Amo Amas Amat

  

 Amo Amas Amat.

She was tapping the dish brush on the side of the sink as she looked out her kitchen window into the cold Toronto dusk..

 

 

She's gotta go soon. It's Tuesday night. Latin class.

 

In her mind she goes over some tricky verb declensions, or are they conjugations?

 

Runs some more hot into sink.

 

Her car is parked blocks away and she knows it's a dangerous walk.

 

It's dark now and it's starting to snow.The first flakes seem to swim up to the pane.

 

She thinks of the little bag in the hiding spot behind the book case as she gets into her coat and she chooses the ski gloves with the small coin pocket - a tiny toot will be a hoot- she smiles as  she thinks she might wind up at  Cindy's after class.

 

 Fucking Tuesday nights! and the elevator stinks of piss again.

 

  Now she's on the street  and there's that guy. Probably a speed freak. He's up ahead, heading away from her, scuttling up the street, hopefully not looking for latin scholars to mug.

 

 

He's seen  her and he knows where she's parked , that stuck up librarian bitch probably with a good job and yeah - a fat wad of cash in a wallet tucked into some warm inner pocket  and if he's quick he'll make it  to the corner, and just beyond that, the alley with the dumpster. A perfect spot.

 

 

She half  thinks about the sink as she tries to remember declensions. She  takes her keys from her pocket and carefully bunches them into her gloved hand so they splay between the fingers in case she has to fight off some attacker. Can never be too careful round here- she thinks of the little bag in her pocket of her left glove and hopes it doesn't get mushed if she has to fend off an attack.. If only her mum could see her now; "young urban intellectual street survivalist and recreational drug user"! on her way to a Latin class she's only really doing so she can get next to Cindy. "you're not 29 anymore gal"

 

He's made it to the  the dumpster alley in plenty of time and is standing back in the shadow waiting for her. Freezing. That old frozen wind off the lake. His teeth chatter and he taps the brickwork with his screwdriver in time with his teeth, but at half the beat. Now fours. Now it's a waltz.

 

She's approaching  and the wind picks up the tapping sound as she nears. Tap tap tap...

Barely registers as she thinks back to washing the dishes before she left.... the dish brush , the hot tap.

'Fuck!' she's left it running she knows it ! No!  Yes!!. Slithers to a stop on the icy sidewalk. Turns and runs back the way she came.

He hears her say "fuck" quite clearly. Confused he jumps out from his cold corner, but she's already running like hell away from him.

"biiiiiiitch " and he throws the screwdriver. An amazing shot. Spinning straight for the back of her head. But she ducks and it sails over.

She hears someone scream behind her and then a familiar jangle at her feet. It's her own keys she's lost the grip of, and now they're skating down the pavement in front of her, she ducks and scoops them up. Hardly breaks her stride as something whizzes over her head and breaks the wing mirror off a van.

Back through the front door, up the five flights, two at a time.

puffed, "you are surely not 29 anymore gal".

The door of her apartment, first the main lock, then the deadbolt , last the Yale, rushes in, into the kitchen .

Stares at the sink....