Jake Creamer
February 21st, 2014, 11:37 PM
Her eyes were grey-green like the ocean after a storm, and she smelled of jasmine.
She came to me from across the room, meaningless faces parting before her like subjectsparting before their queen. We danced, and she spoke to me in Afrikaans with a voice that sounded like the Lowveld. I drank in her presence, the dim lights and low murmur of voice and shuffling feet mere distractions at the periphery of consciousness.
I first became aware of him when his meaty hand clutched my shoulder. He used me as an anchor for an openhanded slap that caught her cheek along the jawline…her lips twisted into an “o” of astonishment and shock at the sudden pain, her A-line bob swinging back in compliance with Isaac’s third law. His growl was thick with Uitkyk, the words “hoer”, and “kont kop” striking her as hard or harder than his buffet.
I, of course, reacted.
I stepped sideways into him, my hip bumping him off balance, and removed his hand from my shoulder with enough torque to cause that loss of balance to escalate into a fall straight onto his coccyx. I don’t know if the pain of the fall was greater than the blow to his pride, but I did know that he wouldn’t let the moment end. I knew it, and I relished it. He scrambled to his feet. I had already forgotten her name.
He took a stance that looked like dambe to me, but he should have tried rough and tumble, not that it would have helped. He jabbed with his right, so I took his wrist, pivoted, and threw him again. He came to his feet amidst the ruin of a table.
He circled, sizing me up more carefully. He should have sized me up before he struck a woman in my presence. I heard voices, ignored them…watching him. His pupils dilated before he attempted to strike me again, thumb loose as he tried an uppercut. I broke it.
His eyes showed white all the way round, and he tried to kick me. I remember thinking maybe he had studied rough and tumble after all. It wasn’t that he was clumsy, he was quite agile. It wasn’t that he telegraphed his motions any more than any man would, he was quite cunning really. It just didn't matter how good he was, because this was my purpose for as long as I could remember. To be fair though, I can’t remember much.
I aborted his kick with a teep, and transitioned into a chasse…he caught it directly in the gut, and the wind left his body in a gust. I tired of the the dance, and as he sagged to his knees I slipped forward and hit him between the eyes. They crossed, and he crumpled like a dropped napkin. She intruded into my life again, rushing to his side, the red welt on her face almost as angry as I had been just moments before.
She rushed to his side, and I realized the game they had played. I cursed myself, my weakness, my inattention. I cursed her for making me a pawn in their lovers squabble, him for making me play my part. As I gathered my coat and hat, I cursed the fact that I was even at that place, a place I didn't belong. Where did I belong? I left with that feeling that comes after a dream where a crisis was solved, but then you can't remember the solution...and then a few minutes later, you can't even remember what the problem was.
That *is* how it happened, I think. My dreams are my memories. They swim up from the deep while I slumber, and their color is grey-green like the ocean after a storm. When I wake, jasmine is in the air.
She came to me from across the room, meaningless faces parting before her like subjectsparting before their queen. We danced, and she spoke to me in Afrikaans with a voice that sounded like the Lowveld. I drank in her presence, the dim lights and low murmur of voice and shuffling feet mere distractions at the periphery of consciousness.
I first became aware of him when his meaty hand clutched my shoulder. He used me as an anchor for an openhanded slap that caught her cheek along the jawline…her lips twisted into an “o” of astonishment and shock at the sudden pain, her A-line bob swinging back in compliance with Isaac’s third law. His growl was thick with Uitkyk, the words “hoer”, and “kont kop” striking her as hard or harder than his buffet.
I, of course, reacted.
I stepped sideways into him, my hip bumping him off balance, and removed his hand from my shoulder with enough torque to cause that loss of balance to escalate into a fall straight onto his coccyx. I don’t know if the pain of the fall was greater than the blow to his pride, but I did know that he wouldn’t let the moment end. I knew it, and I relished it. He scrambled to his feet. I had already forgotten her name.
He took a stance that looked like dambe to me, but he should have tried rough and tumble, not that it would have helped. He jabbed with his right, so I took his wrist, pivoted, and threw him again. He came to his feet amidst the ruin of a table.
He circled, sizing me up more carefully. He should have sized me up before he struck a woman in my presence. I heard voices, ignored them…watching him. His pupils dilated before he attempted to strike me again, thumb loose as he tried an uppercut. I broke it.
His eyes showed white all the way round, and he tried to kick me. I remember thinking maybe he had studied rough and tumble after all. It wasn’t that he was clumsy, he was quite agile. It wasn’t that he telegraphed his motions any more than any man would, he was quite cunning really. It just didn't matter how good he was, because this was my purpose for as long as I could remember. To be fair though, I can’t remember much.
I aborted his kick with a teep, and transitioned into a chasse…he caught it directly in the gut, and the wind left his body in a gust. I tired of the the dance, and as he sagged to his knees I slipped forward and hit him between the eyes. They crossed, and he crumpled like a dropped napkin. She intruded into my life again, rushing to his side, the red welt on her face almost as angry as I had been just moments before.
She rushed to his side, and I realized the game they had played. I cursed myself, my weakness, my inattention. I cursed her for making me a pawn in their lovers squabble, him for making me play my part. As I gathered my coat and hat, I cursed the fact that I was even at that place, a place I didn't belong. Where did I belong? I left with that feeling that comes after a dream where a crisis was solved, but then you can't remember the solution...and then a few minutes later, you can't even remember what the problem was.
That *is* how it happened, I think. My dreams are my memories. They swim up from the deep while I slumber, and their color is grey-green like the ocean after a storm. When I wake, jasmine is in the air.