I have only been in three fights in my life (not counting family fights). The first ended badly, the second one was by proxy and the last time I ran for my life.
The reason I bring this up is because we went to see a movie at the AMC in the Ontario Mills Mall (mistake number one) and witnessed a girl fight. Well truth be told, I didn't witness the fight itself, more the aftermath.
We had just finished watching "Tron Legacy" and my husband and I waited outside the restroom for my mother-in-law to come out. We heard people shouting and what sounded like a scuffle. My mother-in-law walked out (clueless at first) and behind her was a twenty something girl with her hair all askew. A fortyish woman followed shortly behind swinging her purse and the younger girl said aloud, "That woman hit me with her purse!"
My mother-in-law and I were transfixed. This was way better than the Tron sequel. If only I still had my popcorn.
Adrian pulled me by the arm and said, "C'mon." His mother and I walked away slowly, our necks craned as the two women continued to argue.
There is something intoxicating about watching women fight. Although I like to participate vicariously, I personally hate to fight. It comes down to the fact that I am a big baby, a wuss of the highest order.
When we were little (and through our teens), my twin sister Jackie and I fought, but I hated to hit her. I was scared that I would hurt her. Instead, I usually threw something at her and ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
Unfortunately, I wasn't able to avoid fights altogether.
My first girl fight was in elementary school. I got my butt whipped big time. The girl I fought was small, but super quick. I remember standing in the back of Mariposa Elementary's playground with a ring of people circled around us. She socked me in the face at least three times in rapid succession. I didn't even try and fight back. People booed with displeasure. At some point, the girl must have felt sorry for me and stopped the fight. I wish I could remember what the fight was over. It was probably something I said because my mouth has always been way too big for my britches.
The second fight was in high school in ninth or tenth grade. I was still in my nerdy phase. Soon, my nose would be pierced and my hair dyed blue black (after which no one messed with me because they thought my friend Tracy and I were witches).
My opponent was a bad ass heavy set chola who I will call Carla who wore her hair straight up blow dried with Aqua-Net. Her little sister and I got into an argument and I talked trash to Carla when she confronted me on her little sister's behalf.
Carla told me to meet her in South Quad after school. Word got around quick and my twin sister Jackie, who could throw down with the best of them, ran up to me at lunch and told me she had heard about the pending fight.
Jackie looked at me and said, "You can't fight her Jenny. That girl is tough. She'll kick your ass." She was right. I sighed, "I know."
Jackie continued to lecture me, "Dammit Jenny, why do you always have to talk shit if you can't back it up? I didn't say anything. Jackie hesitated and then shrugged her shoulders, "Fuck it, I'll fight her for you."
Jackie and I walked to South quad after school and I remember my proxy Jackie and that girl going at it, blow after blow, for what seemed like twelve rounds. Jackie totally held her own. I closed my eyes at some point and when it was all over, the general consensus was that the fight was a draw. Jackie's only battle scar was a deep scratch down her face because the girl had raked her nails, nails which she had sharpened to a point, down Jackie's face.
I don't remember if I hugged Jackie, but I should have because she saved me a serious ass kicking.
The third fight was in my twenties and it was more of a chase. We were at Flamingo Hills in Pomona and Jackie got kicked out after she threw a drink at some girl who bumped into her. Jackie took off with our younger sister Annie and I stayed until closing with my friend Gina.
After last call, Gina and I walked out to her Silver Celica and as we were driving out of the parking lot, a car drove by and a girl hung her head out the window and pointed at me and said, "There's that bitch who threw the drink at me."
"Shit," I thought to myself. Being a twin can suck at times. I didn't try to explain to this pissed off girl and her three crazy friends that I was her twin. They were convinced. "Get out of the car bitch," one of the girls said as she tried to block us with her Toyota.
"Drive," I screamed at Gina. "Fucking drive." Just two of us and four of them was not good odds. Gina was tough, but I was a negative in the equation. I could do the math.
Gina maneuvered her car around the Toyota and the sped down Kellogg Hill toward the freeway. Speeding as fast as she could, Gina hopped on the 10 West to the 57 North. The Toyota followed us the entire way and when we exited in San Dimas, they continued to follow us down Arrow highway. At one point, the car tried to run us off the road. I was scared sober.
Finally, after at least an hour of chase, we drove by a police station and parked and just waited. The girls drove by a couple of times, but finally gave up.
I chalked it up as payback for the fight Jackie fought for me years earlier.