(6) I am what I am

“You look tired,” Bonnie said as I wandered out of my bedroom. “Couldn’t get back to sleep after the nightmare?”

“It took a while,” I replied with a slight smile. “At least when I did I didn’t dream.”

“Just remember, no more spooky movies before bed,” she told me with a grin as she put on her jacket, waiting by the door for me to get mine. Once we were both ready we headed off to the diner, which was within decent walking distance from the apartment. As we passed a newsbox she paused for a second, shaking her head in disgust as she muttered about the fact that every headline seemed to be about war or murder. “But that’s what sells I guess,” she said as we continued on our way.

“Just like horror films make the big money,” I replied. “People eat that stuff up—like you.” I grinned at her.

She laughed in response. “Yeah, you got me on that one.”

For the next few days things were calm on both the work and the sleep fronts. Then I had a bad day at the diner, the result of a two men who seemed to think they were cocks of the walk. From the smell of them they’d stopped off for a couple of drinks before lunch and then decided they needed food to sober up before heading back to work. They acted like they were still at a bar, making loud suggestive comments and being too free with their hands when I went to take their orders. I fended them off as best I could but they started again when I brought their meals back. Bonnie stepped in, telling them to leave as they were disturbing the other customers. The lady has a way about her because they did without causing any more trouble.

That night I had another nightmare. This time Bonnie didn’t come armed with the bat. She just stepped into the room to make sure I was awake, offering to listen if I wanted to tell her what it was about this time. I thanked her for caring, which sort of got her back up because she grumbled, "Of course I care, that’s how friends are."

Once she’d left I did the same thing I had after the last nightmare, going out once I was dressed and passed inspection in the mirror. I wandered the streets, deciding to by-pass the club I’d gone into last time in favor of another, nicer one a few blocks in the other direction. I found a small table in a dark corner, ordered my water with a twist, and sat back to enjoy the music. A couple of times men came over to ask if I wanted to dance. I shook my head and they left.

Soon enough I was zoning on the music so I jumped when an older man pulled out the chair next to mine and sat down as if he belonged there. He started gabbing, coming on to me none too subtly the way a drunk does. When I asked him to leave me alone he ignored me, so I took that as my cue that it was time for me to get out of there. Grabbing my jacket and slinging my purse over one shoulder I forced my way past him, avoiding his hands as best I could, and hurriedly left the club.