You Give Love A Bad Name [part IV]
Continued from part III.
Let's ignore, for the moment, the fact that we are all standing in The Junction as the crazy crone is condemning it. She's far from done, and this is fascinating.
"Fucking bitch whore slut!" she's bellowing now, and flailing her arms. Tara is intermittently ducking, and trying to hold the woman up. She's so drunk—the crone, that is, not Tara— that it's astonishing she hasn't fallen over yet.
Of course, there's still time.
"Fucking bitch whore slut is half my age, for fuck's sake," the crone is crying through her frazzled mop of hair at Tara, at me, at Ashton, at the door. Then she wrenches free of Tara and stumbles to the end of the alleyway.
On the sidewalk, on Dundas Street, she yells at the passing cars: "Saw me in my pyjamas, for fuck's sake. I used to sit on his lap!"
"Who is she?" I ask Tara. "Do you know what's going on?"
"She's one of the bartenders, but tonight's her night off," Tara replies. "She was sitting at the bar a minute ago. I have no idea what happened."
"She's a bartender at this bar?" I ask, seeking only clarification.
"Yes."
The crone is back, and now she's yelling at Ashton: "I hate men. I want to be a motherfucking lesbian."
I can't control the burst of laughter, but I'm able to quickly turn it into a pretend cough. Somehow I have a feeling that if she thought I were laughing at her, she'd take a swing at me.
She's back out on the sidewalk now, her shrieking slurred and unintelligible. All I can make out is, "While my mother sits home and cries..." and then she lurches back toward Tara and collapses in her arms. She seemed to have been heading for Ashton, but he stepped back just in time. Now he's leaning against the railing, observing, but not helping. It's not clear whether he knows this woman or not.
"What happened?" Tara is asking the crone.
"He pushed you!"
"I thought he pushed you."
"He pushed me, then he pushed you," she says to Tara. Tara looks at me and shrugs. Apparently she has no better idea what the crone is talking about than do Ashton or I.
"Honey, you should go home," says Tara.
"Men are dogs," spits the crone in final judgement. "I hate them all." And with that she pitches once more toward the sidewalk. This time she continues around the corner and out of sight.
Tara, Ashton, and I look at each other in silence, only raising the occasional eyebrow questioningly; wondering whether to laugh but not being able to. It was just too sad.
"Who was that woman?" I ask again.
"She's my roommate," says Ashton.
To be continued tomorrow.
Let's ignore, for the moment, the fact that we are all standing in The Junction as the crazy crone is condemning it. She's far from done, and this is fascinating.
"Fucking bitch whore slut!" she's bellowing now, and flailing her arms. Tara is intermittently ducking, and trying to hold the woman up. She's so drunk—the crone, that is, not Tara— that it's astonishing she hasn't fallen over yet.
Of course, there's still time.
"Fucking bitch whore slut is half my age, for fuck's sake," the crone is crying through her frazzled mop of hair at Tara, at me, at Ashton, at the door. Then she wrenches free of Tara and stumbles to the end of the alleyway.
On the sidewalk, on Dundas Street, she yells at the passing cars: "Saw me in my pyjamas, for fuck's sake. I used to sit on his lap!"
"Who is she?" I ask Tara. "Do you know what's going on?"
"She's one of the bartenders, but tonight's her night off," Tara replies. "She was sitting at the bar a minute ago. I have no idea what happened."
"She's a bartender at this bar?" I ask, seeking only clarification.
"Yes."
The crone is back, and now she's yelling at Ashton: "I hate men. I want to be a motherfucking lesbian."
I can't control the burst of laughter, but I'm able to quickly turn it into a pretend cough. Somehow I have a feeling that if she thought I were laughing at her, she'd take a swing at me.
She's back out on the sidewalk now, her shrieking slurred and unintelligible. All I can make out is, "While my mother sits home and cries..." and then she lurches back toward Tara and collapses in her arms. She seemed to have been heading for Ashton, but he stepped back just in time. Now he's leaning against the railing, observing, but not helping. It's not clear whether he knows this woman or not.
"What happened?" Tara is asking the crone.
"He pushed you!"
"I thought he pushed you."
"He pushed me, then he pushed you," she says to Tara. Tara looks at me and shrugs. Apparently she has no better idea what the crone is talking about than do Ashton or I.
"Honey, you should go home," says Tara.
"Men are dogs," spits the crone in final judgement. "I hate them all." And with that she pitches once more toward the sidewalk. This time she continues around the corner and out of sight.
Tara, Ashton, and I look at each other in silence, only raising the occasional eyebrow questioningly; wondering whether to laugh but not being able to. It was just too sad.
"Who was that woman?" I ask again.
"She's my roommate," says Ashton.
To be continued tomorrow.
2 Comments:
*stunned* Did.Not.See.That.Coming.
I feel like I'm watching one of those shows where I'm looking at the clock, saying "Oh my goodness, how are they going to wrap it up in 2 minutes?"
Then, those infamous words...
To be continued.
I don't know if I can take a whole week of this!!!
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