(Hey folks. Here's part three of my short story, "Watch Out for the Banana." It's probably best to read part one and two first.)
I call my best friends bitches all the time. I call my dogs bitches, because they are. But I don't call women bitches. And I certainly don't allow other guys to call my girlfriend a bitch.
Because she didn't want to attend a stranger's party, some dipshit from Kentucky called my girlfriend a bitch so I ran up his third-story balcony to beat an apology out of Bluegrass Boy. I put him in a chokehold, hoping to protect my lover's good name (she wasn't the "bitch" this dumb undergrad called her) and force some manners into that thick Bluegrass skull of his. My best friend ZAP watched me from a lower part of the stairs and laughed at my one-liners. I'd just broken Bluegrass Boys friend's nose and asked again for three simple syllables "I'm sorry."
Instead, he said, "Just…how big of a man are you now? Faggot?"
"KC! He's got a fucking knife!" ZAP screamed. All humor left his voice. The only time I'd heard ZAP that serious was when he yelled at me for cooking eggs directly on the stove, without a pan.
I let him go with a shove and he stumbled into a fat girl. I saw the blade shimmer in moonlight. "That fat girl gave him a knife, KC! It's not worth it." ZAP shouted.
"Yeah, KC. It's not worth it!" Bluegrass howled, now mocking me. He rubbed his neck and looked to the fat girl, then to his friend who sat crying with blood rushing out his nostrils, a present I'd given him just seconds earlier.
I eyed the knife in Bluegrass's hand. I tried to pretend it was a banana, or a penis as my bouncer buddies told me to, but I just looked at it for what it was: a knife.
In the past I've had guns pulled on me, and there's not much you can do but hope to walk away. Knives were different though. I figured it took a cruel sonofabitch to stab somebody—and I didn't feel like finding out if the cocaine-brilliant Bluegrass Boy really wanted to bury that knife into any part of me. Plus, I'd just finished a tattoo on my arm, and I'd be double-danged if I let some dipshit ruin six hours of needle work.
"Come here and let me show your girlfriend how big of a fucking faggot you really are."
"How's your neck feel?" I scoffed. Bluegrass was slow, weak, and dumb. Two meters stood between us, plenty of distance between the knife and me.
"How's your hand feel?"
I looked at my right hand. It was ugly and scarred, but fine. But on my left, between my knuckles and wrist, a slit glowed red.
"Feels fine to me. I'm not afraid of a little blood. Or to fight without a weapon. Because only a true pussy brings a knife to a fistfight."
"What? Chickenshit now, Big Tough Man?"
"I came up to defend my girl's honor. But with this little bitch move you just pulled, you just proved you have none."
"What? You don't think I can't take you without this knife? I'll put it down." Bluegrass set the knife on a table, the handle still within grasp. I started walking down the stairs, still facing him.
"You've lost. I beat you, then you beat yourself. Two out of three. I win. Now I'm going back home to bang my lovely girlfriend. Enjoy your fat girl and your bro with a snapped septum. More coke for you I guess."
By now, I turned my back on him and shuffled down the stairs.
"Fuck you! Faggot! I'll fucking kill you if I ever see you again! In Kentucky, I've kicked more asses than you can believe!"
I met up with ZAP who patted me down like a cop looking for a hidden weapon. ZAP eyed my entire body. He grabbed my hand. "You're not cut anywhere else. KC, you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Just a scratch."
"I thought you were going to throw him over that ledge. That would have sucked."
"Yeah. Let's just go home."
My girlfriend stood by her car. She looked about to cry, but wordlessly she smiled. ZAP entered the car, then she did and finally I joined them with a grin. She started up the car and we started to pull off.
In my rearview mirror, I saw Bluegrass jump down stairs, then rip his shirt off. "Come back and fight me you fucking faggot!" I rolled my window down and didn't shout. I just spoke, "Face it. You lost. Then you proved yourself a coward. I don't need to waste my time with kids who think listening to rap music and watching Fight Club makes them tough. Have a good life. Coward."
Bluegrass flipped me the double bird. I shook my head and waved "goodbye" to him. He screamed some more, but by then my girlfriend looked at me. "You didn't have to do that." I nodded, a little afraid to look her in the eye.
"Nah, it was nothing. Anything for you, Babe."
"No really. I think he called you a bitch. Not me."
"Shit? Really?"
"Yeah."
"So I just got ‘stabbed' for nothing?"
"Yeah."
"Can you still take your chivalrous valiant White Knight back to the castle and ravish him?"
"Only if you promise never to do anything as stupid as that again."
"That's one thing I can't promise you, Babe. Asking me to stop doing stupid shit is like asking a dog to quit wagging his tail."
"The pool is open at the AC Grotto. You want to go for a 3 a.m. swim?" ZAP asked.
"See? Stupid situations just find me."
END
FOOTNOTE: Thanks for reading folks. This is actually a true story, for the most part. The language and names are obviously not 100% accurate. But, you got what you paid for. If you liked it or hated it, please go ahead and leave me a comment and tell your friends. Thanks a million.
You're the best!
— kc