Chapter 4--Part 3

When the door slammed shut, the girls surrounded me, petting me and fussing over me like a boxer’s trainers after a tough round. I was shaking from being so mad. Val, for once, showed she had some brains and ordered me a fresh Coors. People started talking and dancing again now that the show was over.

“Nadine, you shouldn’t get Wayne mad like that. You know what a temper he has,” B.J. advised. “Besides, do you think making him mad will get him to send you a child support check anytime soon?”

“Yeah? Well, he’s gonna see more of my temper if he tries coming around here anymore. And I’ll kick his tight ass all the way to court, if I have to.”

The rest of the night flew by. It took me about two more beers to calm myself down, but after I stopped shaking from being so mad, I was okay. We danced and talked and had a great old time. Around 2:45 a.m., old Silent Sid mumbled something that sounded like “last call” and unplugged the jukebox. He knew we’d keep dancing all night if he let us. Since it was a weeknight, most of the regulars had taken off long ago.

Val, B.J., and I started to leave together, but I realized I wasn’t gonna make it home without pissing myself if I didn’t take a leak. They went on ahead, and I tottered back to the ancient, grimy hellhole that passes for a john in that place. It’s pretty hard walking when you’re trying to keep your legs crossed, so you don’t dribble. I got in there and the stench crossed my eyes, too. If I hadn’t been really desperate, I’d definitely have waited until I got home.

After the pause that refreshes, I was ready to go. I waved and blew a kiss to Sid on my way out. He was mopping down the bar and acknowledged my goodnight with a slight nod of his head. He didn’t even look at me. Although, maybe he did. I never could tell where those wall eyes were looking.

The little parking lot was empty except for my heap. The whole street was empty. This town isn’t like Chicago or some city. They pretty much roll up the streets at 10, and here it was 3 a.m. I’d been up since whenever the hell it was that Tris woke me, and I was starting to feel it. Between the beers and the fatigue, I guess I just wasn’t as sharp as usual because I didn’t know anyone was behind me until his one arm was clamped under my chin, pressing into my neck and cutting off my wind, and his other hand was over my nose and mouth. I struggled against him, flailing my arms around, kicking backward, but not connecting with anything. My damn tennis shoes wouldn’t have hurt him even if I coulda found his instep. I tried to scream and bite at the hand, but it was too tight across my mouth.

I caught a whiff of whiskey, as he muttered something like, “ . . . shut your big, fuckin’ mouth . . .break your goddam neck . . . .” I tried to figure out the voice, but he was just hissing through his teeth.

I thought of Tris and Sandee waking up and not finding me there. Never seeing me again. Me never seeing them again! I struggled even harder. I jabbed my car keys over my shoulder at where his face should be.

The pressure on my throat was getting worse. It felt like my eyes and ears would burst right in my head. I could feel myself blacking out. Through the roaring in my ears I heard far away sounds like a squeaking door and breaking glass. I was shoved roughly into the side of my car; my face hit the driver’s side and I bounced off and fell on the gravel. Before I blacked out completely, I heard footsteps running away.

I came to, I don’t know how much later. My palms and knees were scraped raw where I’d landed on them after bouncing off the car. My face ached. My throat felt like it’d been run over by a tank. Every muscle in my body ached, and I was shaking like someone with a fatal fever.

I looked back at The Port O’ Call. No one was there. The windows were dark, the shades drawn, the neon lights off. Trying not to cry out, I grabbed the door handle of the car and painfully pulled myself up. I glanced around to see if I saw anyone, but all I spotted was a broken beer bottle, its pieces lying near where I’d been down. A great wave of nausea washed over me, and I spilled my guts all over the pieces of glass. Damn, did that hurt!

I got into the car and locked the doors after me. I whimpered a little when I touched the steering wheel with my raw hands. Somehow I managed to get home, get myself cleaned up and calmed down some. I avoid looking in the bathroom mirror, took a handful of aspirin, and made a makeshift icepack for myself out of a Zipperlock Baggie. I could hardly bear to hold it against my face or neck. I threw an afghan over Sandee, who, just as I predicted, was stretched out sound asleep on the couch, snoring and sounding for all the world like a freight train.
I crawled into my own bed, and, even though I’m not a praying woman, prayed to God—whoever He or She is—that Tris and Sandee would sleep in, in the morning.