Across the aisle, a woman sat absorbed in her phone. Earphones in, nails tapping against the screen. She didn’t look up, didn’t flinch. Didn’t notice. The boy kicked again—twice in quick succession. Daniel turned back around. Maybe it would stop on its own.
Maybe it was just restlessness. The train hadn’t even cleared the Boston suburbs yet. He didn’t want to overreact. Not yet. He stared at the back of the seat in front of him, trying to refocus. But his muscles had already tensed. Every fiber of calm he had cultivated was now alert, bracing for the next impact. It came. Of course it did.
He removed one earbud and turned halfway in his seat. “Hey there, buddy,” he said, his voice measured and light. “Could you maybe try not to kick the seat? Just makes it a little hard to relax, is all.” The boy blinked at him. No response. Just a vague look of amusement, like he was being addressed by a cartoon character.
Daniel smiled—barely—and turned back around. For about thirty seconds, everything was still. Then another kick. Harder. And another. He closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. “Of course.” Daniel tried to let it go. He really did.