Empire Builder, Part II.

I woke up somewhere just outside of Hastings, right at the Minnesota version of the Bermuda Triangle where there is no phone service. I stared out the window, trying to figure out how long I'd been asleep. The dark trees stood out against the winter sky, tinged with a reddish glow of 10pm. The snow seemed like an ocean, encompassing everything around it, and the rare street lamp seemed to be surrounded by a gauzy haze. It was like a movie, a fairytale. Peaceful, serene, and sweet.

I was jolted from this storybook by a sharp lurch forward. Groggy and one foot still in the reverie, I was sure we had gone over a bump or something normal. I leaned back against my seat again, breathing deeply, concentrating on the string of street lamps that illuminated the darkness far off against the highway.

I was physically thrown forward by another jolt, as if kicked from behind. I glanced around at my fellow passengers for recognition, a sign that they were all as confused as I was by the sudden change in atmosphere. To my surprise, nobody seemed to notice, or if they noticed, they didn't care. I furrowed my brow, upset by the sharp and physical reminder that I was taking public transportation.

The third jolt was as if I'd been punched in the back of the head. At this point I had deduced that it was not, in fact, nature that was causing my uncomfortability. I sat straight up and turned around, staring into the large brown eyes of a small child. He giggled, flashing a horrific set of baby teeth at me. I looked to his legal guardian sleeping soundly next to him. Mouth agape, Oblivious Mother was snoring in such a way that indicated that she was mentally thousands of miles away from her terror of a kid. I gave him my professionally practiced Stink Eye and sat back into my seat. That look was surely that of children's nightmares - Scary Twentysomething on Amtrak Frightens Child with Just One Stare. I was satisfied with my retaliation.

The fourth jolt was just uncalled for, and vindictive, if you ask me. I turned back around, stared into the mischevious eyes and said very plainly, "Stop it. Stop it right now."

A quick snort from Oblivious Mother and she was immediately completely functional. "I'm sorry," she snapped, the fire of a dozen dragons in her breath, "what makes you think you can talk to him that way?" She cradled her nightmare of a misbehaved child into her body, as if I had physically attacked her spawn. Mama Bear woke up and she was pissed.

I stuttered for a second. I wasn't sure how to talk to Momzilla. If I had rationally explained the situation, chances were good that I would be the only one to see reason. The cheese would surely stand alone, because it was me versus her stupid kid.

I did the only thing I could think of to do - I apologized profusely for my rudeness. How dare I speak to your child!! How dare I think that I could even glance upon his face?? Oh, my dearest, most sincere of apologies, ma'am. I see the error of my ways and will forever be changed by this experience.

I sat back in a huff and stared down the child's reflection in the window. He knew better than to do it a fifth time, but I'm really not sure why. Was he scared of the crazy lady's overacting and sugary sweet apologies? Maybe I did the kid a favor. Be scared of phonies, young boy. And don't touch people on trains.