The M.I.L.F. Man

The "not so cute" meet

I was ambling along still basking in the glow of that truly remarkable weekend—and a succulent chicken mole lunch with my dear Lupita (yes, we're fast friends forever)--when something struck my shoulder, violently, from behind.

I pitched forward but regained my balance rather clumsily in time to see a gaggle of red-faced campus "Q" believers shoving and spitting obscenities at a little group of leftist students ducking and covering behind and under the placards they were carrying.

Their futile attempt to run from the screaming horde unintentionally swept the rest of us up in the melee so that I was only a foot away when one of the screaming Q guys socked one of the leftie guys in the face, splattering me and several others with droplets of bright red blood.

And that's when I saw Cielo.

Who, when blocked from aiding her friend by a scowling, screeching Q woman, simply stopped...and stared. No yelling, no shoving, no posturing of any kind. She just planted her tiny bare feet, shooed away all rescue attempts, and turned to stone.

Unmoved even when the Q woman—a Latinx lioness at least a foot or more taller and wider than she was--stepped up, leaned down nearly nose to nose, neck veins bulging, fists clenched, shrieking, "This is America, bitch! My America!" Followed by a slew of other racist/nationalist banalities that became more and more frenzied and limbic-brained until a Q guy finally came and yelled, "Fuck that fuckin' lesbian" and trundled her away.

At which time Cielo rushed to join her friends kneeling beside her fallen "comrade" who was still bleeding rather profusely from what I feared might be a badly broken nose.

So I shoved through a little crowd of gawkers to offer my bottle of water for first aid purposes. And a green-haired woman thanked me and used it to drizzle water upon his face, dabbing gently with the hem of her own t-shirt to reveal the damage done.

And seeing said damage, Cielo leapt up, shook back that multicolored hair and bellowed, "Go to fucking class! You didn't give a shit 'til somebody got hurt!" To the crowd, not me.

To me, she gave this little smirky smile and said, "I thought they kicked you out by now."

I must admit she stunned me. But I said, "Not quite yet--is it broken, do you think?"

She glanced down, still smiling that same way, and said, "In his case it'd be an improvement, but I hope not."

And the poor guy on the ground—his t-shirt declared him an "NDN"--actually chuckled and said, "Mala (bad/mean woman)..."

"Yeah, she is bad," another guy said. "Cause I couldn'a just stood there like that."

"If I'm gonna get arrested, it's not gonna just be because some Nazi bitch pushed the wrong button," Cielo said. "Clinic's not that far--can you walk, Bear?"

I was thrilled to be able to say, "My car is in the lot across the street."

And just as she gave me a snarky, "You would have premium parking," someone grabbed hold of that rainbow hair and threw a brutal punch that smashed her right on the cheekbone.

I dove at the woman who'd done it—the crazed Q fan from before--and snatched her arms behind her back hoping Cielo would forego her pacifism and sock the shit out of her since she hadn't learned the lesson intended. But she was reeling from the punch which had opened a gash on that cheekbone. She looked dizzy and dazed and I flung her assailant rather roughly to the ground to catch her just as her knees buckled.