Again, with Feeling
This story is about Three or Four years old, I'd guess. I did a first draft and got feed back, but never re-wrote it. I kept all the comment papers though, and here I am with the second draft. If you have any input, feel free to comment. Thanks.
It was a quiet day for Samantha, but then, most days were. She finished work and went down to the park to get in some reading. The afternoon was grey, but not quite dismal. It suited her tastes at the moment. Had it been bright out, it would have been difficult to read for the white of the paper. But the diffused brilliance of the sun made it a perfect day to read "A Midsummer Night's Dream". She'd always loved Shakespeare's comedies, not so much the tragedies though. The sky grew dark as she sat there reading, but where the sun left off, the lamps picked up, and Sam was entirely oblivious to the change.
The light didn't shine down on her perse; it was just happenstance that photons lit and danced upon the pages, allowing her the joy of English literature. A lucky coincidence of sorts. Had it been a motion sensitive lamp, it would have missed her entirely. Automated doors often failed to grant her ingress, and she'd find herself face first in glass.
As evening turned to night, hunger gnawed at her. She placed her bookmark, tucked away the book, and headed off to eat. It was Wednesday, so she was eating out. She hadn't yet decided where, but there were always plenty of choices. She weaved covertly through the foot traffic, headed towards the main road, avoiding crowds whenever possible. She didn't precisely take back streets, but lesser used footpaths kept her relatively out of the way.
On one of these side streets she became aware of someone nearby. Not someone-- there were at least two people, dancing-- violently dancing-- no-- struggling? As Sam drew close yells edged into her reality. She crawled back into her head. Yes, screams. Help, she heard. The frantic woman didn't want to release her purse, but there was a fear in her eyes and an edge in her voice that betrayed her apprehension. The woman did not want to discover the alternatives to letting go. It was a true marvel of leather-work that the strap hadn't snapped. Sam considered her options. Perhaps her mere presence would be sufficient to ward off the mugger. That seemed unlikely, Sam was far from imposing, she thought it more likely that the mugger would just find an opportunity to take her purse as well. And her book was in there, that wouldn't do at all. Was the street close? Did she have time to get the attention of some other pedestrian? Could she make this someone else's problem? Samantha doubted it, just as much as she doubted that the mugger would give up in time, leaving the woman with her purse. Perhaps this is fate? Was the woman intended to be robbed? Sam grasped vainly at excuses, but none seemed enough to justify inaction. She had no code of non-interference to break. Sure, she usually didn't interfere, but that wasn't an oath she swore, just a general complacency she had. It would be the Right Thing to do, Sam had to act.
That however, was not enough to throw her into action. It was one thing to convince her mind, but her body refused to budge, petrified by an unwillingness to throw herself into a spotlight. Sam was eleven once more and Peggy Strattlemeyer was again stealing Adam Cook's money. It was that third day that week that Adam would go without lunch. She hadn't done anything then either. Peggy was huge, Samantha was sure she should have been in the sixth grade. But that's no excuse. She could have done something. She could do something now, and maybe then, just maybe, in another thirteen years she wouldn't recall this day in shame.
She balled her fear deep within her fist, crumpling it within her fingers, clenched ever so tightly. Running up, Sam closed her eyes and swung. Her fist met with a force that she never would have suspected her small body could produce. It jarred her frame entirely, the impact started at her knuckles and shivered all the way through her toes. It was shocking to be standing afterwards, she had successfully collected all her strength into one right hook. Unfortunately, she'd hit the woman. Samantha stared in shock. The mugger was beyond surprised and fled, but not without the purse.
Sam appraised the situation, the woman was young, about her age, and her left eye was puffy, as if a small fist had collided with it, and it would insinuate itself into a black eye with time. Samantha knelt down.
"Are you okay?" It felt unnatural. "Hello?"
The woman started to regain her senses. It didn't take long. Sam noticed that her eyes were grey.
"God, what-- ow. Ow!" she started.
"Are you okay?" Sam tried again. The woman was rubbing the back of her head. She winced.
"Why-- what reason did you have--" the woman slapped Sam across the cheek. "Why the hell did you punch me?" Samantha accepted the slap gracefully. It was, after all, not entirely undeserved.
"I'm kind of new to this, I was trying to help." Sam retreated slightly, all this was a bit much. Midway through the withdrawal, she caught herself, and stopped.
"The bastard got away with my purse! How in god's name is that helping?" The woman was everywhere. Her arms and hair flew about wildly, gesticulating. Sam, who was not quite so expressive with her body language, idly considered this an epileptic fit, but knew it wasn't.
"I hadn't intended to punch you, I was trying to punch him, but as I explained earlier, I'm kind of new to this. And you're not really making things any easier by shouting at me. I mean, I'm really very sorry, and I know that good intentions aren't everything but--" Sam hadn't quite found her ground, but whatever ground he was on at the moment, she'd decided to defend the position.
"But what, I should thank you for punching me in the face? For helping a man steal my purse? I don't get paid again for two weeks, how am I supposed to eat in that time? I'm lucky I already paid this month's bills." Th woman fussed and brushed herself off. "Am I expected to go on dinner dates? I should go out with Steve even though the man doesn't know when to stop applying cologne? No!" She was beginning to calm down now, her arms settled closer to her sides and her motions became more predictable. Perhaps the adrenalin had left her system and she was crashing. No longer needing to fight or fly, the fight just left her.
"Well, I'm headed to dinner now, if you'd like to come," Samantha offered, "Since this is partially my fault, I feel like I owe you something." Sam smiled and sighed, "'If you pardon, I will mend.' Come on, we'll discuss things while we eat. What's your name?"
"You can call me Beth," the woman gave a quick grin, "but if we're going to dinner now, I get to choose where we're eating. I'lll be the first to admit, I'm kind of finicky." Another grin, this one slightly knowing, "'Give me your hands if we be friends.""
"Beth, that shouldn't be a problem." Sam grinned, shaking Beth's hand. She was already gleefully anticipating conversation with dinner, whatever they might end up eating.
It was a quiet day for Samantha, but then, most days were. She finished work and went down to the park to get in some reading. The afternoon was grey, but not quite dismal. It suited her tastes at the moment. Had it been bright out, it would have been difficult to read for the white of the paper. But the diffused brilliance of the sun made it a perfect day to read "A Midsummer Night's Dream". She'd always loved Shakespeare's comedies, not so much the tragedies though. The sky grew dark as she sat there reading, but where the sun left off, the lamps picked up, and Sam was entirely oblivious to the change.
The light didn't shine down on her perse; it was just happenstance that photons lit and danced upon the pages, allowing her the joy of English literature. A lucky coincidence of sorts. Had it been a motion sensitive lamp, it would have missed her entirely. Automated doors often failed to grant her ingress, and she'd find herself face first in glass.
As evening turned to night, hunger gnawed at her. She placed her bookmark, tucked away the book, and headed off to eat. It was Wednesday, so she was eating out. She hadn't yet decided where, but there were always plenty of choices. She weaved covertly through the foot traffic, headed towards the main road, avoiding crowds whenever possible. She didn't precisely take back streets, but lesser used footpaths kept her relatively out of the way.
On one of these side streets she became aware of someone nearby. Not someone-- there were at least two people, dancing-- violently dancing-- no-- struggling? As Sam drew close yells edged into her reality. She crawled back into her head. Yes, screams. Help, she heard. The frantic woman didn't want to release her purse, but there was a fear in her eyes and an edge in her voice that betrayed her apprehension. The woman did not want to discover the alternatives to letting go. It was a true marvel of leather-work that the strap hadn't snapped. Sam considered her options. Perhaps her mere presence would be sufficient to ward off the mugger. That seemed unlikely, Sam was far from imposing, she thought it more likely that the mugger would just find an opportunity to take her purse as well. And her book was in there, that wouldn't do at all. Was the street close? Did she have time to get the attention of some other pedestrian? Could she make this someone else's problem? Samantha doubted it, just as much as she doubted that the mugger would give up in time, leaving the woman with her purse. Perhaps this is fate? Was the woman intended to be robbed? Sam grasped vainly at excuses, but none seemed enough to justify inaction. She had no code of non-interference to break. Sure, she usually didn't interfere, but that wasn't an oath she swore, just a general complacency she had. It would be the Right Thing to do, Sam had to act.
That however, was not enough to throw her into action. It was one thing to convince her mind, but her body refused to budge, petrified by an unwillingness to throw herself into a spotlight. Sam was eleven once more and Peggy Strattlemeyer was again stealing Adam Cook's money. It was that third day that week that Adam would go without lunch. She hadn't done anything then either. Peggy was huge, Samantha was sure she should have been in the sixth grade. But that's no excuse. She could have done something. She could do something now, and maybe then, just maybe, in another thirteen years she wouldn't recall this day in shame.
She balled her fear deep within her fist, crumpling it within her fingers, clenched ever so tightly. Running up, Sam closed her eyes and swung. Her fist met with a force that she never would have suspected her small body could produce. It jarred her frame entirely, the impact started at her knuckles and shivered all the way through her toes. It was shocking to be standing afterwards, she had successfully collected all her strength into one right hook. Unfortunately, she'd hit the woman. Samantha stared in shock. The mugger was beyond surprised and fled, but not without the purse.
Sam appraised the situation, the woman was young, about her age, and her left eye was puffy, as if a small fist had collided with it, and it would insinuate itself into a black eye with time. Samantha knelt down.
"Are you okay?" It felt unnatural. "Hello?"
The woman started to regain her senses. It didn't take long. Sam noticed that her eyes were grey.
"God, what-- ow. Ow!" she started.
"Are you okay?" Sam tried again. The woman was rubbing the back of her head. She winced.
"Why-- what reason did you have--" the woman slapped Sam across the cheek. "Why the hell did you punch me?" Samantha accepted the slap gracefully. It was, after all, not entirely undeserved.
"I'm kind of new to this, I was trying to help." Sam retreated slightly, all this was a bit much. Midway through the withdrawal, she caught herself, and stopped.
"The bastard got away with my purse! How in god's name is that helping?" The woman was everywhere. Her arms and hair flew about wildly, gesticulating. Sam, who was not quite so expressive with her body language, idly considered this an epileptic fit, but knew it wasn't.
"I hadn't intended to punch you, I was trying to punch him, but as I explained earlier, I'm kind of new to this. And you're not really making things any easier by shouting at me. I mean, I'm really very sorry, and I know that good intentions aren't everything but--" Sam hadn't quite found her ground, but whatever ground he was on at the moment, she'd decided to defend the position.
"But what, I should thank you for punching me in the face? For helping a man steal my purse? I don't get paid again for two weeks, how am I supposed to eat in that time? I'm lucky I already paid this month's bills." Th woman fussed and brushed herself off. "Am I expected to go on dinner dates? I should go out with Steve even though the man doesn't know when to stop applying cologne? No!" She was beginning to calm down now, her arms settled closer to her sides and her motions became more predictable. Perhaps the adrenalin had left her system and she was crashing. No longer needing to fight or fly, the fight just left her.
"Well, I'm headed to dinner now, if you'd like to come," Samantha offered, "Since this is partially my fault, I feel like I owe you something." Sam smiled and sighed, "'If you pardon, I will mend.' Come on, we'll discuss things while we eat. What's your name?"
"You can call me Beth," the woman gave a quick grin, "but if we're going to dinner now, I get to choose where we're eating. I'lll be the first to admit, I'm kind of finicky." Another grin, this one slightly knowing, "'Give me your hands if we be friends.""
"Beth, that shouldn't be a problem." Sam grinned, shaking Beth's hand. She was already gleefully anticipating conversation with dinner, whatever they might end up eating.