You are exhausted. You worked later than usual setting up for another function which consists of 65 people celebrating an 8 year-old's communion. All of them are going to be Italian, and they will expect you to pronounce all pizza names correctly, and with an authentic Italian accent. You sigh at the thought of how long and busy tomorrow will be as you wave good-bye to your roommates driving home for the night. Your friends are in town from Melbourne and now, along with a certain Canadian fellow, you are going to traipse through the pouring rain to try and find this house party they are all at. A house part in Freo? This should be good.
Before setting off on the directionally-challeged journey, you go with your instinct and pick up a bottle of $11 red wine from The Newport's bottle shop and try your best to place it safely under your arm, sheltering it from the rain. But the effort is wasted as the classy brown paper bag it's tucked into quickly disintegrates.
As it becomes more and more clear that the likelihood of arriving at this party is growing substantially dimmer, you confer with your comrade and decide that the best option is to throw in the towel (which, if you actually had one would be soaking wet by now) and catch the last bus home. You're near the stop anyway. You silently congratulate yourself on a very mature and well thought-out decision, and mentally high five your future self which you know will thank you at work. A hot shower, a quick game of Scrabble by the fire, and some wine... another relaxing Friday night avoiding the streets of Fremantle.
The bus arrives on time and you jump on, dripping onto the slippery floors and trying your best to conceal the bottle of wine which is now naked from the lack of the paper bag, and threatening to slip from your grasp. You fall into a seat and try your best to avoid the drunk, rowdy, teenagers at the back. You start to feel old as you realize that at 23, you're partial to an early night and an easier morning than the head pounding antics of these "kids". The bus drags itself down South Street and eventually comes to your stop, opening it's mouth to you as well as the group of fifteen that was determined to turn bus 99 into a party. You immediately sense that something is not right, and grab at Josh's hand... whispering "let'swalkontheothersideofthestreet, theseguysmakemenervous."
Just as the words are hitting your only ally, you hear the quick footsteps of someone sprinting, and feel a hard tug on your purse. You are dragged into an awkward tug-of-war as the perpetrator tries to pry your bag, holding all important possessions, from your hands. Fight or flight. You yank, and pull, and hold on... the whole time alternating between screaming, "NO!" and "JOSH!". Eventually the asshole let's up, falls to the ground, and scampers off... declaring you the victor of your first ever mugging attempt.
It would be very nice if that was the end of the problems, and not the beginning.
Immediately you see darting figures and realize that, not only are you a surprisingly far away distance from where you had originally been taken from, but the only person you are now concerned with is in the middle of a ten-on-one battle. You start yelling again in what can only be described as a panicked yelp, and run towards the fight.
Wrong decision.
As Josh is doing his best trying to avoid getting his head pounded in, the girlfriends of this gang (yes, that is a dramatic term... and no, they weren't loyal to the Bloods or Crips - but these guys are thugs) decide to focus their attention on you. Getting just what they want, you and Josh are now separated and sitting there. Easy for the picking. Not realizing that these girls mean you malice, you don't move away from their approach until Josh starts yelling, "STAY AWAY FROM HER!" As they move into the light, and start calling you "Sis", you know that they aren't coming over to apologize... and you book it. You are done with the "fight" part of this situation and kick it into "flight" mode.
You don't think that they'd actually chase after you.
Heart pounding, feet flying, trying not to slip on the wet concrete, phone crashing to the ground, firm grip on your purse, and hearing people just steps behind you... you round the corner of your street and that's where Josh catches the only girl left chasing you, and proceeds to throw her into a parked car. As the rest of the group catch up to Josh, you're yelling bloody murder for your housemate, Roy. Screaming his name at the top of your lungs way before you can even see the house, hyperventilating, and finally coming into sight... Roy takes one look at you, asks where Josh is, and flies down the steps... across the yard... and towards the yelling. As soon as you can breath regularly enough to tell Isabelle what happened, you both run back to the boys - calling the police on the way. As Bel is spelling her last name for the 911 (or in Australia, it's 000) officer for the hundredth time, you are watching what can only be a scene in a movie...
Rocks flying. Steam rising from the street and off of bodies. Fists falling. And the gut wrenching realization that it's now fifteen-on-two. These dirty, ghetto chicks have no qualms about joining in, scratching, punching, and hitting.
Eventually the group of bastard misfits disperse, around the same time Roy starts punching the girls, and two cop cars show up. You almost faint when you see that Josh's previously white shirt has been turned a dark red. But snap out of it as you realize that it's just the wine that had been broken and used as weapons. As you and Josh tell the police what happened in angry, outofbreath, gulps... you answer "yes" to the most prevalent question - "were they aboriginals?"
The police get your details promising to call if they find anything, you say good-bye to the two Aussies who had come out to help take on these deranged little psychopaths, and the four of you stumble back home. Soaked to the core, adrenaline pumping, slightly wounded, but in one piece... you relay the story to your mom, crack open the bottle of wine that you somehow managed to hold on to, sit in front of the fire, and hug everyone around you. You assess the cuts on Roy's back, Josh's blue eye, and your bag and then remember to - quick! Someone get a camera!
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