On Sunday, I had a work meeting downtown. After the meeting, I got on the bus to go home. It was hot and a whole crowd of people were pushing to get on, knowing that most would not get a seat.
An older woman avoided the crowd by getting on the bus from the side exit and sitting in a free seat. I happened to be one of the first ones on through the regular entrance. As I was moving back, she handed me her ticket and asked if I would give it to the driver so he would know she had paid.
I took her ticket and tried to make my way back to the driver. This was difficult because people were getting on who were intent on getting a seat. I said “excuse me” in my nicest Hebrew and explained that I needed a second to get up the the driver. But there was one guy who just didn’t care. Rather than letting me through, he pushed me and yelled “move!”
Something in me snapped. I have been walking around with a lot on anger lately. Usually, I can get it out when I run. That’s why some people have said they see me snarling when I go by. But on Sunday I woke up too late for a run.
So without thinking I pushed right back and yelled “F…. You,” right in this guy’s face. He responded by punching me in the chest.
I started losing control and pulled my fist back and for a second wanted nothing more in the world than to beat the crap out of him. In my mind, this guy was Stella’s cancer. I could finally do something to protect her instead of sitting around feeling helpless.
I heard people on the bus start to yell while others jumped out of the way. But mainly I was consumed with rage. I pulled my fist back and was about to throw the first punch I have thrown in a few decades.