I adjusted my hood, trying to hide my hair, which was already quite thin and faded after another course of chemotherapy. The metro was crowded, and I managed to sit by the door. I felt exhausted, my body ached, every breath was difficult.
A woman of about sixty stood next to me with a little boy of about six. He immediately took the empty seat, and the woman, sighing heavily, turned to me:
– Young lady, please give up your seat. It’s hard for me to stand.
I raised my head slightly, my strength was running out.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I said quietly, lowering my gaze, “let your grandson give in to you.”
She frowned and raised her voice:
– How can you not? You are young! Where is your respect? My boy is a child, and you are simply an outrage! Look at how she behaves!
People around began to pay attention, some also began to grumble.
Then I decided to do something, after which the woman looked at me with horror, then apologized and got off at a stop that wasn’t even hers. Continued
I slowly pulled my hood back, revealing my bald head, and said with bitterness in my voice:
— I have cancer. I just finished chemotherapy. That’s why I can’t get up. I’m not asking for understanding, but I do ask you to at least not yell at me.
The woman froze. Silence hung for a minute.
Some people looked at me differently – not with condemnation, but with pity and, perhaps, with respect.
I put my hood back on, trying to hide myself from prying eyes.
In the subway, among ordinary, indifferent faces, I felt both very lonely and incredibly strong. Tell me, did I do the right thing? It really hurt, but I respect my elders.
