Him: 7 more stops. 7 more damn stops. It’s all ready half past noon. Shit! Mia’s going to be pissed. Why’d I ever marry that bitch? She’s a tyrant. “James, be home early tonight. James, I want you to stop talking to her. James, spend more time with me and less time with them.” God damn, I hate women. Her: It’s hot in here, too hot. The only place to sit is next to that old man by the window. I feel sick to my stomach. I need to sit. 7 more stops. Him: She looks tired, that girl that sat next to me. Ha! What could possibly be troubling her? Her boyfriend broke up with her? Or her mom didn’t let her wear that little black dress? Young people are so damn stupid. They make a big deal out of nothing, absolutely nothing. Kind of like… I don’t want to think about that. Her: It was never supposed to end this way. I didn’t mean it to go that far. I knew it was wrong from the beginning, but I kept going at it. Soon, it just became a daily thing. I didn’t even give two thoughts about it. I feel like vomiting. Help me god. 6 more stops. Him: Guilt, I hate that feeling. It gets to me. It eats me alive. I’m not a bad man, but I’m not a good one either. I mean, who wouldn’t get mad when they come home from a hard day of work to see their wife fucking some other man? That whore. But who would be as insane as I am to lay hands on her after that? I should’ve left it, gone on my way. But I bruised her, and that was my reason to stay. I hate you, Mia. Her: God doesn’t exist. Why didn’t He ever try to stop me? Why didn’t He get help for her? Why did He let this happen? In psychology, I learned that in times of extreme distress, people tend to put the blame on someone else. It’s a way to relieve the pain. Fuck psychology. Fuck God. Him: I wonder what she was thinking about when she was with him. Did she think about me? Did she think about us? No, of course not, why would she? I wonder what was going through my head when I threw her against the wall and pounded her sweet little face. I can’t seem to remember. 5 more stops. Her: I used to love school. Everyone used to love me. Now all they do is stare at me and whisper quietly amongst themselves. “Yeah, that’s her. Wow. She seems like a bitch.” The dictionary defined bitch as a “malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, especially a woman.” In that case, I’m a complete bitch. Him: She cried. I cried. It was a mess. And after that, things just spiraled down. She apologized as did I. She said we could work things out, and I agreed. She said she still loves me and I loved her, too. But as one of my favorite songs go “It’s not always rainbows and butterflies, it’s compromise that moves us along.” But things could never again be the same. But that’s not even the worst part. Her: I’m also a bully. But that didn’t make sense. Bullies were those ugly, fat kids with horrible acne that stole lunch money because they have problems at home or something. Bullies aren’t petite, blonde girls who are on the varsity tennis team. But I guess if you think about it hard enough. I’m one bitchy bully. 4 more stops. Him: I think that girl next to me fell asleep. I don’t know. Her eyes are closed. She kind of reminds me of…of… I don’t want to think about that. Her: I can’t seem to remember why I started it. Maybe because it made me seem dominant, and when you’re only 5’2, you never feel important. She was shorter than me by 2 inches. She had frizzy brown hair and these giant glasses that reminded me of my grandma’s reading spectacles. It was easy to make fun of her, and the best part about it was her reaction. She turned bright red like a tomato and replied with something pretty corny. Yeah, we all laughed at that before, but no one’s laughing now. Ugh. I feel like vomiting again. Him: Maybe it’s because they’re both pretty small. I don’t know. I don’t want to think about. I really don’t want to think about it. Her: The old man sitting next to me is getting teary eyed, or maybe it’s just the glint of the sunlight. Him: Pa used to beat me and my ma repeatedly. He apologized again and again, even got her flowers and me a toy train one time. But he never stopped, never. I’m no better than him. Her: One time during lunch, I told her she was worthless. She went to the girl’s bathroom and cried her eyes out. But it didn’t really bother me. She always used to cry. 3 more stops. Him: I’m not a liar, and that’s a lie. Mia knows it. Oh, that bitch knows it pretty well. I don’t mean to shout at her still. But she just gets me so damn mad. Who is she to tell me to not talk to my female friends, when she had sex with another man? I promised her I would never lay hands on her again, but I’m exactly like my pa. I can’t keep a single promise. Her: I’m one disgusting human being. Him: I don’t want to think anymore. But I can’t stop. Things just get worse. “Daddy, why are you hitting mommy?” Make that voice stop. “Daddy, mommy’s bleeding!” Please, I don’t want to hear it. “DADDY, STOP!!!” I’m so sorry, baby girl. Her: It’s so god damn hot in here. I’m suffocating. 2 more stops. Him: My own daughter saw everything I did. She knew who I was. And as the days passed by, she grew more and more quiet. But I never really paid attention to it. I’m so sorry, Susan. 1 more stop. Her: I read a quote last night. It went something like this. “The coward isn’t the one who commits suicide; the coward is the one who treats a person so badly that they want to commit suicide.” I feel sick to my stomach. Him: I don’t want to remember. I really don’t want to remember… Her usual messy brown hair lay flat against her pale face. She lay perfectly still on that blue bed of hers. She felt cold, so damned cold. She wouldn’t open her eyes no matter how many times Mia or I screamed. “An overdose of sleeping pills.” the doctor told us later. She took her own life. My daughter took away her own life. I’m getting off this train. Her: Rest in Peace, Susan. This train ride is over.