Amsterdam, The Netherlands. April 18 2016

My name is Kelly van de Riet, and I work at a shop in Schiphol Airport. I take the Intercity train to and from my job five days a week. One of the things I enjoy about this routine is watching the people on the trains. There are so many tourists and locals all together, a constant flow of different lives and stories. Today was no different.

I went to work this morning, had a beautiful day, and at 5:30, my shift was over. The workday was a blur of tourists and their questions, but the evening was mine. I picked up my purse and things and went to the train. The train leaves for Amsterdam Centraal once every 10 minutes, a reliable rhythm in a chaotic world. On my way to the train, I stopped at McDonald's and got a hamburger, the smell of fast food a comfort after a long day. I was downstairs at the train station by 6 p.m., where I sat and waited for the next train to arrive. It was a hectic scene on the platform. There was a lot to see.

Mostly, it was tourists with suitcases, their faces a mix of excitement and exhaustion. There were also some backpackers, their heavy bags a symbol of their freedom. And a woman with a little boy in a stroller. The mother was about 25 or so, and the toddler was about three years old. He was a sweet boy, with round cheeks and a mop of brown hair, charming in his little blue jeans and a tiny sweater. I noticed the mother's bag; it was a very bright color, an Oilily bag, a burst of red, orange, and yellow that made me smile. The child had a stuffed bunny in his hands, its floppy ears and button eyes a silent comfort. The stroller was small and gray; there was no umbrella, and the mother had a few shopping bags hanging on the handles.

The train arrived on time, a sleek, silver bullet that hissed to a stop. Everyone climbed into the car, and it was packed. There was little room for sitting down. So I found a place to stand where I could see the door, a small island of calm in the chaos. I noticed a woman sitting in a chair across from the entrance. She was dirty, looking like a junkie. We have many junkies in Amsterdam, and this one was no different. She was moving a lot and seemed very nervous, her eyes darting around the train. I thought she might be on drugs. She had stringy blonde hair and was maybe 20 years old. She wore blue jeans and a black t-shirt with the word "LOSER" in white letters. Her shoes were untied, and she had a plastic bag from the Lidl with a few items in it.

I heard a mobile ringing and looked to see the mother with her toddler answering her phone. The child was pointing out the window, his voice a soft, excited babble. I picked up my phone and was checking Facebook when I heard screaming. It was a sharp, high-pitched shriek that cut through the noise of the train. I looked up, and the junkie was yelling something angry, her face twisted in a snarl. Then she reached into the stroller and, with a violent motion, grabbed the child. She was very forceful, pulling at the safety belt and trying to get the child out of the stroller.

That is when the absolute chaos happened. The mother began to scream, "Let go of my baby!" and the baby was screaming and crying. I saw him drop his stuffed bunny, a small, pathetic little thing on the floor of the train. Two men on the train, one in a suit and tie and the other a backpacker, jumped up and grabbed the junkie. The backpacker, a tall, lanky man with a beard, grabbed her by the arm, and the man in the suit, a short, balding man with a briefcase, grabbed her by the shoulders.

She started to fight with them, kicking and screaming. There was a lot of commotion on the train as people tried to get away from the fight. The sound of their struggle was a brutal, ugly sound. I looked to see the mother and the child. The mother was now holding the baby in her arms, and they were both crying, their bodies shaking with fear. The two men seemed to have subdued the junkie who tried to take the child. She looked baffled and afraid, her eyes wide with a cold confusion. I think she didn't know what she did. Maybe she was sick or on drugs. I don't know. The mother, a fierce look on her face, pushed the men away. She reached for her child, her hands trembling. Her child couldn't understand what was going on, could not intuit what was going on. Some children can do that, you know.

When the train stopped at Amsterdam Centraal, the police were already waiting on the platform. I gave them my phone number, told them I had seen what had happened, and then, a feeling of utter exhaustion washing over me, I went home.

Sincerely,

Kelly van de Riet