Just one more," he said. "We'll go home then."
I gazed out of the large window on the fifth floor at storm clouds hanging low across the horizon. The sea continued pounding the rocks with increasing intensity. One more drink. One more party. One more argument. And I was exhausted by his empty promises, his drain on my bank account and energy. For hours, I'd inhaled second hand smoke while my retinas endured assault from strobe lighting and fog lights.
"I'm going home," I placed my glass on the table.
"Come on, babe. Don't be like that."
"You stay John, but I'm leaving."
As I exited the building, a disorderly straggle of boisterous couples disappeared around the corner and headed towards the beach. In a few minutes the area became deserted. I breathed deeply, welcoming the fresh air, then I walked towards Scott Street.
I just wanted to go home, have something to eat and lie down. My feet hurt because I'd worn heels instead of flats and my last snack was a mini spring roll at the party. I was finished with another crappy boyfriend, another crappy night.
I paused on the corner at a row of shops. Cobwebs laced across the dust covered items inside. The entire block showed signs of neglect and disuse. A stray dog circled the rubbish bin, sniffing. The cat perched on the rim, delivered a territorial hiss. Newspapers and unopened letters strewn in the doorways were of more use to the homeless.
The shadow in the doorway ahead morphed into a human. He stepped out, startling me.
"Your bag," he gestured, jabbing a small, serrated knife in my direction.
"Really?" I peered at the youth dancing from one leg to the other to music I couldn't hear. Knees poked through the frayed jeans and from the acne and sprouting whiskers. I judged his age as late teens.
"Give. Me. Your. Bag." He switched the knife to his other hand and poked it at me.
"Piss off," I said. "Go bother someone else."
He twisted his cap so it sat backwards on his head, then stepped back and forth in a patterned square. I resisted the temptation to add body percussion to the dance steps.
"What are you doing?" John said, hanging out of the window of his car on the opposite side of the street "Give him your bag."
"What the hell? Have you been following me?" I hadn't heard him arrive. Worse, I hadn't noticed him behind me. What a jerk!
"Give him your bag," John repeated.
The youth had added more steps to his jerky dance. He looked like a drunk prize fighter. When he added a couple of gun twirls with the knife it became absurd. I wanted to laugh, but this idiot was preventing me from going home.
He turned his cap back around again. An anxious gesture.
I wondered if he was a drug addict or an opportunist.
"Lady, if you don't give me your bag now, I'll stick you with this knife."
"You've got to be kidding."
I stepped forward, and his dancing came to an abrupt stop and he leaned back.
Two doors behind the youth, another stepped out. He anchored himself in a wide stance, crossed his arms over his chest and glared with as much menace as a disgruntled ten-year-old.
"Oh, wonderful, 'I muttered. 'Backup.'
"You want to re-think that, lady?" said youth number two.
"For goodness sake, woman," said John.
"Give him your bag."
I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration and sighed.
I was annoyed, irritated and fed up and had neither the desire nor inclination to obey his demand.
"You want my bag?" I removed it from my arm.
"You. Want. My. Bag?" I repeated, and with rising anger, stepped closer.
Both youths jumped back. I turned and glared at John.
He stayed in the car.
'What the hell are you doing?' John said.
"Right. Enough." I said.
I opened my bag, took out my handkerchief, wiped my nose, then upended the entire contents of the bag onto the pavement. All in slow motion.
The contents clanged against the concrete with surprising volume. I gave the empty bag a final shake then threw it at the youths. It plopped at their feet. They stared, eyes switching from the bag and me to the items strewn at my feet.
Lifesaver wrappers and old shopping lists fluttered amongst my comb, tampons, eyedrops, pens, pencils, hand cream, wallet and coin purse.
The few remaining coins scattered in opposite directions as the lipstick rolled unhurriedly into the gutter.
"There. Have my bag."
I remained standing, defiant. Hands on hips. "I'm not in the mood to be robbed tonight."
Both youths stood rigid, dropped jaws, wide eyed. This was not part of their plan.
"Lady you are crazy!" uttered the knife-wielding youth as they both turned and ran. I hoped the experience would deter them from future criminal pursuits.
"Get in the car," John demanded as I picked up my bits and pieces from the pavement.
"You followed me. You stood there and watched me and did nothing."
"He had a knife!"
Thunder rumbled overhead and a streak of lightning followed a few seconds later.
"What the hell were you thinking?" He fastened the seat belt and turned the ignition. "Anything could have happened. Now, get in the car. Let's go babe."
"No. I think not."
I turned and walked in the opposite direction.
With the sea breeze picking up, I felt lighter with every step.
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