I was a quiet lad, music my only interest.
It seemed to me, looking back, that it was his lifes purpose to make mine a misery.
I recognised him immediately he walked in the bar, the very air changed. Even Herself noticed. He was a teenager the last time I layed my vengeful eyes on him, a younger, bigger lad than I, with a wont for proving his manliness by lording power over the slighter lads on the street, always accompanied of course by his band of followers, a cackle of weak upstarts, afraid of said power, afraid of him, and so surrendered to their master, always at his back, his army of pawns.
He however did not know me from the proverbial Adam as he sat his fat arse and rotund middle, not to mention a skull that was never designed , (unlike my own), to be bald, six inches from where I was having my usual Sunday night date with Herself. He had done well for himself (I later learned from my brother), making a small fortune in a local tackle & bait company. I presume his first marriage had failed as I'm quite sure the young girl with the eastern European accent was definitely not the girl he married thirty years ago.
Though I kept my back to him, I could feel his cold cowardly voice go through my brain, as it had done all those years ago. I stuck it out for a couple of hours, but I could not settle, could not even take in the words coming from the mouth of my love. It was time to leave.
"I'm off to the gents" says I to Herself, "and we'll be off".
I knew he recognised me when I walked back into the bar.
I ignored him.
Wouldn't catch his eye.
He actually poked me in the back to get my attention!
"You're Stewart, aren't you?" he smiled, "You don't know me do you?"
I buttoned my coat as I looked him in the face.
"I know exactly who you are" I said as I put out my hand to shake his.
His girlfriend smiled back as I said goodnight.
I turned back as we left to see him read the note I had slipped into his hand.
Tackle and bait, eh? That conjures up images of slimy, smelly, crawly things, so an appropriate way for this troll to have made a living, methinks. Probably most of us have a bully, or several, somewhere in our past, so you'll have a lot of your online pals curling a lip and nodding a head as they read through this. I'm not asking what I said in your note, but I do hope that the words "small and insignificant" came into it somewhere. Because he was, is, and always will be, and you were not, are not, and never will be.
ReplyDelete~Eleanor
Of course I meant what you said in your note - brain and fingers aren't connected at this hour.
ReplyDeleteWell, I want to know what you wrote in the note! I am nosey.
ReplyDeleteSx
I guess we all had that lowlife bastard in our lives somewhere, some of us get to see them for what they are and some never do.
ReplyDeleteWe are going to hear more about that note aren't we?
ReplyDeleteYes I'd like to know - just in case I ever bump into Doris Giddings again.
ReplyDeleteI turned back as we left to see him read the note I had slipped into his hand.
ReplyDeletewhatever it said, he knew he wouldn't be getting up to respond, so, well done you! or is that part 2 of this encounter, sugar? xoxoxoxo
Aha...you got in the last word without having to speak to him, as it were. Love it!
ReplyDeleteAnd I'm guessing that your title was your message. ;)
ReplyDeleteA gentlemans way of handling a bully.
ReplyDeleteFirst-class all the way!
I believe the note should stay private between you and your former tormentor—it's done and over with.
ReplyDeleteIt's amazing, though, how bullies are the same all over the world.
What did Doris Giddings do to you Pat?
ReplyDeleteHow many of us will have to ask for the contents of the note before you give it up?
ReplyDeleteI reckon Hope is correct about the message.
ReplyDeleteAnd I would also like to know more about Doris Giddings, Pat!
Sx
I'm as nosy as the rest and would love to have a Part II, complete with the contents of the note... and any response on his part! ;-) Pleasepleaseplease??? xoxoxo
ReplyDeleteMy guess is as Hope said too :)
ReplyDeleteIt was a long time ago, we were both young and good looking. We fought over the same man. Sadly for me, Patricia won. There was me with my bottle blonde hair, unusually thick mascara, padded bra and cheap high heels. And there was Patricia. Beautiful... classy, delicious in both looks and figure, delightful of nature and a real joy to behold.
ReplyDeleteOf course I was horrible to her. Jealousy is the divil himself. I apologise to you Patricia, but as I gaze upon the natural beauty that is still about you in your golden years I could just spit!
Forget using Nivea or Oil of Olay, the secret of inner and outer beauty is in the soul. Patricia was and still is a credit to women everywhere.
Good heavens!! Doris must have been googling her name to find us here.
ReplyDeleteShe seems the type.
Sx
WV: bless
You're a milder man than I, Stew.
ReplyDeleteAye.
ReplyDelete