A Dialogue Between a Man and a Woman
“Is there a problem here?” Morgan asked, regretting almost instantly opening his big mouth. It always had a way of getting him to trouble, even though he had the muscle to back up any word he might say. He was built like an ex-con, which made sense given that he just made parole. Stepping into a possible fight was not how we wanted to spend his first Friday night on the outside. “Because I heard the lady say to leave her alone.”
There were four of them in front of him, though he only really saw the white boy leading the pack. He turned when he heard Morgan speak, eyeing the man who dared challenge him. Since Morgan stood a good seven inches taller than the other man, it was a very quick size up. He was dressed like a typical frat boy: polo shirt, khaki shorts, loafers. He even had one of those hipster fad haircuts, definitely not the kind of dude you would expect to see at Hooligans. The other three might have looked similar, but they were just background dancers to Morgan; the douche bag still eyeing him was clearly the leader.
And then there was the girl, though with that clenched jaw and eyes throwing daggers at the four dudes calling her a girl would probably get him socked in the mouth. She had on black jeans and a tank top with green highlights in her black hair; a dull green and grey octopus looking monstrosity was inked on her left arm, probably an homage to Lovecraft. She was thin and lithe, a gymnast or maybe a martial artist. Her arms looked like corded steel, the kind of arms Morgan remembered packing a hell of a punch, and her feet were shoulder width apart. She was ready to draw blood.
“No problem,” the white boy said, flashing Morgan an oily smile. “Why don’t you just enjoy your drink, chief?”
The frat guy turned back around, his attention again focused on the furious woman who was probably less than two words from kneeing him in the balls. While he wouldn’t mind seeing that outcome, Morgan opened his mouth a second time instead.
“You sure there, white boy? Because it sure seems like she isn’t remotely interested in you.”
The hipster didn’t just turn around to face Morgan, but stormed away from the bar to level a finger at the larger man.
“Who the fuck you calling white boy?!” he demanded. Morgan just stared down.
“Seemed pretty obvious I was calling you that. Now why don’t you and the rest of the douche brigade get out of here before she calls the cops. A precious, little thing like you wouldn’t last very long in jail.”
Before the leader of the frat guys could respond, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, two smoky tree trunks, appendages bigger than most dudes’ thighs. The white boy may not have been intimidated by the barbed wire of the woman he was harassing, but seeing Morgan’s giant arms made him choke on whatever words he wanted to throw. He and his crew quickly fled, their tails between their legs. Morgan watched them with smug satisfaction as they did.
“Who the fuck do you think you are!?” the woman demanded, punching him hard in the arm. “I didn’t ask you to come to my rescue!”
“Excuse me for trying to help,” Morgan responded more sarcastically than he meant to, pushing past her to get to the bar. There were only a few other people seated on barstools, so the bartender was right there when he approached. “Glenlivet. Two fingers. Neat.”
“Did I ask for your help? Did it look like I needed help!?” she was near-yelling behind him, all the fury she didn’t get to let loose on the four douches now reserved solely for him.
“And one of whatever the lady is drinking,” Morgan asked of the bartender when he got his Scotch.
“I do not want a drink from some guy who thinks I am just a damsel in distress in need of rescuing!”
“Oh yeah?” Morgan asked, turning away from the bar when he had gotten her beer. “Here I was just hoping having a drink would get you to shut up.” He pressed the Shiner into her hands before walking away. She followed him all the way to the booth near Hooligans’ entrance. The regret of opening his mouth when he shouldn’t have grew with every word she said.
“You didn’t need to step in. I was handling myself just fine.”
“I’m aware. You could have taken the fuck no problem. But he had three friends backing him up and I don’t care how strong you might be, those are odds you shouldn’t play with. Hell, I can bench press a car and I don’t like those numbers.”
“You had no right. That’s the problem with men!” she said as she slid into the booth. “You think a woman needs your protection or some shit.”
“Lady, you’re making a lot of assumptions about someone you have never even met before. So please continue telling me what’s wrong with my gender. I’ll be sure to let the other guys know at our next fucking meeting!
“There was four of them and one of you. And the lead douche was dressed in the ‘my-daddy-will-sue-you’ uniform. I apologize for opening my big mouth. Won’t happen again.”
“What the hell does it matter how many there were?” she asked, taking a swig of her beer. “It was still a situation you shouldn’t have butted into.”
“And how could I have lived with myself if tomorrow on the news there was a story about some goth girl getting sexually assaulted after beating the shit out of some douche?”
Morgan’s brown eyes stared hard into her blue, until she had to look down, both of her hands wrapped around her Shiner.
“You want to tell me what’s wrong with men? I’ve seen what’s wrong with men! Try spending six years locked up with em. Now how about I tell you what’s wrong with women. I’m supposed to rake other guys over the coals for being misogynistic assholes, but when I do that I get berated for being patronizing. I call bullshit on that.”
Morgan took a sip of his Scotch, trying and failing to not let his lips curl into a snarl. One week out and he’s already threatened a white man and pissed off a white woman. Downing the rest of the glass like a savage—he had always believed that Scotch should be savored, not shot—he let out a deep sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at the empty glass. “I had no right to step into a situation you clearly had handled. And I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I’m Morgan, by the way.”
“Laney,” she responded, holding one of her hands out to him. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I was ready to bash that fucker’s head in, though. I’m so tired of guys thinking women should worship the ground they walk on.”
“Amen to that,” Morgan answered. “It’s nice to meet you, Laney. And I’m sorry on behalf of my gender. Guys do really suck.”
“So you just got out of jail?” Laney asked, finishing her beer.
“Prison. And I just got parole, yeah.”
“Can I ask what for?”
“Assault. I beat some rednecks nearly to death seven years ago.”
“Were they racist?” Morgan had to laugh at that. Everyone always assumed race had something to do with it.
“No. It wasn’t a racial thing. My brother goes and gets his leg blown off in Iraq and too many people want to disregard his sacrifice simply because he’s gay. So I let my fists finish what those two assholes started with their mouths.”
“I’m sorry,” Laney replied, looking down again.
“Don’t be. It’s all in the past now,” Morgan said, not really wanting to talk about it. “Why did you react with such violence earlier? Yeah, they were rude and obnoxious, but your response was almost primal.”
“My sister. She was raped three years ago and the guy walked. No jail time, no probation, no nothing. I always feel the need to defend myself now.”
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said, not sure what else he could say.
“Don’t be,” she answered. “Like you said, it’s in the past.”
“If I still had a drink, I’d drink to your sister.”
“If I still had one, I’d drink to your brother.”
They just sat there, staring down at the table, unsure of what else to say. Neither wanted to admit they were embarrassed by their responses. After several awkward seconds of silence, Laney got up to leave, thanking Morgan for the beer. He responded with a no problem. I’d like to tell you that they became friends, that they talked about gender issues on the regular, but that would be a lie. They never saw each other again after that Friday, though neither of them forgot the incident that led to their conversation.
