fisticuffs i

Drunken idiot attacks me at Wobblers.

It’s a Thursday night and the place is pretty crowded. Most people came here after A-bar was raided for being too nondescript.

This guy is a huge upperclassman.

He pushes my shoulder. He shoves me backwards.

His eyes, wide beneath furrowed brows, are what I’m most uncomfortable with. That and the message they send. 

His pupils are dilated.

These are dead eyes. I could shine a light right through them.

I’m pretty sure I don’t know him. 

He has made a mistake. It isn’t worth the effort. 

I keep my head down.

“What the fuck you are doing here?” he asks, demands, definitely to me.

Wonder who he thinks I am.

Pretend he isn’t talking to me. I don’t notice. Can’t hear.

I’m heading from the bathroom towards the door, anyway.

Any way.

I sort of try to keep going. But I can hear his voice.

Quick eyes.

Survey the area.

Check to see how many,

if any,

are watching.

"You’ve got some balls."

I hear him.

Pretend I don’t.

Try to draw as little attention as possible from the oblivious bystanders.

Drinking

talking

standing

Feel his arm on my shoulder. Right arm on right shoulder.

"I’m fucking talking to you."

React. Turn fluid. Let jack out of the box.

I turn my head slowly and readjust my left foot as I step, foot still in air. . Forty five degree angle, stepping into and towards. Moving outside him. His left hand blocked momentarily by his own body. I grab his wrist from my shoulder. And keep my weight up. Almost behind him now I drop my weight with my left arm. It escapes through my palm against his arm. Just slightly above the elbow joint. Pressure from both arms in a direction his doesn’t want to go. Release when I’m pretty sure it breaks.

It’s sudden like a flinch.

A blink.

I’ve completely circumvented him.

The guy sinks down,

collapsing in

on himself.

And I keep moving. Stepping over him in a step or two and I’ve never once stopped forward motion. Squeeze through the passage way left by the standing people crowded near the bar. Along the wall. I twist my body, never changing the purposeful momentum through the openings as it ebb and flows with the song on the jukebox.

Push through.

Emerge.

Escape.

Outside, on the street, I light a cigarette and walk in what I think is the direction of campus.

Feel unnerved. Recognize the distinct feeling of being watched. Not at this moment, but earlier in the bar. Someone must have seen. 

observed. 

saw.