A premonition

The young man was dressed in a white collared shirt and khakis. It was a Thursday night, and he looked like he had come straight to the bar from work. I saw him approaching and there was something about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He was totally drunk and stumbling down the street, but there was something else.

He turned back to his friends, who were milling about outside the bar, and said that he was going home. No one seemed to notice.

You know that feeling you get when you are sure that something strange is about to happen? I guess people call these things premonitions? I never was a big believer in that stuff. But looking at this fellow, stumbling past me on the sidewalk, I knew that something bad was about to happen to him.

I was sitting on a bench outside of Legion, my favorite neighborhood bar, talking to a young woman. We had been to the movies earlier in the evening and were now having a few drinks. I suppose you could call it a date. It was a nice night, before the heat of this past weekend hit the city; the air hadn’t turned into the sticky, hot mess that now awaits me outside on the street.

She was mid-sentence when I interrupted her.

“Look at that guy,” I said.

“What about him?” she said. Slightly annoyed.

He was now walking right past us, his face distorted in an angry snarl.

“I dunno,” I said, “He looks like he’s about to get in a fight with someone.”

“I think he’s just drunk,” she said.

“Probably,” I said. Realizing that she hadn’t really understood what I was talking about.

And she launched back into to her story about her last boyfriend and how much of a jerk he was. I agreed. And though I’ve never met the guy, I’ve had conversations like this before. The only thing to do is to agree.

I was struck with the idea that somewhere, one of my ex-girlfriends could be saying the same thing about me to some guy I don’t know and all he can do is agree.

“That’s unfortunate,” I said, to myself and to her.

It was less than five minutes before the guy was back again. He was way down the block, but I recognized him immediately. He was now walking with a limp, and I could see that something was wrong; as he got closer I noticed that his pants were ripped at the pocket and his hair was messed up. He was crying and one eye was very swollen and turning blue. His lip was cut and bleeding and the white crisp shirt was now dappled with dark red drops.

“Whoa,” the girl said.

“I got mugged,” the young man said, to no one in particular, still crying.

His friends were still standing in the small patio area outside the bar and a tall girl turned to him and said, “I told you not to walk home by yourself. I knew something like this was going to happen.”

“I fought back,” he said. “They didn’t get anything.”

Another friend slapped him a high-five and gave him a hug.

Someone brought out a shot of Tequila and a bag of ice. I wondered if more alcohol was really what this fellow needed.

The girl sat next to me totally silent. She scooted closer to me on the bench and said finally, “Is this neighborhood usually like this?”

“Not at all,” I said. And could tell that she didn’t believe me.

I sputtered something about how she shouldn’t worry, that I’d protect her. She smiled, leaned her head on my shoulder and said I was sweet and much nicer than her ex-boyfriend.

“How’d you know that was going to happen to him?” she asked.

“I really don’t know,” I answered. “A premonition, I guess.”

“I always get those,” she said.

“Yeah, me too,” I said.