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by Anna Maria Delinasiou

I looked at my watch. I looked at it as if I was really annoyed with time passing and with the delays in the Kifissia train station. I felt the heavy load of strangers' eyes staring while I moved carelessly up and down the terrace, while I took the greatest pains to appear busy and distracted & to avoid any possible meeting of the eyes. Why is it that women always have to feel that way while using public transportation?

In Your Face, by Linda Lichtenstein
"In Your Face"
by Linda Lichtenstein

An underlying responsibility that our every move should radiate a mysteriously powerful essence that outdoes femininity or else our susceptibility to lust becomes a given; be mindless and "voila", permission has been given, look freely, stare freely, talk & assault, freely.

As I stared at my watch for the fifth time I decided to strike back. I firmly lifted my eyes and fired a deadly annoyed stare into his. The owner of the eyes that had been making sure I didn't enjoy a moment of peace until the train, or the end of the world arrived. If I had a revolver handy I would have shot him dead in a second-no second thoughts. His body turned half way around itself as he persistently scratched his nose. Victory! I triumphantly marched inside the train and peacefully settled in a warm and cosy window seat. I was happy as can be until he sat on the seat right opposite me, his dirty boots boldly brushing my baggy white pants. I wouldn't just kill him, I would murder his entire freaking family. His eyes persistently locked to the ground and would not meet my eyes if I used a forklift.

A minute passed and the anger resided. I leaned my head onto the pleasantly cool glass and followed the moving scenery. I could feel him glance and move but no longer felt like wasting any more energy on him. Until his leg brushed onto my knees a second time. As his reflexes alerted him to lock his stare to the ground, my blood reached its boiling point. I noisily uncrossed my legs carelessly aiming at the space which should have corresponded to my seat's share of space. My heel hit him straight across the bone.


As he silenced his pain I uttered a cheerful:"Excuse me!"

He glanced at me. The hatred in my eyes could melt an iron

"Be careful, lady!"

"I did not realize your leg was in my space"

I smiled and looked out the window absent mindedly.

"Your space! What do you mean your space? This is a public place. You don't own any space!"

"And neither do you."

I smiled again and he was now furious.

"You just hit me!"

"I think I apologized. Didn't I? Something you neglected to do as you legs brushed mine twice in the last 3 minutes"

My loud sarcastic voice was successfully entertaining the whole wagon now. He painfully lifted himself and started walking to the other end of the wagon. Some people giggled softly.

"Bitch" he said in a low, passive, aggressive but clear voice.

BIO: Anna Maria Delinasiou is a Greek-American writer. .

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