The posts below belong to a larger story entitled Autumn Drive, a story about growing up, losing loved ones, and people that take advantage of those unable to defend themselves.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

On the A.T. June 25

My Aunt Nancie could kick some ass--at least that's what she always told me. I believed her, if half the fights she related to me were true, them most of the guys at the local bars had something to worry about--and a woman to avoid. 

I was never sure where she learned the moves she unleashed on men that came on to her too hard or touched her in inappropriate places. She made it clear to me that she taught them a lesson. She was animated when she set up her stories: minding her own business, a guy comes up to her and starts talking. The classic bar scene.

"I told him I wasn't interested but he didn't get the hint," she'd say, running her skeleton-thin fingers through her long hair. "I turned away and then he grabs my boob."

This guy wasn't taking no for an answer, she'd explain. 

I turned around and grabbed him so fast he didn't know what to do," her eyes lit up and grew as her arms swung up and down with her recreation.

She grabbed him from the back of the neck and sent his chest down into her ascending knee, at which point she threw him back jerking into his chair--never to mess with her again. It was amazing that such a skinny, pale, fast-talking person could take on guys twice her size. I guessed that the men that did try and cross her the wrong way must have been drunk or caught off guard. The more stories I heard, the harder it became to reduce them to luck. 

Nancie knew a lot of people-most of whom she met at bars. Logic told me that even if a guy went to a bar on a semi-regular basis, they would learn not to mess with Nancie Nursyck. They obviously didn't learn though, and the 'idiot guys' kept on coming.


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