The Pseudo-Chronicles of Mark Huntley

Keeping Out of Trouble - 10/29/04

Friday, October 29, 2004

This is a funny story. Well, not funny, exactly, considering the circumstances. But in the other sense. As John Mellencamp would say, "Life is funny, but I don't mean ha-ha." Oh, if the Cougar only knew the half of it.

I went out around noon into the dark day to pick up some lunch from a sandwich shop some blocks from my apartment. Best club sandwiches around—they don't skimp on the bacon. Right now I need to focus on things like bacon when I can, because… bacon is anti-aura. Anti-purples, anti-silvers. It’s real, it’s grounded, it’s food, it has nothing to do with the Apocalypse. Bacon is sane.

I went alone; Rence was still sleeping, and Naomi prefers veggies from the place on the corner rather than indulging in these flights of meatish fancy. 

As I walked back with my club'wich swinging in a plastic bag at my side, I heard shouting across the street. I looked over and saw a couple standing there on the sidewalk, having it out. The girl was young, the guy a good eight or nine years on her, which would put him into sketchy territory if they were dating. His face was almost purple… the normal kind… and he was waving his arms around. She was just holding her ground and screeching at him.

I was about to turn away, shrugging— idiots who didn't know how to keep their personal lives out of the public forum— but then I took another look at the girl, at her partially turned-away face. 

That wild, spiky hair. Stupid necklace. Where had I seen her before? 

There are plenty of monsters out in the world... 

I peered at her shoes in between the cars that passed by. Mary janes with their backs cut out. That girl from the metro...? 

Her male companion slapped her across the face, hard. 

I was too far away from the crosswalk. I waited for a break in the cars going by, then ran across the street. The two of them didn't appear to notice me coming— they were too wrapped up in their little stage-play. It was beginning to rain lightly. The girl was holding her cheek and whimpering. 

Couldn't this stupid little thing keep herself out of trouble?

The guy took a step toward her. I don't know whether he was planning on hitting her again or just wanted to add a little intimacy to the moment. He didn't have the chance to do either, because I shoved him away with both hands. 

"I think you two need some space!" I shouted at him. 

I know. Look at big hero Huntley: takes down a purple or two and suddenly thinks he’s the Caped Crusader. 

Behind me, the girl (I couldn't remember her name at this point) said, "Haven't I seen—" 

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" The young man had bounced back, now in my face. If I'd told him to pick on someone his own size, that actually would have been an invitation to attack me. We were around the same height and build. Maybe the same age. I'd like to think that’s where the similarities ended, though. This guy had a sizable schnoz and limp black hair that looked pretty oily to me. Plus the corduroy pants weren't an inspired choice. 

I could probably take him if I needed to. After facing the nightmare that was “Howe,” I felt utterly unafraid to fight a human like this one.

"Take a walk," I ordered. "She'll call you." 

He drove his palm into my shoulder, by pure chance right into the spot I'd gotten lacerated last night. I yelped.

"None of your business, so piss off!" he said.