With my back straight, hips against the table, hand in the center of my upper body, I pulled backward, using my elbows as a fulcrum, leveraging my hand upwards. I kept my knuckles towards the ceiling, using all of my body weight to drive my hand upwards.
Typically, the man would win between a man and woman; Bert was about the same size as me.
Bert looked surprised. His eyes were fearful as I held his hand, remaining steady. His wrists would bend backward with the technique I was using; that was my key to winning. It was bound to happen with my body weight pitting against his fingers. His fingers opened instead, another sign I was going to win.
"Come on, lass," someone cheered.
Another leered, "You ain't gonna let her beat you?! Are you?!"
Bert was biting his lip nervously, taking deep breaths through his mouth.
"Afraid a little girl is going to beat you, Bert?" I looked into his dark brown eyes and pulled myself back with my knuckles high and using my elbow as an axle. My hand was slowly lowering his down; I bent my knees and leaned left. I pulled Bert's fingers, slamming the back of his hand against the table.
We were both panting. Our audience had quieted. Bert stared at me in utter shock; no one spoke or cheered for this victory.
Without warning, I got up, punching him square in the nose.
He flew backward, reeling to the ground slamming his back against the wood flooring.
I shook the pain out of my knuckles. "Everything in life is about how witty you are, not just about how strong you are or, in this case, appear to be."
He propped himself up on his elbow, inspecting the blood that dripped from his mouth, "You said you were going to hit me in the chin."
"I was just getting to that." I walked up to him, bent down, taking his shirt within my fists, and hit him again on the chin.
He yelped, "I think you broke my nose!"
"Is that why I heard that crunch?" I shrugged it off. "You're lucky that's all I broke." I pushed him down and stood as the men laughed and cheered. "Keep your money, keep whatever dignity you have left, but never underestimate a woman."
A warm hand wrapped around my shoulder, "Come on, miss, you've earned yourself a visit with Mr. Ellison."
The back of the diner was dark and reeked of malt beer. I would take this smell over the central section any day. When I got home, I was going to have to scrub myself with bleach.
My father and I would always love to go fishing. When we got home, my mother didn't let us take a step inside until she tossed our clothes and hosed us off in the back. She'd make us go to separate showers and scrub for 45 minutes.
I heard indistinct voices, one sounding more familiar than the other.
"Gentlemen, we have ourselves a visitor; she's keen on seeing ya."
He was a rather large man; I had to step around him to be seen. Sitting at a kitchen table was William and another young man with raven-colored hair.
I walked straight up to a smirking William and punched him across the face. My hand was raw from distributing three punches in a day. I shook out the throbbing pain on my knuckles. "You idiot! Do you realize what I had to go through to track you down?! And you knew it too!" I was tempted to strike him again. "You didn't even bother to help me out?!"
William grabbed his cheek and looked back at me, reacting differently than I thought he would. He started to laugh; I cursed at him under my breath.
YOU ARE READING
The Society of the Ethereal Medallion
Historical FictionIndiana Jones has got nothing on Miss Rosalie Greene. It's not easy being a woman during World War II, especially trying to become something greater. Rosalie Greene is a young, determined woman pursuing her dream of becoming a writer, but she gets m...