Bar Blitz

Kira, a teenage girl, runs into a woman she doesn't agree with at a bar.

 

            It was around one in the morning, too late to be out for any legitimate reasons. And according to the calendar, it was a school night. I should have been in bed, having that dream where you walk around school naked, searching for a final only to realize you have no idea who the teacher is.

            “How many of those have you had?” Someone- female- asked me.

            “You’re not my mother!” I yelled. Not that she cared.

            She put both hands up- surrender. “I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t care.”

            Originally, I aimed to hit her lightly, in the face with my punch. But she ducked and missed my punch.

            It made me even more furious.

            I tried with a kick- a roundhouse, starting from the back and arching its way to her face. Even though I knew more effective kicks, that was the best one at blowing off steam in my experience.

            She blocked my kick with another kick.

            “Wanna fight?” I asked.

            “No,” she replied.

            I’d have to show her.

            I dropped my kick and took a few steps back, into the dance floor that was unused at that hour, when they couldn’t find a band to play.

            She followed. I guessed she just wanted to lecture me on improper alcohol use and try to get me back to bed. Not that she didn’t belong in the exact same place. She was older, and she was probably trying to convince her, to massage her own tiny, gin-soaked ego that she was better than me. But not in a fight.

            I punched her, again. This time she blocked, but my fist grazed her cheek.

            “If you were in combat,” I told her. “You’d be dead.”

            She reached over for my arm, probably trying for a hyper-extension or an arm block or anything else that would keep my arm away from her, without really hurting me. I landed my second punch, right against her left check.

            “Blind spot,” I told her.

            She’d had it with me and wound up for a side kick. I blocked it by putting my left leg out and used my right leg to kick her ribs. She winced, but there was no crack. I hadn’t broken anything, just like I meant to.

            I aimed another punch at her nose. Upon impact, it was bleeding furiously.

            She bent over and put her hand over her nose.

            “First blood,” she commented. “You win.”

            I checked the clock. About three minutes had passed since the fight started.

            “You’re leaving, right?” I asked. “No one ever stays that long after they find out I can beat them up.”

            “Eric did.”

            Eric- my ex-boyfriend. There were a lot of guys with that name, but it as far I could remember, he was the only guy I made friends with through a fight.

            “You know Eric?” I asked.

            “I know a lot more than you’d think.”

            Part of me surrendered.