Triple Zero

Liz sipped cautiously from the paper cup as she walked across the parking lot and mentally damned herself when the tea scalded her.

A car approaching her from behind made Liz grin in wry amusement, men often slowed to check her out but she never acknowledged their presence. This time however the car stopped right beside her and Liz jerked around aware of the danger she might be in but instead of the men she expected to see, a single fat, dirty aboriginal woman staggered out of the driver’s seat and lurched towards Liz.

“You got a phone?” the stranger asked. “That woman bin gettin’ bashed.”

Wordless Liz reached into her handbag and passed the woman her phone. The sweat on the woman’s lips shone and wobbled as she punched three zeros into the phone and pressed dial. Liz marvelled at the way the sweat of the other woman stood in stark contrast to the charcoal black of the skin it had seeped out of. Strange.

“It’s my sister, that boyfriend she got’s hittin’ her with that pole.” Her knee twitched violently and sporadically as she paused to listen. “You not ask this many questions if I was white. You wastin’ my time!”

Liz bristled, this woman couldn’t possibly know if the operator was racist, just because you’re not aboriginal doesn’t mean you’re racist. The operator had to ask questions to be helpful.

When she’d finished explaining the details to the operator the woman wiped Liz’s phone on her skirt to try to get the sweat off and instead smeared it with dirt. She handed the phone back with a shaking hand.

“Thanks I, you,” then she turned got in her car and drove off.

Liz sipped her tea as she walked back to her car. She let out an appreciative sigh, the tea was just the right temperature.