‘ Wham! ‘…. I had lifted my arm and it shuddered as it took the full impact of the incoming punch that was aimed at my face.
Ow, that hurt, I recall thinking, being somewhat annoyed I had missed-timed what should have been more of a deflection.
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The deflection does not attempt to stop the impact (hurt), but makes more of an intercept with the incoming punch at near the angle of its direction… then apply strength to just side-line it away from any sensitive impact zones….. as is my face.
I’d managed the deflections for the first dozen or so punches, but failed on this one, and was to fail on one more from the next dozen…. the next fail was going to rip a finger away from its soft tissue placement… there’s probably a medical term for the trauma injury… but flopping out and off to one side, visually, is a give-away as to no-longer-as-standard-design…. excruciating pain is a very personal confirmation that a damage report says… yep, damage sustained.
A grapple for my clothes and I deflect or disengage…. A thwack at my face and I deflect and step back a pace.
This pattern repeated and at every two or three punches, he would declare a war-cry of intentions.
“I’m going to break your face”.
I didn’t bother replying but, “I despise your civil conduct, you disgusting individual”, was powerful in my mind.
Breaking my face was his idea of dealing with the fact his beer mug had fallen off of the roof of my estate car and smashed.
I was waiting, parked in the back alley entrance to the hotel, awaiting my customer. These four beered-up bozos arrived behind in another cab, alighted and started lumping and leaning up against the rear of my car.
After realising they had potential for trouble, I took a moment when they were a meter away at the back and moved my car three car lengths ahead to the other side of the hotel entrance…. now they would not have the need or opportunity to interact with my car again. I didn’t have reason to know they had used my roof as a tray.
After the four had a short huddle, one lumbered up to me, just getting out of my car and started throwing the punches at my face.
The attack continued, as did my blocking, side-lining and back-stepping and we moved down the alley 30 meters, then back up 15…. then back down again.
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As I was leading the dance backwards, the return up the alley was me attempting to return to the safety of my car, the back down again bit, was a prompt change in plan, when I saw two more of the bozos marching down towards us. 3 on 1?…. umm, situation not improving yet.
In a situation, where the surrounding influence may cause “a place of hurt and badness” to yourself, there is no way of fully knowing, truly, the end outcome.
For me, in ways, the body deals with this by beefing up, significantly, the brain’s ability to calculate any action/reaction… This has the effect of seemingly slowing down time… things seem to occur, whereever you are looking, in extreme slow motion.
Things were already operating around me in semi-slow-mo, with the number one bozo, hereby named Punchy, lumping away at my head, but when two others made the distance down the alleyway, the implication of further hurt, and my pure disdain for them for their civil discourtesy, set the scenario to this extreme slow-down… seen the film, The Matrix… well perhaps not quite that extreme.
Another punch lumbered in….
Incoming, ten-o-clock, face-height, direct-contact-trajectory….
In this new state, it was travelling really slowly. His facial expression had also frozen…. I had time…. Studied him closely for the first time…. conclusion…. “disgust.”
The punch was still coming…. I looked up at numbers two and three stomping towards us, one ahead of the other…. I had time…. Studied them…. number two, potential-good, make-a-call. Number three, a tumbleweed (blowing in the wind of peers influence only), ignore.
The call to number two was going to be loud and decisive, but first, ‘thwack’, the incoming arrived and was deflected successfully.
Unfortunately ‘scrunch’, the deflection of Punchy’s following grapple for a hold of me was unsuccessful. He got a grip for the first time. To disconnect him, was what took my finger out of its usual placement.
I felt it going as I forced his grip apart and shoved his hand away. It seemed just a calculated sacrifice in the moment. I felt the crumpling of the knuckle first… The pain was not immediate, but the knowledge that it’s ‘gunna-be-hurting’ soon was very apparent, but then the knowledge that the disconnect must be successful first, allowed a continuation through the hurting.
Now disconnected, another step backwards and a turn to the number two, closing at full stride, now just three paces away, I delivered an awesome voice:
“Get a grip of your mate”.
Even in my younger years as a quiet cadet, there was an art to be learnt of clear decisive command.
As drill instructor to the squad and drum major to the parade band, you had to do a lot of thinking… a lot of considering. You didn’t have to say much, but the commands that were uttered, were important, of substance, decisive, clear and of reasonable volume to reinforce the notion of: No discussion. No debate. Do this. Do this now. All of which carried an accountable reasoning of responsibility to the overall ‘big’ picture.
The ‘big’ picture, here, as I saw it, was one of gross antisocial violent public conduct.
“Get a grip of your mate” came a second volley, watching him intently for reaction.
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He veered in between us, and immediately I noted number three behind him, veer off out of it.
.
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The calls were right, I was free from Punchy and made to move away, dropping my concentration a fraction too soon as a last lump at my head flew past… nearly took me right out, but a duck and a bit of luck, kept me clear.
Number two, hereby named ‘Moddy’ (a modicum of civility), now held back ‘Punchy’ and I was free.
I turned and closed down the distance to the safety of my car, passing and ignoring number three, ‘Tumbleweed’, I continued up the lane.
All over yet? Nope.
Number four was now marching straight down the lane at me. He will become known as ‘The Agitator’. The Spineless Agitator, in full description.
He approached head-on. I continued head-on. We closed the distance and he raised his hand to my chest height, to stop me. I kept my hands down but closed the extra space so we were very close and faced him.
“Where are you going? There is unfinished business here.”
His voice was calm. This guy was a calculator. Unfortunately, calculating his desire I get a continuation of physical harm… this guy is as bad as Punchy, but somewhat spineless because he was trying to ‘create’ in others, rather than ‘doing it’ himself.
My return voice was quiet and calm, but firm to the point.
“The only unfinished business,,, is getting a grip of your mate”
He faltered on what to reply, or how to proceed and in the defused and resting moment, I lifted my arm and tapped his hand resting at my chest.
His hand moved off my chest and I eased forward. I was again free and continued my little saga of a journey to my car…. short-lived release though.
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In the second it took The Agitator to “not be happy” with the fact I’d escaped him, he had turned, and along with Tumbleweed wafting in his wake, they followed me close behind….
“There is unfinished business here”, he continued.
I turned momentarily. “The unfinished business is getting a grip on your mate.” Then resumed progress to car.
The car was now a meter away. The Agitator and Tumbleweed were hot on my heels, repeating the mantra “unfinished business”
I opened the car door, sat inside, but was prevented from closing my door by The Agitator, who positioned himself in close, in the open doorway.
With his left hand resting on the steering wheel, he stood tall and was calling across the top of the car towards Moddy and his displeased captive…. Punchy.
These two had sidled their way back up the alleyway and were stood, still arguing, right in front of the car…. which was a shame as an engine start and drive straight forward would have got me clear of them all…. except now, to escape, I would have to run down Punchy…. somewhat ironic.
The next moment nearly made it all begin over again….
The Agitator was inciting Punchy to “come and finish unfinished business”…. Punchy became re-enraged, then to my dismay, broke free from Moddy and strutted with vengeance towards the car… with its held open door.
I recalculated my options. To escape, all options were out, unless I snapped the wrist of The Agitator and struck Punchy or Moddy with the car on a drive away..
I held put, and now having access to the in-car two-way radio, clicked the button to summon other grownups.
The Agitator swiftly cottoned on that the police were being sought. He turned, moved away and told Moddy. The two of them now, got a grip of their mate, Punchy…. and the threat of physical harm ceased.
They moved a few meters away. I watched Punchy appear bemused, whilst The Agitator lead a verbal stage to conspire some mutual story. Tumbleweed was with them… wafting in and out of their latest huddle.
I remained quietly in the car and waited for the police to be on the scene.
A few minutes passed and then three police were in attendance. This should have been the “now safe” moment, but what occurred next was the unexpected and biggest thumping of the evening….
All another story for a part two… maybe.
Pencil sketch images: copyright 2012, CaveWallMedia (.co.uk) All rights reserved.
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