Monday, May 5, 2014

Short Stories& Such 10: Not Your Average Bar Fight

As usual, I was just minding my own business at this Mexican bar down the street where I live. I was checking out the girls when a man the size of an ape approached me.

“What do ya think yur doin’?”

“I’m sorry. What do you mean?”

He grabbed me by the collar and lifted me off the stool. “Ya know what I mean. Ya have been eyeing me girl.”

“I don’t even know which one it would be --”

“Ya callin’ me a liar?”

Clearly, he had been drinking way too much liquor. His breath was a stench of axe and olives.

“If you will kindly let me down, I can explain myself.”

“Explain it out back runt.”

My knees buckled with each step toward the sandwiched alley with one exit out back. I began to perspire and my heart pulsed fast. I was sure this is what having your heart ripped out felt like. I wasn’t scared about duking it out, but because it wasn’t avoidable, and I would land in the hospital with my arm twisted backward.

“Well?” He placed his fists in front of his face and maneuvered them like a boxer dancing.

Think, think, think… “Uhhh, how about we settle this the old fashioned way?”

“What ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“You agree that fist fights are so old… and there is another way to settle any argument?”

His eyes looked around to the people gathered for the big event. “Yeah, like what?”

At least he was hearing me out.

“Like how about we settle this by having a race to see who makes it to the end first, wins.”

He stopped dancing and looked around again. A woman in an extra short glittery red dress, no straps and long legs held her hands in prayer, and nodded her head.

“Awright, you got yurself a deal.”

We had two barrels placed at the end of the alley and we made a runner’s stance at the other end. The bartender popped a bottle and we were off.
At first, I thought my idea was stupid because he was right next to me laughing. His eyes told me he still was going to beat me to a guacamole sauce. So, I mustered up the courage to run faster than he did, and when I passed the finish line, I didn’t bother to look back. I just kept going, but I came to a standstill about three blocks away. I turned, though I was safe from any danger, I veered to the left, and ran back to the bar.

I must have been crazy returning to face the big brute, but something inside me couldn’t let the image of his laughing face go.

When I got to the front door, my calves pulsed and sweat dripped down my forehead. I opened the door and spotted him in the midst of boasting about the race.

“So, yur back fur more?”

I marched toward him and punched him in the nose. He swung at me and I ducked. I grabbed the stool and lifted it to him. He got hold of it with his huge hands.

“Not bad fur a runt.” He gritted.

“Not bad for an ape.”

He let go and chuckled, then, bolstered a laugh my teeth ached.

Seeing his mood had changed, I lowered the stool and joined him.

Soon, everyone joined us, but I should have paid attention. A fist struck me across the face and I was down for hours.

The short story originally ended with him running away and never returning to the bar. But what’s fun is that drafts can be changed!

You can see the original post for January 31, 2012 at:

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