at the edge.

It looked like a rag.

"I left it on the back seat earlier, and when you sat down you didn't bother to look, so you rubbed off a whole bunch of the crystals."

She shook the rag open and pointed at a few faded plastic sequins on it, looking pleased with herself.

"A scarf like this costs ten thousand. Of course, leaving it on the seat was partly on me, so I won't make things hard for you. Just pay half and we'll call it even." She was smiling.

After I'd peeled a layer off her face in front of everyone, she wasn't even bothering to keep up the act anymore.

I turned and glanced toward the car.

The driver and the old man had their heads down. The woman shot me a taunting little smile.

As if to say, let's see what you do now.

I said nothing. I lifted my phone and pointed it at the "designer scarf."

Snapped a photo. Ran a search.

I flipped the screen around and held it up for her to see.

"Ma'am, this ten-thousand-dollar scarf of yours? Same one for sale, four ninety-nine, free shipping."

The smile froze on her face.

"If you really think I damaged it, I'm happy to compensate you."

"But before I pay a cent, I'll need two things from you. First, a receipt or proof of purchase showing this scarf is worth ten thousand. Second, video or photos proving I rubbed those crystals off, and that they weren't already about to fall off on their own."

"The moment you produce those, I'll pay."

The air froze for three seconds.

"Wait till my daughter-in-law digs it out at home and sends it to youdon't you dare try to weasel out of it then!" Her eyes darted away, her mouth still holding the line, but the voice behind it had gone thin.

The woman didn't answer. She climbed straight into the car with the baby.

"Let's go, it's getting late, we should head out." The man's voice came right on cue.

I looked down at my phone.

The little circle on the rideshare app was still spinning.

The sky dimmed toward dark, and the car kept moving down the road.

The music was off. The woman leaned sideways against the window with the baby, seemingly asleep at last.

A rare quiet settled over the car.

My eyelids began to grow heavy.

Just as my mind was starting to slip away, that leg on my right pressed up against me again.

My eyes snapped open.

Swallowing the disgust, I kept myself from moving and studied the old man beside me out of the corner of my eye.

His eyes were shut. His breathing was even, his arm hanging at his side.

He looked asleep.

I drew my legs in and carefully edged half an inch to the left.

The baby stirred, and I froze at once, held there stiff and suspended, unable to go either way.

Another jolt.

The car lurched, and the old man's whole body tipped over with it.

His face pressed solidly against my shoulder.

Carrying the smell of smoke and old age he couldn't hide.

My stomach lurched.

I was just about to shove him off when he suddenly startled awake.

"Oh, sorry about that, miss." He gave me an apologetic little smile. "I was so tired I dozed off."

But tucked in the creases at the corners of his eyes was a flicker of smugness he hadn't hidden in time.

As he spoke, he turned to the right, pressing his whole body tight against the door glass.

Even pulled his legs back in.

I didn't say anything more. I closed my eyes.

But I wasn't asleep.

The car drove into a tunnel. The light vanished all at once.

The next second, a withered hand settled on my knee.

Sliding slowly upward...