Heated Argument

I was relieved to be sitting in the shade. Despite the salty breeze brushing the San Diego coast from the ocean, the heat was heavy. It made movement exhausting, so I sat at the side-street cafe without much conscious thought. I was watching a bead of condensation move slowly down my plastic cup of sweet tea, when an explosion erupted to my right. The sound of a young woman’s grating voice startled me to the present.

“You did wha’?” she boomed in a thick Brooklyn accent, glasses spilling their contents as she stood so quickly she knocked over anything standing tall on the table between her and a thick-necked man.

“Sorry, babe. It just happened,” the mass of muscles half-whispered in a matching Brooklyn accent, shifting his eyes left and right to the other patrons that were now captivated by the scene unraveling in front of them.

“I came all the way ‘ere from New York for you and you cheated? It’s ova -” she started, standing bent at the waist, hands on her hips, so she could tower over the seated, terrified man. I suddenly became aware of the tense muscles holding the horrified expression on my face and closed my mouth, probably just as scared of her as he was.

“It was a mistake,” he interrupted, a little louder. “I love you. I wanna be wit chu. I know that now.” I immediately felt misplaced hatred toward him, for every man who had done something similar to me.

“Don’t give me that bull. You shoulda known before you slept with that whore.” She had a point. She glanced down at the table, taking in the destruction she had caused. She turned and took a couple of steps towards me, not really looking me in the eye. My heart stopped. “Can I borrow this?” she asked, indicating my sweet tea with a pointed and manicured index finger. I gave a small nod, unable to remember how to speak.

She grabbed it and, in one smooth, perfected movement, like she had done this many times before, threw it in the muscle-man’s face. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her blue leather Coach satchel and walked away from the stunned man. I watched the wind press the fabric of her floral print dress against her right side as she walked down the sidewalk and crossed the busy street with the purpose of putting as much distance as possible between her and this man that sat at the table next to me, mouth still hanging open.

Go Gonzo Weekly Writing Challenge: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/13/gonzo-writing-challenge/

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