The Collision

*WARNING* The following text contains strong language.

She weaved down the street with absolutely no regard for either herself or her fellow pedestrians and she was headed my way. There was plenty of ground left between us for me to manoeuvre out of her way as it was clear that she was not going to offer me the same courtesy. I began to veer off to the left and she mirrored me. I almost stopped. I knew she couldn’t possible see me, she was far too engrossed in texting or whatever it was she was doing on her posh phone. I veered to the right and she veered with me. This had to be a joke. I veered again, weaving through some imaginary crowd, my every movement mirrored by this bleach-blond, ignorant girl who, by now, I was sure was taking the piss.

            I could feel my face growing red from both anger and the embarrassment of doing a one-man dance in the middle of a practically empty street. I knew I looked a prat and I could see people snickering across the road, wondering if I had some form of Tourette’s that made me twitch all over the path, or maybe I was just drunk. I ignored them and focused on Texty. She was chewing gum like a cow chews cud and she was twisting her ponytail with her free hand, eyes still fixed on the phone in her hand.

I kept dodging and weaving and she matched my every move until I gave up, grit my teeth and prepared myself for a nasty collision. We met each other far more intimately than I’m sure either of us would have liked. The phone, a hideous pink thing covered in rhinestones, fell to the pavement and smashed into all of its respectable pieces. The back cover flew into the gutter, the battery slipped under a Doc Marten and was subsequently crushed. The sim card flew God knows where and the screen cracked into a spider web pattern.

Texty’s chin shot up so fast I thought she might take my eye out with it and she glared at me like I was the inconsiderate bastard who hadn’t been looking where he was going. I had never seen a hatred like it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Watch where you’re fucking going you dickhead. You’ve smashed my fucking phone!”

“Sorry,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

“You fucking will be sorry, you prick!”

I know I should have been at least a little bit scared of Texty, but the utter fury daubed across her face was so ridiculous in the circumstances that I almost laughed and when the bird shit slopped down her shoulder I did. Everyone around us stared in horror and Texty looked from her shoulder to me and back again with growing fury. I could hear people whispering.

“He’s mad.”

“She’s going to kill him.”

“Is he right in the head?”

“Christ man, get out of there.”

None of it mattered as she jerked back her fist. Before I could react I was falling on my backside, eyes watering, nose broken, still laughing.

© Jessica Wiles, 2013


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