"Not interested, sorry," Yuki Takamori said haughtily to the short, stocky and balding, thirty-something white guy who sat next to her on the bus. For the past half hour, since she boarded the 95 bus heading to Barrhaven Center, he'd been trying to get her attention. Once Yuki made the mistake of actually responding to him, the guy engaged her in increasingly flirtatious small talk, much to her discomfort. Sighing, the guy shrugged while Yuki went back to listening to music on her iPhone.
"You slant-eyed bitch, you are not all that," Baldy said angrily, rising to his feet as the bus neared Queen's Way station. Yuki looked up from her phone, having heard the bozo's angry missive, and first blinked in surprise, and then shrugged. This wasn't the first time that she'd met a racist creep who didn't like hearing the word no, and it most definitely wouldn't be the last.
Even though Yuki outwardly kept her cool, Baldy's words her to her core. Born in London, Ontario, to a Japanese immigrant father, Alexander Takamori, and a French-Canadian mother, Mina Picard, Yuki Takamori was used to being the odd woman out. That's why she came to study engineering at the racially diverse campus of Carleton University in Ottawa. Yuki had been dying to get away from London, the conservative, uptight and deeply racist small town where she grew up...
Somehow, Yuki Takamori expected things to be different in the big city. Since Ottawa was full of Africans, Arabs, Latinos, Aboriginals, Asians and other minority groups, Yuki expected it to be more tolerant, but she was dead wrong. The other passengers on the OC Transpo bus looked at her, and said absolutely nothing. Racist creeps hurl hurtful words at minority women and the locals do nothing about it. Welcome to the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Home of the world's most passive-aggressive creeps..
"Dude, that was definitely not cool, apologize to the lady or I'll knock your pale ass out," said a booming voice, and Yuki turned to seek out its source. Standing at least six feet three inches tall, broad-shouldered, muscular and black as midnight, a young black man wearing a University of Ottawa letterman Men's Swim Team jacket walked up to the balding white dude, who flinched and took a step back.
"Mind your own business, bro, this isn't about you," Baldy said, and everyone on the bus looked on as he backed up while the young black man advanced on him slowly. Several people muttered among themselves, while more than a few took out their cellphones. Yuki rose to her feet, and watched as the creep went to the bus driver, who gestured for the young black man to come up to him.
"Sir, this young man right here is threatening me," Baldly said to the OC Transpo bus driver, a middle-aged white man with a goatee. The bus driver looked at the young black man and shook his head, and the young man shrugged resignedly. Before he could speak, Yuki Takamori made her way to the front of the bus, got between the men, and spoke her piece.
"Sir, this sorry excuse of a man right here has been harassing me for the past half hour, and when I told him off he called me a racial slur, this brave young man here spoke up to defend me," Yuki said, and she saw a look of surprise on the young black man's face. The bus driver looked at Yuki, then at Baldy, and fixed his gaze on the young black man. For a moment, the driver said nothing and stroked his goateed chin.
"Young man, we don't allow intimidation of any sort on OC Transpo buses, you are going to have to leave, right now, or I swear I will stop this goddamn bus and then call security," the bus driver said sharply, and upon hearing that, Baldy smirked victoriously. The bus driver actually bumped fists with the bald-headed white male passenger, who blew Yuki a kiss before returning to his seat.
Yuki froze, stunned by the bus driver's words as well as his blatant bias. She looked back at the throngs of OC Transpo passengers, mostly white, with a few minorities here and there, who sat there and watched the incident. Clearly they'd seen the whole thing and knew Baldy was lying, but none of them would speak up. And why should they?
"Well, if he has to leave then I'm leaving too, and you will be hearing from me, you racist creeps," Yuki said, and the young black man looked at her, and smiled faintly. As the bus reached Iris Station, he got off, and so did she. Outside, it was burning hot, another scorching Wednesday in mid-June in the City of Ottawa. Yuki stood there, and watched the bus go in the distance.
"Ma'am, I'm really sorry about that, this bozo had no right to speak to you like that," the young black man said to her, and Yuki nodded, then casually looked him up and down. On his University of Ottawa sportsman's jacket she could read the rather unique name Ayalew. Smiling faintly at her savior, Yuki held out her hand, and introduced herself.
"I'm Ismail Ayalew of Ethiopia," he replied, and shook her hand vigorously. Yuki looked into Ismail's bronze-colored eyes, which contrasted sharply against his dark skin. A not-unpleasant shiver ran down Yuki's spine, and she nodded graciously, like her Japanese father had taught her during their frequent talks about the differences between Eastern and Western cultures.
