15 Minute Madness

He looked up from his newspaper briefly as she entered the train. She had a multitude of shopping bags clasped in her hand. He momentarily considered moving his satchel out of the way so that she could sit next to him. Before he made his decision, a man sitting directly across from him rose and offered her a seat. At first she demurred, but then gave in as the man repeatedly told her that he would be exiting the train at the next station stop. She thanked him as she sat, arranging her bags around her while murmuring apologies as they brushed the passengers sitting near her. Settling in, she reached into her voluminous handbag and pulled out a book.

He glanced at her once more. She was pretty, in an unconventional sort of way and she reminded him of someone. He fingered the small, round scar on his neck absently as he tried to remember who she resembled. The train jerked and she looked up from her book. Their eyes locked for a moment and she raised an eyebrow quizically. He smiled sheepishly, having been caught staring. The train started up again and when he dared to peek again she had put away her book and was staring at him intently. He poked at his scar again. He thought that maybe she was just thinking about something so hard that it seemed like she was staring at him.

He looked up again and her eyes were still on him, only now she had a slight smile on her face and on her lap, her right hand twitched spasmodically. Something about her smile made him uneasy. She was cute but the half-grin made her look slightly mad. He prodded his scar uncomfortably, poking and pulling at the raised surface repeatedly as he always did when he was lost in thought. If only he could recall where he had seen her face. He gave his scar a particularly painful pinch and winced.

The train pulled onto the bridge and out of the corner of his eye he saw her still watching him, still smiling. He worked at his scar faster, habit causing him to remember how he had gotten it.

It was years ago when he was much younger and not quite so wise. He had gone out drinking with his friends at a nightclub in the city. Well into his drink, he had spent sometime hitting on a girl in the club who dismissed him. His friends had ribbed him mercilously about getting dissed and dared him to do something about it. He tried to ignore them and in hindsight, should have. When the night had ended, he saw the same girl outside of the club walking alone. He tried to approach her again, following her up the street talking and again she ignored him. Finally in a fit of drunken stupidity and frustration, he grabbed her, pushed her up against a building and reached up her dress, fondling her privates. She fought silently, clawing at his face. She scratched him and he laughed before throwing her to the ground.

Leaving her there he ran back up the two streets to his car still laughing and calling her names to himself. He got to his car and his boy was leaning on the hood. When asked where the hell he had been, he retold the story of what had transpired while still laughing. The got in the car chuckling when his boy told him to look, the same girl was coming up the street. Sure enough it was her and when she stopped by his driver-side window, he had done the dumbest thing he had ever done in his life, before and since; he rolled his window down. He asked her if she wanted more. His friend busted out again when he said this and croaked something about leaving them alone to talk. He had turned his head towards the passenger side as his friend exited the car when he felt a hot flash in the side of his neck. A moment later something landed in his lap and he felt the front of his shirt get wet. When he pulled his hand away from his neck it was covered in blood. He didn't remember where his screams began and her laughter ended before he passed out...

He has always been respectful of women since. He sighed deeply as he always did when that memory ran through his mind. They were coming to the edge of the bridge now. He wanted to know if she was still looking at him, so he dared peek up again. She was and now she was grinning from ear to ear. He ventured a smile back and mouthed the word "hello". She didn't answer but kept eye contact. The more he looked at her the more familiar she became. As the train pulled into the stop she reached into her bag. He still struggled to place her face. She pulled out a pen. A jolt of fear shot through his body. His chest began to heave. His face began to pour sweat. He nearly screamed when she laughed merrily and tossed the pen onto his lap.

He shot to his feet, grabbing at his knapsack. It was her. It was her. It was her, raced through his mind as he fought his way off the train, knocking over another passenger in his haste to squeeze through the closing doors. He could hear her laughing behind him and he made it out of the car with his belongings in tact, if not his dignity. The doors closed as he turned back to the train. It pulled away and through the window he saw her still sitting there smiling.

Moral of the story?
Bic Roundstic Fine Point Blue.
Be wary of the woman who wields one.

- trying to figure out what to write for my next 15 minute exercise