"I hope you're as bruised as I am," she said when I came into work on Tuesday, and I have to admit that was hot. But the bruises were reminders of a different kind of gratification. I didn't remember the details, I just remember this girl at the beach wanting to start something. And I remember getting hit. A lot. And I remember ultimately taking her down.
"Throwing sand, that's dirty." Talking about it here-and-there throughout the day brought it back enough that I was able to piece together bits of the brawl. "Eventually my fists started hurting, and I had to use my elbows to hit you anywhere I could, to hit you where it counts." I didn't remember that at all. How does someone forget an elbow to the groin? "When I did that, did it really knock you down, or were you just faking it toget me?" Oh, yeah, now I remembered. I don't remember the impact of the elbow, I just remember the sound of the air exiting my body, and then my face hitting the sand, and the sound of the sand in my ear. And as soon as I realized she was standing right next to me ("Are you okay? Here, let me help you up."), that's when I threw the sand. I couldn't see, but as soon as I heard her sputter, I tackled her, held her wrist and she yelled as my teeth met the skin of her neck.
Then, my arm tight around her neck, choking her: "Who won this fight?"
"We both did."
"No, who won this fight?"
"We both did."
"No, who won this fight?"
"You did. You won."
fin
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