If Kari did decide, at any point, to ambush me while my collarbone was impaired, it would have been the universe turning fully justified Karma at me. You see, in the late 1980s, when I was in college, I had settled a hometown neighborhood rivalry by cornering an older, stronger enemy when she was inebriated.
(Granted, at that point in her life, her late 20s, she was frequently inebriated, or hungover; but that's a different story. Just stay with me for now--I ambushed her, on purpose, in a setting that was disadvantageous to her and tilted the scales for me.)
Growing up in our neighborhood, there was an older, about 5 years--but only three grades--ahead of me in school, girl named Shelly who noticed my deveoping blonde hair and figure and was always making sniping comments to me as the older boys started favoring me with, first, attention; then kisses; and finally, full-blown sex.
Given how far ahead of my Shelly was in years, it would have been uncool for her to swing first. So, instresd, she constantly baited me, baited me, trying to get a catfight going between me and her.
I learned to avoid her, or have adults step betwern us at the last minute. She told me to watch my back, which I would have done even without her warnings. But the tables, with Father Time's help, were turning--I was becoming a full-grown woman, and the one that needed to watch her back was Shelly.
I went off to college, and Shelly stayed behind in thr neighborhood, nursing vodka's and vermouth's from her parents' liquor cabinet all day.
I came home from school one long weekend, deciding it was time to put Shelly in her place for good. I showed up at a neighborhood party with 7 or 8 gossip-y girls in attendance. I let them know that if they got Shelly liquored up beyond her tolerance, there might be an opportunity to witness a Pam-vs-Shelly brawl in it for them at evening's end. I pretended to be drinking myself, but was careful to stay stone cold sober.
As the pain in the ass innocent bystanders gradually left to go home to get ready for Sunday Mass (our neighborhood was very Catholic), and just Shelly and the gossip-y girls remained, I yelled out across the room, "Hey, bitch....Ya, you, Shelly.... I don't like the shit you've been talking about me all these years.... Come do something about it, if you have a problem with me."
I wantwd to still leave it up to her, so that history would show, as usual, Shelly had baited me .... not yhe other way around.
Plus .... Shelly wasn't thinking straight. She was sloppy drunk.
Shelly charged across the room, zig-zagging the whole way, and missed with one of her hand when she tried to double-fist my big-1980s hair.
I sunk mine into hers. A began dealing out the whup-ass. Ragdolling her head from side to side. Then up and down.
And sinking my right knee, on each down-motion, deep into her face.
Knee to the mouth.
Knee to the nose.
Knee to the cheek.
Knee to the eyes.
Knee to the forehead.
Shelly was so drunk that I was using more energy holding her oriented to me than I was resisting her hand digging into my scalp.
I kept my concentration, tho, and came what I had set up to do.
I finished by punching and kicking Shelly's stomach until thst night's alcohol ..... and party snacks .... ended up on the living room floor.
Along with, finally, Shelly.
"Holy shit, Pam, you kicked the shit out of Shelly."
"Someone should drive her home."
"Not me. Me, either. I'm leaving."
Not the most honorable performance by the neighborhood girls.
But even less so by me.
From that day forward, I wondered .... will I get paid back for what I did to Shelly that night in 1987?
Would Kari be the one to do it?
To be continued....
