Longer Lasting Snack

The Longer Lasting Snack

There were eight seagulls sitting, well standing on the rooftop as I
looked out from the window of the first floor student common room. The
room is barren of people and the thickly cushioned fake leather chairs
were sitting alone around the walls and tables, facing each other as if
in a game of will.
Then there I am, as alone as the chairs, only one in number. I felt as
though I was intruding in the chairs' game and felt guilty about
sitting on one of them. I could imagine all of the other chairs
laughing at the one that I was using, high pitched screeching laughter,
the kind that you could not ignore, the kind that you can not get out
of your head, the kind that drives you insane, it filled the room
echoing off the walls.
I looked out of the window again. The seagulls had all gone, flown away
into the cloudy blue sky, I could see one still, gracefully circling
with the ease of nature until it drifted off with the breeze.
There was no living being within my vision, only structures and
buildings, manmade utensils for humanities use, how unnatural it all
seemed to me, how against nature.
In the room the chairs had stooped laughing and were sitting again in
silent contemplation; the litter bin however was staring at me,
grinning with its huge mouth, it knew, the litter bin, somehow it knew
what I was thinking and thought it amusing.
I turned away from the litter bin but I could feel it's double T eyes
staring at me, burning into me like a furnace.
I could feel my cheeks getting hot and sweat coat my body, as the bin
grinned and mocked me.
"Hey." I kept my eyes forward, I was not going to look at the bin; a
talking bin, am I really going mad. Then, "Hey weirdo?" it said. My
hands were shaking and my heart was pounding, "you deaf?"
I did not turn to look, I could not look; "leave me alone," I said, in
a shaky voice.
"Give us ten pee, an a will." The bin said.
Why would a litter bin want money I thought.
"I wana ged a Twix. Give us ten pee."
God, it was answering my thoughts, the litter bin wanted a Twix. There
was a sharp pain in the middle of my forehead that startled me into
looking around; there was a hand in front of my face, a finger flicked
out and hit me again in the head.
"You weird fucker, " it was a person, a person, and not the bin. "give
me some money," even the litter bin would not call me a fucker. The
person, so called, was wearing blue and green tartan trousers and a
white shirt, un-tucked, on his head he wore a blue baseball cap with
Ford written across the front in italics. He was bearing down on me as
his left hand slapped the side of my face.
I came too at once then; this was only some bully left over from school
who had somehow managed to get a place in collage, some excuse of a
person who would go through life praying on smaller people. The side of
my face felt red where he had been slapping me; I looked him in the
eyes, and as if I had only just heard what he was saying, said "what!"
Thank god it wasn't the bin, my head was saying, that would have been
really scary.
"Give," he repeated the words one at a time, a small slap with each,
trying to make his dominance more defined, more pronounced, "me - your
- money."
Still looking in his eyes, I stood, he backed away slightly wearing a
smirk on his face which read "you are so weak, so pathetic."
Tartan trousers held out his hand, "hurry up, stupid bitch, I've got
things to do."
I looked at his hand, took my first step and pushed my way passed him,
he looked stunned that I dare defy him, "A Twix, you said?" I tried to
sound afraid, making my way towards the snack machine.
"Yer," I could hear him grinning, he thought that he was so in control.
"What's your name, anyway?" He asked, trying to make the situation
sound normal, trying to make me feel that it was natural for him to hit
me and give my money to him.
"Andrea." I said in the frailest voice I could muster. I wanted to
sound weak and feeble, to be the epitome of what he saw women to be. I
knew that he wanted me to feel controlled, that this was my
responsibility and not to do what he says would be wrong of me.
I pulled my bag around to my side, where it always hung like another
limb, and gave the fastening cord a tug to open it. Inside I could see
my white plastic purse containing my money, but there was something
else I needed too, I moved aside a couple of paint brushes, a sketch
and there it was; I put my hand into my bag and picked up the item and
concealed it behind the purse. I pulled the purse from my bag and let
the bag fall to the floor beside the vending machine.
Mr masculine was coming over now and I heard him say "Andy," as if we
had known each other for year, and we were really good friends, "what
are ya studdyin'?"
"Art," I answered simply, I didn't want to say any more than I needed
to this scumbag. I opened my purse and pulled out a coin and put it
into the slot of the machine where it clanked into the workings.
Luminous red figures appeared to the amount of the coin on the front
panel. I looked for the Twix bar and taped in the code B,6, the coiled
metal twisted and the front Twix was flipped into the tray at the
bottom. The trap was set.
"There you go," I said and moved away from the machine just enough for
him to be able to take the chocolate. The next happened all at
once.
He did not question why I had not taken the chocolate from the machine,
to him, I think, it was already a victory, he had won, I had been
overthrown, my will had been broken, he had got what he wanted. With my
right hand behind my back I pushed down the button on the art knife and
the retractable blade protruded from the grey steel casing, a triangle
of razor sharp steel.
As he bent down and opened the door to the hatch where the Twix was
concealed. I moved mechanically, his hand was inside the machine, I
slammed my foot onto his wrist which slid across the smooth metal
opening and into the side of the machine where it was trapped by both
my foot and the hatch door mechanism. This sudden movement forced him
to loose his balance and he fell to his knees.
"What the fuck are you doing, bitch?" was his shocked rhetoric. Still
with my foot on his wrist I quickly reached around the back of him, put
the two forefingers of my left hand up his nose and yanked his head
back sharply bringing it to rest on my stomach; his cap fell to the
floor. I brought the knife up in front of his face so that he could see
it.
"Shut the fuck up, you low life bastard," I said through clenched
teeth. "Move, and I'll cut your fucking throat." I increased the
pressure on his wrist and then removed my foot, hopefully leaving his
wrist sprained or at least numb. At the same time I increased the
pressure on his nostrils and brought the knife blade down to the skin
of his neck, the point brought blood instantly and I pulled the knife
away. I did not want to hurt him really, only scare him a little, no a
lot, make him know that he would not do it again, not to me.
"Do you always hit women, fucker? Do you think that it makes you a big
man, because you can hit people who are smaller than you, people who
are weaker? Well, I may well be weaker than you, but you're a whole lot
dumber than I am, that's why you are on your knees. How does it feel to
be beaten by a woman?"
"Ged off&;#8230; I," He was having to breath through his mouth now,
taking in gasps of air and then trying to swallow the build up of
phlegm at the back of his throat, "I didn't&;#8230;" he
gasped.
"You didn't what? You didn't mean to do it, is that what you were going
to say? I don't want to hear it. I don't want your apologies." I pulled
his head back to emphasise my next sentence and pushed the body of the
knife but not the blade, against his throat. He began to shake. "I only
want your blood!" I snarled the words through clenched teeth; trying
not to laugh at the extreme melodrama. "Any last word before you die?"
I gave him no time to think or reply " Hurry up I've got things to do,"
I said using his own phrase.
"Please," he was a gibbering mess; I looked down at his up side down
face, his eyes were wet with moisture, blood ran down his neck from the
nick I had given him accidentally, he really thought that he was in
danger, I could not have planned it better.
It was when I was about to let him go that the thought occurred to me
that this person was scared of me, and that his being afraid had given
me some sort of satisfaction. I had been glad to see this pathetic
sight kneeling in front of me pleading to be let go; as if I was going
to kill someone in the collage refectory on a dull Friday morning in
November. Why did I feel glad at his fear, his helplessness? Was that
not what he thrived on, other peoples helplessness? I thought back to
my own life, cowering in the corner of my room my father approaching
with his leather belt in hand; and I felt sick, both inside and with
this little game. What good had come of this? All that I had achieved
was to sink to this guy's level, were achievements are scored on how
tough you are, or how afraid the person was, how many laughs were
gained through the humiliation of somebody else.
I pulled the knife away from his neck and retracted the blade, let go
of his head with a slight shove and stepped away from him, not really
caring what he did.
I had reached my bag and picked up my purse before he even moved, then
I heard the trap door of the vending machine clank to as he pulled his
hand out.
I dropped my purse and the knife inside my bag, and pulled the cord
shut. He was still on his knees as I walked passed him, he was looking
down at the floor, perhaps looking for his cap.
As I walked towards the door the chairs began to laugh again, their
shrill high pitched laughter, the bin was grinning at me again, mocking
my failure. I thought then, not for the first time, that I might be
going insane, who else could hear the furnishings laughing?
Then, suddenly I remembered something and stopped halfway across the
refectory floor. As I stopped walking the laughter stopped too, as if
the chairs were holding their breaths, waiting for my next move. I
turned to face the guy again, he was still on his knees but his cap was
back on his head. He looked at me as I moved closer; "I'm sorry;" I
said to him, simply.
"I knew you didn't 'ave the guts," his voice was shaky. "Your lucky I
didn't kick the shit out of you," He was moving to his feet now, his
voice was loud but there was no terror in it, like rain trying to
damage the ocean. I began to move towards him again, as he faced me.
"If you come any closer I'll lay-you-out." I could see that his hands
were firsts, clenched tight. I moved closer. He was quite capable of
beating me up, he was bigger and stronger than I was, but I knew that
he wouldn't, at least I hoped.
I was almost to him now, he raised his fists His face had the "I'm
really pissed off expression," his mouth was up at one side like he was
chewing a toffee and his forehead was creased. I moved into striking
distance and he took a step back.
I looked at him and smiled, a girlie type of smile, pleasant and sweet,
"aren't I silly?" I said, "I've forgotten my Twix. Us women, we'd
forget our legs if they weren't attached to our tits." I looked at him
and battered my eyes.
"Fuck off." Was all he said.
"Your parents must be really proud of the way you have mastered the
English language?"
"You silly cow," He uttered, half under his breath and turned to leave
the room. As he was leaving I saw a reddy-brown stain on the collar of
his white shirt, and wondered how he would explain it to his friends
later on, how ever he did, it would not be the truth.
I retrieved the Twix, the longer lasting snack, and returned to my
seat.
The chairs were just chairs again and the bin was just a bin, all was
quiet. Outside it was raining steadily and some of the seagulls had
returned, somehow they looked just right, perched up on that rooftop,
chattering in seagull.

27/08/2000