The Adventures of Him and Her
Part One: Give Me Back My Shoe
He could have been drunk, but she had never been a good judge of such things. She was walking toward the bar, hoping to have a drink and forget about the fight with her girlfriend. He was leaving the bar, cursing the many shots he had done for not making him forget about the fight with his wife. She pulled her jacket tighter around her to close out the November wind. He stepped off the sidewalk to the road.
Or tried to.
"Ah, fuck." His ankle contorted before he fell on his ass. He was cursing, but making no move to get up.
The girl moved toward him, the maternal instinct that lies within several females taking over. "Are you all right?" He looked at her and for a few seconds it seemed as though her expression might change. The seconds passed, however. "Are you all right?" she repeated.
"No," he said bluntly. "I think the ankle's okay, though."
"Stand on it then, smartass," she said, crossing her arms and looking like a mother who just caught her child out of bed at two in the morning playing video games.
"You're a little young to have a mouth like that aren't you?"
"You're a little old to be sitting on the sidewalk pouting aren't you?"
"I am not pouting." he muttered, trying to push himself off the sidewalk with his hands. The ankle, however, obviously wasn't okay.
The girl dropped onto her knees next to him, reaching toward the bottom of his jeans. "Let me see it."
"I'll scream rape," he warned, smacking her hand away.
"You would." She rolled her eyes and reached again toward the bottom of the jeans. He smacker her hand again. "Oh, stop bitching," she said. When he raised his eyebrow at her, she changed her expression, batting her eyelashes and putting her lips into 'pout mode'. "It'll make me feel better." she said in a syrupy voice. "You would want a cute little girl like me to be feeling guilty all night, would you?"
"Those lips get you what you want most of the time?" he asked dubiously.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she asked, taking the chance at grabbing the bottom of his jeans. This time he let her. She pulled it up a few inches, making a face. "You know, it's not just women who should shave their legs."
"You know, if you're just going to bitch at me about my..." His voice trailed off, obviously not finding the word he was looking for. "Ow!" he snapped as her hand lightly pressed against his already swelling ankle.
"I don't think it's broken." she said.
"Are you a fucking doctor?" he asked, looking at her.
She blushed. "No. But I'm certified to perform CPR."
"Well, that's great, darlin', but I'm not passed out on the street here."
"Oh, shut up," she muttered, unlacing his shoe.
"What the—"
"Can it, drama queen." she said, slowly pulling his shoe and then his sock off his right foot. Besides the increasing swelling, a yellowish bruise was forming on the skin. "Can you move it?"
"Yes, I can move it." he said aggressively. "I just can't stand on it."
"Move it," she said, not even looking up at his face. When he didn't, she looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. "Can't do it?"
"Fuck you."
"Lesbian."
"Good for you."
The girl bent closer to his ankle, running her fingers over the bruise. "Oh, no. It's worse than I thought?"
"What?" His eyes widened a little as she sat up.
"You're a typical stubborn smartass male."
"And you're a typical something, something bitch."
"Thank you." She looked at him blandly for a moment and then gave a small giggle. "Well, genius, how do you suggest we get out of this situation?"
"Give me my shoe back," he said. "And my sock."
"And that's going to help your broken ankle how?"
"It's not. It'll just allow me to get to my car and as far away from you as possible."
"Yeah, sure. I'm just going to let you get in your car with a broken ankle and drive home, if you even get home, to a wife who'll hunt me down for allowing you to drive home with a broken ankle."
"How do you—"
"I'm female." she said, grinning. "So give me your cell phone and I'll call an ambulance."
"Use your own cell phone."
"I threw my cell phone at my girlfriend and it hit the wall. It's not going to be working anytime soon. So give me your damn cell phone."
"I don't want a fucking ambulance," he said, a pout clearly forming on his face as he crossed his arms. "An ambulance for a fucking broken ankle?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you use the word 'fuck' excessively?" she said, smiling at him.
"Isn't that a line from a movie?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Something like that, yeah. So, Magellan, what do you propose we do here?"
"Why the hell did you just call me Magellan?"
She shrugged. "I've had a burning desire to say it all day. Now that my burning desire is out of the way I can concentrate more on your broken ankle and stubborn streak."
"You're insane."
"Very much so."
He dug in his jacket pocket for a minute, then shoved a keychain in her hand. "Help me up and drive me to the hospital, freak."
"You have a Hello Kitty keychain?" the girl asked, amusement shining in her eyes.
"My wife lives to torture me," he said as she stood, holding his hands out for her to pull him up. It took a moment for the girl to pull him up. "You're a wuss."
"You weigh a ton."
"You weigh nothing."
"Get over it, lard ass," she said, bending down and picking up his sock and shoe, before draping his arm over her shoulder. "Now where the hell did you park?"
"Hit the lock button on the keychain."
"Meaning you have no idea where you parked?"
"Meaning I don't give a shit where I parked."
"You don't drive a stick do you?"
"Do you want me to make that into a dirty homosexual joke?"
"It would probably be more of a masturbation joke. A dirty homosexual joke would involve riding a stick, not driving it."
"It could be giving another guy a handjob."
"That's pushing it."
"You're mean."
"You're stupid."
She unlocked the car as they reached it, opening the passenger door to help him in. "I'm not a kid."
"Fooled me." He flipped her off as he sat down, pulling the door closed. "Bitch!" he said after she got in the driver's seat and turned, spitting on him.
"You deserved it and you know it. Stop being a drama queen."
"Stop being a bitch."
"You've been a drama queen longer than I've been a bitch."
"I think we can leave my age out of this, thank you very much," he said, crossing his arms. The pout was returning as he fished in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.
She jabbed at the radio, making a face at the bad 80's music that greeted her. "And here I thought you'd have good music taste."
"That station doesn't play 80's during the day," he protested. "Like you can even remember the 80's."
"Hey, I was alive for three years of the 80's!" she said defensively, hitting play on the CD player in an attempt to save her eardrums. She gave him a weird look as a track ended. "Conceited much?"
"Helps me think." he grumbled, lighting a cigarette and rolling his window down.
"About the Grammy you keep in your trunk for good luck?" she asked, snorting.
"Hey, how did you—"
She burst into laughter, cursing as a red car rudely refused to abandon the lane she was driving in. "You narcissist fuck!"
"You're a terrible driver."
"Hey, that would have been the right lane if we were in England."
"We're not in England."
"I like to pretend."
"You like to pretend you're in England by getting hit by cars?"
"Almost getting hit by cars."
"In my BMW."
"Your BMW does not escape the deep affection my imagination feels for England."
"I'm going to have to get a new car. I can actually feel it getting stupider."
"No, darling, that's the car getting smarter. You're just not used to intelligence."
"That didn't work for you."
"I know," She glanced at his cigarette. "I suppose you're counting on the second hand smoke killing me."
"Only after we get to the hospital."
"Speaking of the hospital," she said, "do you know how to get there?"
"I think we have to wreck the car and go to hell," he said, slapping himself in the face. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"Aw, that's what my girlfriend says."
"Your girlfriend's insane."
"Of course."
Cursing more, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a few buttons. "How the hell do I get to the hospital?" he asked the piece of plastic. "I don't know where the hell I am." he looked at her. "Where the hell am I?"
"In your car."
"Bitch."
"Thank you."
"Where am I?"
"Somewhere near some street. It's too dark to read the signs."
"I thought vampires could see in the dark."
"Stop being a dick or I'm going to suck your blood."
"What are you so rude? Aren't you supposed to respect your elders?"
"Spoiled punk assholes don't count."
Or tried to.
"Ah, fuck." His ankle contorted before he fell on his ass. He was cursing, but making no move to get up.
The girl moved toward him, the maternal instinct that lies within several females taking over. "Are you all right?" He looked at her and for a few seconds it seemed as though her expression might change. The seconds passed, however. "Are you all right?" she repeated.
"No," he said bluntly. "I think the ankle's okay, though."
"Stand on it then, smartass," she said, crossing her arms and looking like a mother who just caught her child out of bed at two in the morning playing video games.
"You're a little young to have a mouth like that aren't you?"
"You're a little old to be sitting on the sidewalk pouting aren't you?"
"I am not pouting." he muttered, trying to push himself off the sidewalk with his hands. The ankle, however, obviously wasn't okay.
The girl dropped onto her knees next to him, reaching toward the bottom of his jeans. "Let me see it."
"I'll scream rape," he warned, smacking her hand away.
"You would." She rolled her eyes and reached again toward the bottom of the jeans. He smacker her hand again. "Oh, stop bitching," she said. When he raised his eyebrow at her, she changed her expression, batting her eyelashes and putting her lips into 'pout mode'. "It'll make me feel better." she said in a syrupy voice. "You would want a cute little girl like me to be feeling guilty all night, would you?"
"Those lips get you what you want most of the time?" he asked dubiously.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she asked, taking the chance at grabbing the bottom of his jeans. This time he let her. She pulled it up a few inches, making a face. "You know, it's not just women who should shave their legs."
"You know, if you're just going to bitch at me about my..." His voice trailed off, obviously not finding the word he was looking for. "Ow!" he snapped as her hand lightly pressed against his already swelling ankle.
"I don't think it's broken." she said.
"Are you a fucking doctor?" he asked, looking at her.
She blushed. "No. But I'm certified to perform CPR."
"Well, that's great, darlin', but I'm not passed out on the street here."
"Oh, shut up," she muttered, unlacing his shoe.
"What the—"
"Can it, drama queen." she said, slowly pulling his shoe and then his sock off his right foot. Besides the increasing swelling, a yellowish bruise was forming on the skin. "Can you move it?"
"Yes, I can move it." he said aggressively. "I just can't stand on it."
"Move it," she said, not even looking up at his face. When he didn't, she looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. "Can't do it?"
"Fuck you."
"Lesbian."
"Good for you."
The girl bent closer to his ankle, running her fingers over the bruise. "Oh, no. It's worse than I thought?"
"What?" His eyes widened a little as she sat up.
"You're a typical stubborn smartass male."
"And you're a typical something, something bitch."
"Thank you." She looked at him blandly for a moment and then gave a small giggle. "Well, genius, how do you suggest we get out of this situation?"
"Give me my shoe back," he said. "And my sock."
"And that's going to help your broken ankle how?"
"It's not. It'll just allow me to get to my car and as far away from you as possible."
"Yeah, sure. I'm just going to let you get in your car with a broken ankle and drive home, if you even get home, to a wife who'll hunt me down for allowing you to drive home with a broken ankle."
"How do you—"
"I'm female." she said, grinning. "So give me your cell phone and I'll call an ambulance."
"Use your own cell phone."
"I threw my cell phone at my girlfriend and it hit the wall. It's not going to be working anytime soon. So give me your damn cell phone."
"I don't want a fucking ambulance," he said, a pout clearly forming on his face as he crossed his arms. "An ambulance for a fucking broken ankle?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you use the word 'fuck' excessively?" she said, smiling at him.
"Isn't that a line from a movie?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Something like that, yeah. So, Magellan, what do you propose we do here?"
"Why the hell did you just call me Magellan?"
She shrugged. "I've had a burning desire to say it all day. Now that my burning desire is out of the way I can concentrate more on your broken ankle and stubborn streak."
"You're insane."
"Very much so."
He dug in his jacket pocket for a minute, then shoved a keychain in her hand. "Help me up and drive me to the hospital, freak."
"You have a Hello Kitty keychain?" the girl asked, amusement shining in her eyes.
"My wife lives to torture me," he said as she stood, holding his hands out for her to pull him up. It took a moment for the girl to pull him up. "You're a wuss."
"You weigh a ton."
"You weigh nothing."
"Get over it, lard ass," she said, bending down and picking up his sock and shoe, before draping his arm over her shoulder. "Now where the hell did you park?"
"Hit the lock button on the keychain."
"Meaning you have no idea where you parked?"
"Meaning I don't give a shit where I parked."
"You don't drive a stick do you?"
"Do you want me to make that into a dirty homosexual joke?"
"It would probably be more of a masturbation joke. A dirty homosexual joke would involve riding a stick, not driving it."
"It could be giving another guy a handjob."
"That's pushing it."
"You're mean."
"You're stupid."
She unlocked the car as they reached it, opening the passenger door to help him in. "I'm not a kid."
"Fooled me." He flipped her off as he sat down, pulling the door closed. "Bitch!" he said after she got in the driver's seat and turned, spitting on him.
"You deserved it and you know it. Stop being a drama queen."
"Stop being a bitch."
"You've been a drama queen longer than I've been a bitch."
"I think we can leave my age out of this, thank you very much," he said, crossing his arms. The pout was returning as he fished in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.
She jabbed at the radio, making a face at the bad 80's music that greeted her. "And here I thought you'd have good music taste."
"That station doesn't play 80's during the day," he protested. "Like you can even remember the 80's."
"Hey, I was alive for three years of the 80's!" she said defensively, hitting play on the CD player in an attempt to save her eardrums. She gave him a weird look as a track ended. "Conceited much?"
"Helps me think." he grumbled, lighting a cigarette and rolling his window down.
"About the Grammy you keep in your trunk for good luck?" she asked, snorting.
"Hey, how did you—"
She burst into laughter, cursing as a red car rudely refused to abandon the lane she was driving in. "You narcissist fuck!"
"You're a terrible driver."
"Hey, that would have been the right lane if we were in England."
"We're not in England."
"I like to pretend."
"You like to pretend you're in England by getting hit by cars?"
"Almost getting hit by cars."
"In my BMW."
"Your BMW does not escape the deep affection my imagination feels for England."
"I'm going to have to get a new car. I can actually feel it getting stupider."
"No, darling, that's the car getting smarter. You're just not used to intelligence."
"That didn't work for you."
"I know," She glanced at his cigarette. "I suppose you're counting on the second hand smoke killing me."
"Only after we get to the hospital."
"Speaking of the hospital," she said, "do you know how to get there?"
"I think we have to wreck the car and go to hell," he said, slapping himself in the face. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"Aw, that's what my girlfriend says."
"Your girlfriend's insane."
"Of course."
Cursing more, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a few buttons. "How the hell do I get to the hospital?" he asked the piece of plastic. "I don't know where the hell I am." he looked at her. "Where the hell am I?"
"In your car."
"Bitch."
"Thank you."
"Where am I?"
"Somewhere near some street. It's too dark to read the signs."
"I thought vampires could see in the dark."
"Stop being a dick or I'm going to suck your blood."
"What are you so rude? Aren't you supposed to respect your elders?"
"Spoiled punk assholes don't count."