So, there I was, squatting down behind my car, watching for signs of Mark, the letch/wanna be rapist* …when I felt the WORST cramp in my calf! And no ordinary TWINGE! This pain cut sideways into the bone!
DAMMIT to dog bane…
Finally, the level NINE assault on my right gam was UNBEARABLE, and I involuntarily shot upward into the night air. I limped away from my Volkswagen toward the refuge of several pine trees a few feet away – when I heard:
“What the fuck’re you doing? Playing hide and seek, stupid bitch?” Mark SCREAMED in an onslaught of Kentucky twang, a new shade of tones in his voice. He stood, hands on his hips, on my front porch.
Stymied by his hostility, I struggled to think of a reply as Mark sailed down the two dozen steps at top speed from my porch to the street.
“Sorry, Mark, I…it was just uh, joke-” I sputtered.
“Well, it wasn’t fucking funny to stand me up in your own goddamned living room, you goddamned cunt!”
I lurched toward him. My bone-headed temper always flares a the C-WORD. And forgetting he could splinter my bones with his thumb, much less what he could do with his bionic biceps, I stammered, “Look, you brainless piece of shit, keep talking about me like that, and you’ll be wearing your dick as BOW TIE!”
My face flushing RED HOT, watching his hulking frame hurling toward me as I quickly reversed directions, slinking awkwardly backward. And remember, this was in the late 80s…no cell phones to ring up the men in BLUE!
“Is that so?” he barked, his gait slowing to a stroll, braking beside his truck. Without a word, he unlocked the driver’s side door.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” I stammered, feeling rather unnerved by his sudden calmness. Seeing his flattened glare in the glow of the streetlight created spasms along my spine, and I shivered, wondering what he was fumbling for inside his truck. “Why don’t we just call it a night, okay?”
“Yeah, let’s,” he said, popping back up with a GUN! A large pistol, a mini canon of sorts.
“Mark! What the hell’re you doing?” I shrieked, my feet stolidly still.
“Teaching you a lesson, little bitch!” he said, cocking the gun.
I turned around and charged toward the cluster of pines just as he FIRED, my right foot tripping over the left, stiffened by my lower leg now knitting itself into a ball of sharp pangs again. I landed sideways in a haze of green needles and sap with a WHOOSH and a grunt.
He laughed at my lack of grace, treading HEAVILY in my direction. “Where ya goin’, sweetheart? We ain’t done yet.”
My breath a hard lump in my chest, I rolled up onto my knees, watching him leering toward me. Then, when he was an inch from the throng of trees, I took off in a crouching run along a row of bushes as the second bullet went ZINGING over my head. “Jesus, H, Mark! What the fuck is wrong with you? You really wanna go to jail?”
Again, he chuckled. I turned left beside a small brick house, willing my marbled leg to unfurl and propel me FORWARD to the backyard where Mark couldn’t see me for a few seconds where maybe, just maybe I could find some kind of shelter. I peered into the gloom and saw a shed in the corner. I pressed on, my meaty limb still taut but slightly more supple.
I slid behind the shed and stood there BREATHING, trying to sway my lungs and heart to slow down. Rustling leaves preceded Mark’s loud sing-songy whisper, “Come on out, sorority Sue. I gotta kiss goodnight for you…” …followed by a hound dog-ish giggle.
WTF? I was NOT a sorority girl!
Beyond rattled, I peeked around the corner of the shed. Mark stood in the side yard of a brick house next door, gun to his side, stalking toward the street.
“Come here, you little pussy! If I can find rag-heads in the sewers of Lebanon, I can find your ugly ass, let me tell ya!” he croaked, a little louder.
I looked left. Miraculously, I saw a LIGHT. I haphazardly hobbled toward the warm glow in a small window in the back of the house at the end of the road where Mrs. Simon, a daffy old crone, lived.
I crept away from the shed, heading for the light. Staggering sideways, praying Mark had given up the chase, he spotted me in front of blue house next to Mrs. Simon’s, a mere 10 feet from Mrs. Simon’s porch.
“There you are, pumpkin,” Mark said sweetly from the street where he stood by an old Buick, “I was beginning to worry,” he laughed.
I dropped down to my knees to avoid the flock of bullets I expected to jet my way when I spied several mid-sized stones that looked to weigh around two pounds encircling a line of azaleas, not a foot away. I half-crawled to the azaleas and grabbed one of the rocks.
Meanwhile, Mark was swaggering up the sloping wide lawn in front of the blue house, gun trained ON ME.
I rushed to the side of the blue house. Standing upright, hugging the wall, I leaned back, then stepped out far enough to see Mark, and LOBBED that rock at my predator as hard as I could. It hit Mark in the gut. He buckled to his knees moaning. His arms cuddled his waist for a moment, then he flopped gently onto his back, with a groaning, “Fuck n, A!”
I took OFF for Mrs. Simon’s little white house. When I FINALLY plopped down on her porch with rubbery legs, my breath still punched in and out of my lungs in a hard rhythm.
I banged on the screen door, my eyes cutting to Mark, sitting up, holding his middle with both arms. His gun appeared to be lying on the ground next to him.
I gasped seeing the porch light blaze across me when the screen door opened. Mrs. Simon appeared. She looked no less than 400 years old. She had pink spongy curlers in her stark white hair and grooves so deep under her eyes, her face had the appearance of a fleshy skeleton
“Kennedy, is that you? What are-?”
“That guy! He’s got a gun!” I said breathlessly, pointing toward the barren area where Mark had been.
“What?” she asked, obviously confused.
“Mark, my date,” I sputtered, “He had a gun! I swear!”
She looked past me. “What are you doing, there in my yard at this hour?!” Mrs. Simon squawked.
There was Mark slumped against a tree. I couldn’t locate the gun in the darkness until…he raised the barrel, and…
“Is that a gun? Oh, my God!” Mrs. Simon shrieked ushering me inside, tugging at my arm with her bony hand.
“Get down!” We both rushed into the house swooping down behind an armchair when a bullet came CRASHING through her front window
“Oh, my God, will he pay for that?” she whispered.
“Shhh…” I said… I slowly inched up close enough to peer over the window sill at Mark when I saw him trudging toward his truck. He opened the passenger door, squatted down, then…
“Dammit to hell!” Mark blustered, tossing his pistol onto the seat and stomping over to the driver’s side.
“What’s he doing?” she whispered.
I shook my head and said, “Shh…” YES! He slipped into the front seat and drove away, tires squealing. “He ran out of ammo,” I said laughing.
“No more bullets, I’ll bet, so he left. Thank you, God!” I sputtered smiling. Feeling rather jelly-kneed and hollow, I collapsed into the armchair, displacing a rather agitated black cat…
“Oh, I see. That’s good. Will he be back?”
“I don’t know.” I took a deep breath, catching my first whiff of the excruciatingly foul stench of…
(to be continued… :))
OVER and OUT from a tad more mellow crazytown…
*See Blog Post #38 – THE GREAT ESCAPE for the 411 on Mark.
** Again, see Blog Post #38 RE: my friend, Anna…