The screams split the moonlit peace, and it continued, getting louder each time.
He shook behind the wheel, unable to move. He begged the screams to stop, with absolutely no faith in his supplications. They continued to kick and punch her, he expected her to die shortly. At least then he could drive off in peace and deal with his conscience later. But his fingers still refused to turn the ignition, fear tore at moral obligation, neither backing off. And he continued to gaze and feel impotent. He couldn’t believe it, surely a busy side street in the heart of the city had to hold more than just him, even around midnight. He guessed the answer and cursed their self-centered aspirations, he felt better. He was not the only one. He hated his pointless professionalism that had driven him to another late night; and this.
He knew her, he had seen her before; many times. Perhaps smiles alone were insufficient to build a strong case for knowing someone. The comfort did not last long and it was no ordinary smile. It was the type that made one ponder, longer than was necessary. And he had pondered, long enough to polish his shoes and iron his tie every day, he didn’t know where she worked and he didn’t care. The journey to a smile was an adventure, and he was happy to stick to that distance. She just surfaced at lunch time; a pleasant apparition designed to inflict pleasure on the world. Heads turned, but it was something else. Not the usual sex on heels type bimbo bent on perverse self-absorption, the kind that saturated his purposeless lunch hour walks. He had figured out what it was finally, innocence; the kind that was supposed to be scarce or worse still, endangered. She walked with elegance and effortless poise, her legs jealously guarded down to her knees and a neckline that was high enough to disadvantage even the most ambitious pervert. Flat comfortable shoes obviously provided her assurance with her balance. But he found sensuality seep from her conservative dress code and her disguised figure. The smile was a gift that enkindled and rekindled those ancient ties that were supposed to bind humanity together, which he had given up on; a long time ago. Her skin sparkled despite the seasons, uncorrupted by anything artificial, he could see. But he thought she smiled extra sweetly at him, and he relented enough to allow for his dreams, dreams that never threatened his unshapely wife and their unborn child.
The screams were dying out; there were shrieks of triumph and high fives as the psychos marked their progress in broad street light. He was shaking still and glued still to the sickness before him, but it was rage that shook him now. He had a dim awareness of unlocking the door and leaping out in to the balmy morning air. The steering wheel lock that cut in to his palm fetched him from his trance, but the car was out of his reach. His stomach turned as he willed ahead, in to a nightmare that had suddenly come true.
“What the …!”
A smear that turned towards him half screamed.
He saw more faces, undefined puddles of sweat mottled with the frustration of unfinished business, still panting for release. He felt his arms raise and the relief as they came down. He saw a skull crack open, blood squirted deliciously into his face, and he did not even remember what the face looked like. Confidence latched on to him with a rare urgency. A scraggy mess with a nose ring and blood shot eyes; obscured partly by locks of filthy hair shifted in to focus, fear clearly stamped on it. He could feel his arms swing again, the steering wheel lock feeling shockingly light, and he heard an ecstatic exclamation as it landed across the vicinity of the punk’s ear. He heard another yell of victory as he saw the bloody hollow that it left as the body thudded to the ground. He suddenly recognized his own voice; inspired by adrenalin. He began to swing his improvised club around with crude urgency and undirected aim. Blood blinded him, but he did not care, confidence cushioned him in a bizarre peace. He did not even sense two scrambling for their lives or the third that snuck behind him. He felt his knees cave in as he crashed on to the pavement beside the girl; he sensed his head releasing tonnes of liquid. Then he saw it; her face, battered but recognizable, but…he didn’t recognize her. With a wry sigh he gave up his consciousness.
The spring sun warmed him and made him comfortable. The crutches felt familiar under his armpits, he worried whether he would miss them and was amused by his worry. He was inching forward with purpose as the purposeless lunch time masses streamed through him; leaving him alone as if out of respect. He felt time eat in to his break, but he was not ready to head back. Heroes received sympathy and certain privileges such as extended lunch breaks, he had not abused it often. But everything had limits, he turned back feeling empty and bumped straight in to her. She looked sweeter than ever, her face still glowing, still unblemished.
Her shy “Hi” exploded in his ears, he partly read her lips. He smiled back, content.
He wanted to tell her, but couldn’t.
copyright @ 2013 Jude Perera