It was on.
In Chicago, deep within the sprawl, where no one could see. It was buried in the concrete. Underground. In a decently-sized room; dirty, dark with fluorescent lighting, illuminating the faces of the screaming audience, all crying out for blood.
Sitting in a boxed room above, staring through the glass at the ring located in the center of the room, the management of the organization watched like hawks from their nest. They had labored to set this night up, and damned if they were going to see it through with satisfaction. Several of them, all smoking or drinking champagne. Dressed up nicely.
The three men in the ring were not dressed so nicely. One wore all white, the referee, standing anxiously between the two men who would soon fight. This was a good one; the lighting made it hard for any newcomers to see who was fighting, but the hardcore fans knew these two men; lots of wars had been waged by these two. And a lot of those wars had been won by them. Both were slicked with sweat, seen through the dim lighting. One was tan, bald, and wearing white shorts. He was barefoot. The other wore blue shorts, with wrestling shoes on. His hair was fairly short, and he was clean shaven.
The rules were simple; and everyone knew the rules. One ten minute round, and one five minute round. No submissions. Just boxing, kicking boxing, and Muay Thai fighting styles, as well as any other kind of martial arts that involved kicks, punches, and knees. The exceptions? No headbutts. No groin shots. No eye-gouging. Everything else had the green light to go.
The mob was surging, a nonstop headache, viciously demanding another war. The ref stepped back, and the fighters were now both aware that they were, indeed, about to throw down. Their hands were taped up tightly, and four-ounce gloves dwarfed what was left of their hands.
And just like that, the ref brought his arm downwards in a chopping motion, shouting, “Go!” and it was on.
The two fighters paced each other around the ring, Baldy taking the center, stalking the smaller fighter with the seasoned grace of a veteran. The other guy, Smalls, small for his weight, weighed in at one hundred and ninety pounds at five-eleven. His body was somewhat chubby, but that was merely a deception. At least to those who knew him, at any rate. Like the man he faced, he had done his time in this ring before. He was a warrior.
They circled about, but it seemed that Smalls was reluctant to start throwing. Baldy obliged him, leaping forward with a testy jab combo, keeping Smalls on the outside. This happened for a few moments, until Baldy began to get a bit more confident. He started throwing one-two’s; Smalls blocked most, but the last salvo got through, catching him on the nose. He stepped back, ducking as Baldy got cocky, over swinging, and then Smalls started to throw, right to the body. He couldn’t kick; the rules were clear that if you wore shoes into the fight, you couldn’t throw kicks. Knees were fine, kicks were not.
And that was unfortunate. Baldy was a Muay Thai practitioner. Once they clinched, He fired knees to body, again and again, when he could. Smalls hung in tough, but he couldn’t take it forever, and he knew this.
He let go, pushing Baldy slightly back, and then hurled bombs upon him, his arms like wrecking balls, swinging towards Baldy in a rapid flurry that saw Baldy take several hard blows before covering up and getting out of range.
This whipped the crowd up into a riot. This was what they had come for. It was unfathomable how these people were stimulated by such raw violence so easy; but it wasn’t a church. God had no place in the club. No one came for Jesus. They came for blood.
And once the two combatants clinched up again, blood the crowd received. A knee from Baldy struck Smalls on the forehead, almost dropping him.
And as Smalls staggered backwards, Baldy surged forward as blood started to leak to the mat from the large cut on Small’s forehead. Baldy was trying to knock Smalls out; a task that was near impossible. Those that knew Smalls knew that he had more than a jaw of iron; he had a jaw of steel. He had never been knocked out before. Whenever he had lost, it was either by decision or the ref stopped it. Smalls was not a quitter.
And so he was against the ropes, as he usually was for the first few minutes of a fight. Baldy didn’t seem to care as he struck Smalls with a few punches, and then switched to elbows. He tried to latch his hands behind Smalls’ head, so that he could end the fight with a knee, but Smalls denied this. Gripping Baldy around the belly, he reversed his position, pushing Baldy against the ropes. At this lull, the crowd started to boo.
The fighters weren’t just warriors; they were entertainers. They knew when they were being boring. This was the case as Baldy and Smalls, almost as if they were in agreement, let go of each other, stepped back, and started to unload again. Most of their punches missed, slipping past their heads barely, or hitting their arms or shoulders. But then, Baldy threw an overhand right, which Smalls immediately ducked and countered with his own right, landing perfectly at the tip of the jaw.
Baldy was gassed; his mouth was slightly open as Smalls’ fist struck it perfectly. Baldy’s hands dropped, his eyes took on that “What just hit me?” look, and he stepped back, hands falling. The ref was starting to move forward-
But too late. Smalls hit him again, and Baldy went down, splayed on the ground, looking like a horrible depiction of Christ on the cross.
It was over. Smalls by knockout, his twenty-third win by K.O. The crowd lifted his name up, his real one, as his arm was raised by the ref. The business suits in the glass box applauded with the audience.
And though his face was shadowed by the dim lighting, there was no mistaking that Smalls was smiling.
Winning was good. Doing so without getting your head taken off was even better.
Tara Fields sat down in the Starbuck’s, her coffee in hand, a copy of Kate Chopin’s The Awakening in front of her. She loved the little coffee shop; its location was wonderful, right in the midst of the bustling downtown. People came in and out all day, and she loved the teeming atmosphere the city of Chicago.
Tara was a diamond in the rough; a junior attending the University of Chicago, she’d been accepted as a freshman with a GPA of 4.2 and a large amount of awards she’d won during high school, including class president, captain of the track team, and so on. She was also a diamond that glittered in the sun every day.
It was hard not to stare at her when she walked by. Born to and Irish-American father and a Puerto Rican mother, their combined genes gave her lovely dark hair, always smooth. Her eyes were yet another great achievement; dark blue, perfectly flawless. Her skin was finely tanned, naturally. In winter it lost its luster, but during that time her skin was hardly what you could call pale. Her hands were slender, and her nails were finely trimmed. She was also slender around the waist. Now this would make most guys consider her a final sale, but then came the hard part; Tara was a firm Christian; the kind that didn’t back away from her faith at any time or place.
She sat studying the novel, dissecting it word for word, trying to get a connection between the imagery and the story plot. Kate Chopin was a fascinating read to Tara; always seeking independence and never quite finding it. Tara felt the same way sometimes; her parents might’ve been living in Springfield, but they still called her any time they could; at least, Tara’s mom did. Felicia Fields was a loving mother, overprotective at most.
But Tara didn’t mind; she loved her parents dearly. She missed them sometimes, despite her love of being independent now. She missed her quality time with her dad, who was always kidding about serious issues, and she missed teasing her little brother, Jonathan. She even missed her mother, but Felicia Fields was sometimes a bit too strict. She was angry if Tara hung around boys too much, or was furious if Tara wasn’t studying. But those were rare occasions, and they passed into obscurity quickly enough.
Tara’s sanctuary was here; in the Starbuck’s she could meet her friends, or be at peace when she was by herself. She knew the manager of the shop, Richard Tessier. She knew most of the employees as well.
Rich himself appeared from behind her, saying a quick hello as he tidied up the area Tara was sitting near; it was littered with magazines that were in heaps. As Tara watched, Rich organized them into stacks, speaking while he did so, “So how’s school?”
“It’s going great, thank you. How’s life?” She adjusted her glasses as she replied. The glasses were the one curse that Tara had to bear. She was nearsighted. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see further than thirty feet out.
It was an unfortunate piece of luck, but it kept her humble. She didn’t mind; she hardly ever took the glasses off. They had become a part of her body, her skin.
“Not so bad, I guess.” Tara glanced up from her book to look at Rich. The man was huge; when he hunched, he was six-five. Standing straight, he was six-seven easily. He proudly kept a bright blonde mullet, despite its fashionable suicide. He was a Canadian fed up with his home country; Rich had come to Illinois over the Great Lakes. Tara had met him a year ago, and they’d been friends since.
Looking at Rich, she saw frustration in his sky-blue eyes. His lips were pulled tight into a slight frown. But nevertheless, he dealt with the magazines quickly. Rich hated clutters, regardless of where he was. If he was in a friend’s house and saw a clutter, he’d clean it up.
“You seem bothered about something.” Tara ventured.
“You could say that,” growled the large Canadian. “I just got this new employee, what, three or four weeks ago? Yeah, four sounds about right,” He stood up and put the table against the nearby wall, next to the window. “Four weeks ago, this guy came to me, bein’ real polite. He seemed like a really, really decent worker, so I hired him on the spot. But the trouble is, I think he’s retarded.”
“What?” Tara burst out laughing, completely caught off guard by Rich’s brutally-honest comment. “Rich, come on, you shouldn’t use that word like that.”
“I’m not kidding!” He protested. “He stutters worse than anyone I’ve ever met - and believe me, I’ve met my share of idiots – and even when he doesn’t stutter, he’s mumbling at a tone where I can’t hear him.” He shook his head. “But that’s beside the point. The guy’s weird. Strange. I think he’s a cutter.”
“Why, he’s got scars on his wrists?” Tara said.
“No,” Rich shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. He’s just got scars. All over him. Arms, hands, fingers, neck. I don’t get it. It’s creepy looking.” He sighed moodily. “The only consolation I’ve got is that he’s a good, hard worker. He locks down every night, does everything I ask of him and more, and he’s always looking to do something after he’s finished a job.” Rich shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just odd. Not normal.”
“Maybe you’re just being hard on him.” Tara suggested. “Give him time; maybe you’ll really like him later on.”
Rich nodded. “Yeah. I hope. Hopefully he’s not some kind of psycho.” He left after that, leaving Tara to laugh softly to herself about him. She did admire Rich; he was a kind man, and she really, really admired that in a man.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Just then, another employee called out to her. Stan, a graduate from the University of Chicago. A scrawny kid with a thick neck and a tattoo on both forearms. He hailed her from behind the register.
“Hey, sweetheart, what’cha readin’?”
“The Awakening, Stan.”
“Any good?”
“Pieces of it, yes. Kate Chopin’s an extraordinary writer.” Tara looked over Stan and did a double take when she saw him. Stan usually had a brush back haircut, but not now it was all gone. He had shaved his hair completely off.
“You like the new ‘dew?” He grinned.
“Not particularly. Grow your hair back.”
“Aw, come on, give it a chance,” he laughed. “You’ll like it. Hey, by the way, the fellas and I were thinking about a get-together tonight. You wanna come with?”
Tara sighed. She had too much work to do. She thought about the several hours’ worth of Spanish she had to do, and the Math she hadn’t done yet. “No chance tonight. Sorry. Maybe next time.”
“You need to lighten up, sister. Give life a go, ya know?” She laughed as he did a little spin, tossing the Starbuck’s cap he was supposed to be wearing in the air. It flew away from him, and he dived after it, missing entirely.
“Hey!” Rich hissed at him. “Get up and quit screwing around! I’ll thrash you, so help me, if I see you flirting with customers anymore.”
“Does Tara count?” Tara smiled at his question. Richard wasn’t in the mood for jokes though. He shook his head.
“Just get back to work, will ya? God give me strength.” He left Stan be. Stan just rolled his eyes theatrically for Tara. She laughed aloud this time; a beautiful one, as sweet as an acoustic guitar playing a perfect note.
Just then, behind Stan the door to the office opened, and out came another guy. Tara immediately recognized the new guy that Rich had recently hired. She winced when she took stock of him. He was indeed a scarred character. The scratches were small, but noticeable, regardless of how he moved. The boy shifted uncomfortably back and forth, his small brown eyes darting back and forth, searching, searching, searching for what? Tara didn’t know. She found him fascinating to watch, despite the scars. He was taller than her by maybe four inches, and he looked…strong wasn’t the right word for his appearance. Tara didn’t know how to describe him; insecure, yet independent enough to hold his own. That was what it looked like. His hair was a healthy shade of brown, similar to his eyes. He hunched over, and he looked like he was going to faint, despite having no reason for it.
He was sweating viciously as well, yet Tara found him interesting. She couldn’t help it. She realized too late that she was staring, because he glanced her way and saw it.
The moment their eyes met, he blushed, and ducked his head. Stan finally noticed him and clapped him on the back. “Hey bud. What’s up?”
The boy mumbled. Stan put his ear closer to the boy. “What? I didn’t hear ya the first time.” This time, the boy spoke clearly enough. Tara could hear him; but his speech was peppered by halts and pauses.
“Boss uh, boss wants me to – to close.” He finally got out.
Stan nodded. Hey put an arm around the boy’s shoulders, directing him so that he was facing in Tara’s direction. “Hey Tara, this is Justin Kelly. Kelly, this is Tara.”
“Hi,” Tara waved at him. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hi.” It seemed simpler for him to speak in monosyllables than anything complex. He didn’t even want to be standing there; that was evident.
“Well, I better get going,” Stan nudged Kelly. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“I g-guess so.” Stan laughed and clapped him on the back, making him wince. He then waved bye to Tara, and was out the door.
Kelly went back to work. He kept his eyes down, so that they wouldn’t meet with Tara’s. She went back to reading for a while. Justin cleaned everything. He served customers whenever they came in, and Tara couldn’t help but hear the stutters or pauses as they reached her ears. “H-h-here you are. Wish you w-wu-w-well.” She smiled softly. She couldn’t help it; she felt sorry for the guy.
Finally, after reading for a full hour, Tara stood up. It was almost time to close shop. Richard came out, putting a coat on. “Take care of everything, will ya?” He asked Kelly.
Kelly nodded. “Yes sir. See you.”
“See you later, Kelly. Don’t do anything crazy.” This got a laugh from Kelly, but when Rich turned to say goodbye to Tara, his eyes suggested that he was completely serious. “You need a walk?” Rich asked her.
“No thanks. I’m all right.” He left her then. She looked once more Kelly as Kelly was wiping down the counters, and getting ready to sweep and mop the Starbuck’s.
“Are you gonna be okay?” She asked him.
He looked up, surprised that she was still standing there, no doubt. “Yes.” He said softly.
“All right,” She said, getting her purse and book. “I know I would be lonely.” She turned to walk away, and was on her way out the door when she heard a mutter. It wasn’t soft or meek. There was no stutter. It wasn’t kind or pleasant. It was dark and ominous.
“I was born lonely.” Kelly muttered.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
That night, it was full house in the bar. Fred’s was the place to be if you were of age. It was also the place where Stan Pullman, Sam Young, Mel Kirby, and Justin Kelly all met up and had a few drinks to celebrate life as it was, and what it would hopefully be in the future.
The bar was a smaller bar than some in the town. A few pool tables in the very center of the room, bar and stools at the front of the building, Arcade games at the back. Seats and tables were all around, but all of them were placed along the walls. There was a kitchen behind the bar, where Mauricio, one of Fred’s only employees, cooked great wings and ribs and the such.
There were no bums that came here. Just the young or the rich or the students. The Rich went upstairs to a quieter lounge for their drinking. The students remained at the bottom level, taking turns playing pool, hitting on the bartender’s daughter, or betting on sports when they were on.
The floors were made of concrete, and they remained that way. Nothing covered them to hide their gray ugliness. The bartender and owner, Fred, was proud of the ‘raw natural beauty’ his joint showed, so it remained this way.
There were no fights in this bar. Everyone was a good boy or girl when it was happy hour. Fred himself also played the role of bouncer. He was huge, weighing at almost three hundred pounds and stood at six-four. No one messed around or they found his thick yet undeniably strong hands seizing them, and throwing them bodily out the door.
Fred also had two bouncers who helped out every other day. One was a professional boxer, and the other was a mixed martial artist in the making. So there was no trouble in the bar; and Fred never saw a cop enter through the front doors unless they were off duty.
This particular night Stan and Justin Kelly arrived early. They both sat down at their usual spot; at the end of the bar near the pool tables. A flatscreen television hung three feet above their heads, and a little to the left, where they could see it. Fred’s daughter Kayla came over to them, dressed in her usual attire; a sleeveless tank top, and shorts that revealed more than they should’ve. Fred always complained about it, but knew that no one in the bar would dare hit on her while he was present or within earshot. And frankly, Fred was always nearby or within earshot.
“Hey guys,” She smiled at them. Stan said hello back while Kelly brought up his hand in a waving gesture. She touched Stan’s lower back as she passed by him, on her way to get somebody’s order in the back. Stan stared at her as she walked away, noticing her hips swinging to and fro, and then forgot where he was sitting as he turned around to find Fred leaning on the bar, his face inches away from Stan’s, eyebrows up high, a small smile on his face.
“I see you enjoy my daughter’s company.” Fred didn’t accuse; he didn’t do anything but comment.
Stan’s hands went up in defense. “It was all her, Fred. She did it of her own will. My hands were on the bar.”
Kelly laughed as Fred glared for a few moments, letting the heat of his glare sink in, and then he broke out into a smile. He smacked Stan on the cheek lightly. “You’re lucky, son.” They all shared a small laugh; Stan’s laugh was hollow. “You want the usual?” Fred inquired. They both nodded.
He went away for a moment, and then came back with a Bud Light for Stan, and a glass of water for Kelly.
“You know,” Stan said, eyeing their drinks. “You can get a beer every now and then. It wouldn’t kill ya.”
“Beer’s unhealthy.” Kelly took a sip of his water. “Not that you care.”
“’Course I don’t care.” Stan tipped his back. “I never care.”
They both sat there, quiet as they consumed their drinks. Stan was sucking the Bud Light up, but Kelly took his time with the water.
“So what’cha think of Tara?” Stan nudged Kelly, who tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably. “Huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Like her, huh?”
“N-none-none of your business.”
Stan chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a looker. Not bad in my book. Could be the best, if she wore a little more makeup.”
Kelly said nothing. This was just Stan being Stan. He’d known the guy for all of five weeks and they were friends. They’d met days before Kelly applied for a job at the Starbuck’s Stan worked at. Stan had thought his stutter amusing, and told Kelly he would find him a good job.
And he did. Now Stan wanted Kelly to hang out with him and his buds. Kelly wasn’t sure why, but why complain? As long as the times were fun, and no one heard him speak much, there couldn’t be much that could go wrong. At least, not to Kelly.
Just then, Sam and Mel both came through the front door. Mel was shortest guy of the group, almost a midget. He grabbed the stool adjacent to Stan and pulled himself up, slamming his fists on the bar, hollering for Fred, while Sam sat next to Kelly. “How you doing bud.” He shook hands with Kelly, patting him on the back.
“M’alright.” Kelly said in return.
Fred gave Sam and Mel both Bud Light as well. So the four were gathered, and it was happy hour. Two of them were graduated from college, the other two never went. Mel was an electrician apprentice, and Kelly had barely graduated high school.
Yet the four were comrades without a sense of difference. They didn’t care about color (Mel was black) or size (Mel took that one as well) or personality (Kelly won that in a landslide of anxiety and shyness) or even class; Kelly lived with Mel. He had nowhere else to go. Sam and Stan had been living in the same apartment for the last two years.
It was in this that these four twenty-some-year-olds adapted and overcame their difficulties. They were good friends because of their troubles. They were determined to take life lightly and enjoy it while it lasted. Otherwise there was no point in life at all.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
“So how’s Starbuck’s Kelly? You gonna keep working there?” Mel asked him.
“Yes.” Kelly said.
“Nice place, huh?” Mel grinned. “Just don’t take this guy’s crap.” He pointed at Stan, who made to kick at him.
“He met Tara Fields today.” Stan announced then. The three others then dogged Kelly for details.
“Well? On a scale of one to ten?” Mel started first.
Kelly shrugged, head into his drink.
“Eight for me.” Stan replied.
“Seven.” Mel said.
“What? That’s it?” Stan was appalled. “A seven? What’s wrong with you?”
“I’ve got a girl that’s not afraid to experiment in things, that’s what’s wrong.” Mel said calmly. “Why? You like good girls?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Nine.” He said. He then said quietly to Kelly, “What about you?”
Kelly looked him straight in the eye. He leaned close so the other two wouldn’t hear while they were debating. “Ten.” He said.
Sam smiled and patted him on the back. “I agree. She’s a ten.”
“T-thought you s-said she was a nine.”
“I was just testing the waters; I wanted to see what you would say.” Sam grinned. Kelly punched him in the arm, and Sam just laughed.
Later that night, the happy hour was over, and everyone had to go home. Mel had brought his car, Sam and Stan were going to walk. They were ready to part ways.
“Okay, so who’s not drank anything?” Mel asked in an obnoxious voice. “Oh wait, that’s right. Here’s the keys, Kelly.”
Kelly took them. “Good night, guys.” He slapped hands with Stan. Sam pulled him into a hug.
“Hey, we gotta talk tomorrow,” he said to Kelly. “Important stuff, right?”
“Yeah. Important stuff.”
“Take care, kid.” Sam
“Later.” Kelly got in the car, started it, and swung into the driving lane. Mel was muttering lyrics to a radio hit. Some hip-hop mumbo-jumbo.
Kelly wished Stan hadn’t brought up Tara. As he drove home in the dark, he kept glancing up at the street lights, which he mistook for Tara’s eyes; light and full of happiness. Her smile like the light at the end of a long, dark and cold tunnel; much like the drive home with Mel was at the time. Dark, cold, and gloomy.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Fight night came again, and this time was no different from the other time. Deafening crowd, lights actually brighter than usual, but the same amount of blood lust was in the air.
Smalls was in the same corner, facing a different opponent. This guy was Smalls’ size, ducking and weaving in his corner; a boxer without a doubt. He too was wearing shoes like Smalls. Smalls wore his traditional blue shorts. He stood and remained calm as he ran through his head the info he’d gotten from his partner about the guy in the other corner. His opponent’s name was Chalkline; he apparently had retained the nickname because he hit so hard, bodies dropped, and were “Dead On Arrival.” Chalkline had a mowhawk, and tattoos ran wild all over his body; hideous looking tats that promised acts of hate and violence. Rape. Murder. Satan. The Book of Revelations. Chalkline was rumored to be a Satanist, but there was no evidence to support that. Smalls didn’t care. He just wanted the ref to get the fight on.
And the ref made a show of doing so, like he always did. He looked in both of the fighters’ directions, checked to make sure the judges were watching, and then brought his arm down, shouting, “Go!” and the bell rang.
It was obvious from the start Chalkline had no desire to stand and trade the usual way fighters in this organization did; he started to dance in a circle around the ring, forcing Smalls to pursue him.
Smalls didn’t throw. He waited, waited, waited. Patience was a trait of his. It always served well.
He threw a lazy jab, just waiting. And Chalkline bit. Chalkline threw a jab back, hitting Smalls square in the forehead, rocking him. It stunned Smalls for a moment, and the lapse was all Chalkline needed as he charged in, throwing combos, trying to put Smalls down.
But Smalls recovered, clinching up with the fellow boxer. Both traded knees, and Smalls threw a few elbows, but once his back was against the corner, he knew he’d made a horrible mistake of letting Chalkline put him where he wanted Smalls to be.
Chalkline fired rapidly then, and two of the twelve punches were all it took to bring the white light from God down upon Smalls. The punches landed on his chin unanswered, and Smalls went down.
Everyone roared. Could this be? Could Smalls be down? No one knew for sure. The ref pushed a taunting Chalkline towards a separate corner, and gave Smalls a standing ten count.
Smalls, despite feeling like he’d been run over by a truck, got up at seven. Shaking his head, he walked towards the ref, who beckoned.
“Walk to me. Good. What’s the date?”
“It’s March third, 2008. I’m fine.”
The ref stepped back, and shouted “Go!” again. This time, Chalkline dashed at Smalls, intending to finish the fight off. But Smalls did likewise, and their fists both hit each other multiple times. It was a question of who was going to take it and who wasn’t.
But Chalkline made a mistake of trading straight up with Smalls. He had never seen Smalls fight before; he didn’t know the dynamite hands that Smalls carried. He underestimated his opponent.
And in doing so, paid dearly when a left hook followed by a right handed uppercut struck him. He fell over, scrambling back to his feet quickly as the ref stepped between him and Smalls. Seeing Chalkline get up so quickly, the ref let the action continue.
Chalkine backed up against the ropes, and Smalls kept hitting him. Smalls’ left hand was on Chalkline’s shoulder, holding him while he used his right to beat the man senseless. The ref stopped the fight as Smalls hit Chalkline one last time. As the ref pushed Smalls away, Chalkline staggered over to his corner as the bell rung out for the victorious Smalls. Chalkline didn’t even make it to his corner before collapsing to the floor.
It was considered a T.K.O. victory for Smalls. His fourth win in a row in the organization. And he left the building smiling once again.
Sam Young was up early, in the gym. It was a ritual he’d been performing for years and years, since he was fifteen. Get up early, run six miles as a warm up, and then hit the gym. Working on technique, learning something new, it was all the same to Sam. He was a warrior in heart and spirit; the same as his father had been before him.
He was sweating heavily after his run. He had just finished stretching, and he was ready for some time with the punching bag. He did several conditioning drills, punching the bag with various combos, and then mixing it up, threw straights and jabs as fast as he could for two whole minutes.
The pain was a welcoming committee to success. His whole body was sore; particularly his jaw, neck, and his right hand. It had hurt hitting that guy the previous night, but it was well worth it. Worth aside, Sam hadn't had a choice either; the man was going to hit a friend. Sam had no tolerance for sore losers and pussies that lost their fights, and then took it out on everyone but themselves.
Finished with his boxing for the day, he slapped hands with a friend, Mark, who was the Illinois state champ at 160 pounds in high school. Mark was lanky, and always crafty; technique came first before speed or strength. Sam played his game, using the techniques Mark taught him for the past two years. It was a close match, with Mark getting six takedowns on Sam, while Sam managed to take him down three times. Once it hit the ground, Sam had even more trouble maintaining position with a man like Mark, who knew every trick in the book.
“Nice match,” They shook hands afterwards. “You’re getting better,” Mark told him as they both sat on the mat, taking a breather.
“Thanks.” Sam said in between breaths. “It’s all because of you.”
“Yeah, well, remember me when you’re a champion someday.” They both laughed, and Mark stood up. “You ready for some submissions?”
“Let’s go.” Mark got up, winded, but still game. This was his favorite part of the day; submissions were his greatest skill. Mark was decent; but he was hardly the black belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Sam, on the other hand, was a brown belt, having been training in Judo and Jiu Jitsu for years.
Four minutes into the grappling match, after Mark initiated things with a takedown, Sam had him trapped in an armbar. Being covered in sweat from their already intense, previous workout, Mark slipped out. He fell heavily back on top of Sam, only for Sam to catch him in a rolling triangle choke, which catapulted Mark to the bottom, choking, while Sam was on top, pulling on his head, which forced Mark to tap him on the leg, signaling that he quit.
Two out of the three matches, Sam dominated Mark. In the third and final match, however, Mark the Cardio Machine took him down repeatedly, and would stand back up, forcing Sam to try and pull him into submissions, or make him walk into them. It didn’t happen again. Mark caught on quickly.
Once the third match was finished, they sat down again, both exhausted. “Ah, today was a good day,” Mark sighed contentedly. Sam looked closely as Mark’s skin, and he saw steam slowly coming off of his friend. He checked himself and found it the same.
“Yeah. Today was a good day.” He said.
Maybe it was his father in the beginning; back when Sam was young, skinny, and just enjoying hanging out with his friends in sixth grade and holding hands with his girlfriend before he even considered training. His father was an ex-Green Beret; the man had no time or patience for lazy slobs. And at that time of youth when boys need their father the most, Sam’s father was there. In a way. A large way that Sam couldn’t have understood at the time.
“You know you’re a slob, right?” His father would comment as he came in the door. “You wanna change that? You sure look like it.” His father would be reading a newspaper on the latest of politics, or something like that.
Or later, his father would see him sitting with his friends inside, just fooling around and doing nothing in particular. He would shake his head. “Dear God, out of all the kids in the world, I had to get the lazy one. Get off yer ass and go do something physical! Get!” he would kick Sam and his friends out of the house.
“Pushups are for the weak. Do some pull-ups, or dips.” He would kick Sam lightly in the shin. “And don’t tell me that it’s impossible to do, or that size has something to do with it. I knew guys way smaller than you who could do thirty without breaking a sweat.”
And as Sam sat outside of the gym, waiting for Stan to come pick him up, he reflected how his old man had finally pushed him into wrestling; something he had loathed and hated more than anything in his life. He’d gotten his butt handed to him for three whole years in high school before tearing it up in his senior year, winning a regional title at 152 pounds. After that, working hard in the gym became a hobby. A complete one, after he had met Mark, who was trying to become a mixed martial artist.
Sam was sitting on a bench, head back, eyes shut when Stan finally arrived.
“Hey, let’s go.” Stan called at Sam as Sam got up slowly to saunter over to the car. “What, you run into your lover, Mark, again? Hurry it up. I’m runnin’ late.”
Sam got in the car, slamming the door shut quickly as Stan took off. “Dude, I’ll drop you off at the apartment. I’ve gotta get to work.”
“Why do you keep leaving so late?” Sam shook his head. “You really gotta stop doing this.”
“I’ll stop doing it when you stop working out. How’s that?”
“Horrible. Get a new compromise.”
“Never.” Stan said, shaking his head. “You’ll just have to walk from now on.”
“Yeah, right. Promises.” Sam looked at him out of the corner of his eye; Stan was smiling.
“One of these days, man. One of these days.” Stan did promise.
They got to the apartment quickly enough, and after dropping Sam off, Stan darted the car towards the Starbucks downtown, knowing Rich was going to kill him for being late again.
Justin Kelly woke up late, wondering what in the world happened to him during the night. His head hurt. Getting a sledgehammer to the face would’ve felt like a tickle compared to how his head felt at the moment. He held a hand to his head, and moaned.
Getting up, he scratched his jaw absent-mindedly. He got up and went to the bathroom, taking a long piss, followed by a short, five minute shower, and then a shave. As the razor blade removed the stubble, his skin screamed aloud. He gritted his teeth as he layered on some aftershave.
Slipping on his working clothes, he went out to the kitchen to find Mel’s girl, Claudia, cooking breakfast.
“Morning,” she said to him.
“Good m-morning.” He always was struck by how good-looking she was. He only knew one girl that could top her. That Tara girl that he had just met.
But Claudia was striking. A nice and simple white girl from Gary, Indiana, Claudia had gotten a degree in Culinary Arts, and god, was she good at cooking. She was a few inches shorter than Kelly, but three inches taller than Mel. Whenever Kelly saw the two of them standing next to each other, he always burst out laughing. Mel would always curse him for it.
But Mel was a lucky guy; Claudia had looks indeed to back up her intelligence and cooking skills. A blonde that hardly catered to the stereotypical ‘dumb-blonde’ crap, she often took care of the bills for Mel and Kelly, and Mel let her stay. It was more than that, however. She was simply beautiful. Her eyes stuck out as much as her bright hair; her eyes were a milky blue, and her lips were thin, yet absolutely tantalizing. She had a way of smiling that could turn the nearest man into a lover.
You add on to that that she was a wild girl into a lot of fun things (According to Mel) and you got a great girl. Kelly found himself stumbling around his words often when girls such as this were speaking to him, or were within earshot of him.
He just felt like a fool around girls, period.
Nevertheless, she made him some breakfast, and he ate it quickly, desperate to get out, away from this wonderful girl, who had never done him any harm. He just couldn’t stand the smile on her face, the way she was kind to him. He couldn’t.
Mel strolled in a minute after Kelly finished breakfast. Mel pinched his girl on the rear, and she squealed, smacking his hand playfully. “You goin’ to work, man?” Mel asked Kelly.
Kelly opted not to speak. He just nodded; afraid his words would get twisted under Claudia’s divine eyes.
“All right. See you around.” Mel went back to her, just playing around with her. “Woman, make me a sandwich. I’m hungry.”
Kelly stood up so fast he almost lost his balance and fell. With what dignity he had left, he thanked Claudia for breakfast in a stuttering fashion, and couldn’t get out of the apartment any faster.
Outside, walking down the steps, he cleared his mind of anything about girls or Mel or the apartment or his life. He just wanted to work. That was all he wanted to do.
He was born alone, he would stand alone, he would die alone.
Later during the day, Stan had shown up late for work. After getting chewed out by Rich, Stan had taken up the register. Rich had Kelly on cleaning duty again; cleaning the second floor and the first floor. That meant cleaning and wiping tables that weren’t in use by customers. It also taking care of the trashcans and such.
But Kelly did not complain much about this work; he’d been doing it for most of his life, dirty work. It was merely a step towards humility; and humility was a gift that Kelly had been given from birth. He had never taken it on himself to place himself above others. He never had the desire to do so.
And so when Rich yelled at him that morning for failing to greet a customer, he took it in a stride. Stan got sour after taking Rich’s verbal abuse. He would swear vengeance against Rich in some way, shape, or form, but he never carried through with his threats.
“When you gonna do it?” Kelly would ask him when no one else was around.
“Next time,” Stan would say. “I swear, by God, I will get him. If it’s the last thing I do in this world, I swear it.”’ “Yeah. S-sure-sure thing, Stan. C-can’t wait.” He started to catch, and he paused, waiting it out. “It’s gonna be f-fireworks.” As he spoke, a woman dressed in a business suit and glasses came in. Stan peered over the register at her. She sat down at the back, at the table Kelly had just cleaned.
Stan whistled. “How old do you think she is?”
Seeing her caused the stutter to make a comeback. “Too old for me, man.” Kelly said it after giving it a moment to concentrate.
“Why don’t you go and be real casual,” Stan was starting to get a crazy look in his eye, “And ask her if you can serve her in any way,” before Kelly could protest, Stan covered his mouth. “Not-uh. Shhh. Listen to me; make sure you say, serve. Don’t ask if you can help her. Ask her if you can serve her.”
“N-n-n-“ Kelly tried to wait it, but his heart was leaping in his throat. “No. N-no way man.”
“Aw, come on, when ya gonna get a better chance then this?” Stan couldn’t believe his answer. “Rich is busy. He ain’t gonna see this; I’ll tell him I put you up to it if he comes.”
“No!” Kelly almost shouted it. The lady looked up casually, then went back to reading something from her briefcase that she had carried in with her.
“What are you, a pussy?” Stan was pushing it.
“Leave it be, s-Stan!” Stan then saw the fire in Kelly’s eyes, and he was tempted to goad it a tad further, just to see what Kelly had in him.
But Rich opened the door before a further word could be said. “Are you two busy?” he asked them.
“Not yet. No one’s come in.” Stan said.
“Then go find something to do, will ya? Make yourself useful around here!” Rich shut the door before either of them could blink.
“You know,” Stan said calmly. “I think I’m going to hit him with my car. I wouldn’t hit him hard; maybe ten miles an hour or so. Just enough to put him in the hospital for a week. What’cha think?”
Kelly didn’t bother answering. He went back upstairs to get back to what he was good at; cleaning. Stan just chuckled. “Don’t worry, buddy,” he called up the spiral stairway after Kelly. “We’re gonna find you a girl, and that’s a promise. If I can’t get it done, then Mel or Sam will.”
“T-thanks.” Kelly was just wishing Stan would leave him alone. He was tired of it all. He just wanted to be by himself for a while.
The day wore on, and Stan and Kelly were getting tired of the Starbuck’s and Rich. Rich was going around to people, being polite, as he usually was. But then when he could get a chance he would berate Kelly and Stan for slacking off. Stan was usually the catalyst, with Kelly ending up and getting the blame.
“Did you get those tables over there, Stan?” Rich would point to some.
“Kelly said he would take care of it.” Stan would offer.
“Kelly, get over there and clean them. Vamos, you!” he took Kelly by the arm and gently shoved him in that direction.
But despite this annoyance, Kelly was inwardly content. The work was good; he was getting paid. He had a home to go to after this. What more could he want? He had pretty much everything in life that a man could want.
Right?
Or maybe not.
Stan started to sing a Black Sabbath song aloud, “I’m gooowang thaaaaaroooo CHANGES.”
And Kelly, knowing some of the song would sing with him. “She was my woman; I loved her soooo…” when it came to singing, Kelly rarely had difficulty with his stuttering speech. For some reason, musically his tongue wasn’t affected.
Rich shot them down quickly, however. “When I finally pay people to sing, I’ll be in my grave.” He called from the office.
“That can be easily arranged.” Stan hissed when the door shut. He was busy helping a gentleman get a coffee.
“When? W-w-when ya gonna do it?” Kelly laughed, feeling at ease now. The crowd of people coming in and going out didn’t affect him; he blocked them out, ignoring them so that he could work comfortably.
“When I’m ready.” Stan said.
“Sure, Stan, sure.”
The day finally ended, and Kelly was glad to go home to some good cooking, and managed to block out the sounds of Mel and his girl’s midnight antics.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Tara had finished class for the day when she got a call from Stan, inviting her to Fred’s for a night out.
At first, she wasn’t so sure whether or not it was smart to associate herself with Stan at a bar. She knew all about his antics, his swagger and his bad humor when he was drunk. She told Stan she was busy for the night.
Thirty minutes later, Sam Young called her, telling her to come on down. “I’m here with Kelly; you can hang out with us. We keep Stan in restraints.”
So Tara accepted finally. Sitting in Fred’s wild bar, she felt out of place. She was wearing a skirt; she’d just gotten out of class before they had called. The guys hadn’t given her time to change or take a shower. Sam himself had picked her up.
Tara sat next to him at one of the tables. Mel and Claudia were both playing Pool against Kelly and Stan. Stan and Kelly were getting beaten horribly, with Stan making up excuses. “Man, do you know when I played this last time? It was eight months ago. Of course I’m going to be rusty.”
“And what about you, Kelly?” Claudia laughed. “What’s your excuse?”
Kelly shrugged, grinned shyly, and took aim at a ball. He hit it right, and sent it tumbling into a pocket. Stan and Kelly were both still losing badly.
“You two need to never play this again; you embarrass yourselves as men.” Mel laughed, and slapped Claudia on the butt. She jumped and laughed as well.
Sam chuckled as he shifted in the seat next to Tara. “I love these guys.” He told her. “I don’t know who I’d be friends with without them.”
Tara stole glances of him while they talked, and the others played. Sam was a normal guy, as far as appearances went. His was built pretty well; it was obvious he took his health seriously. He had an occasional beer, but nothing more than one or two every now and then. He had a high forehead, similar to Stan, and his face was free of any blemishes or zits. His nose w slightly crooked; you could hardly tell unless you stared at it for a while. His dark eyes almost always had a twinkle to them.
Tara felt completely comfortable around him. She liked him well enough; she’d known him a little bit before Rich or Stan. She and Sam had gone to the same high school and had even had a class together during Tara’s freshman year. Back then, Sam had been a nut. He was a lot more mature, and quieter.
And as the night passed, she and Sam got to catch up on a many things, including old high school memories.
And then, just like that, time was up. They had to part ways.
“Well, tonight was a fun night.” Stan hadn’t had a drink; he was planning on driving. “You’re in for a real treat tonight Sam; I’m not drunk.”
“That’s great.” Sam chuckled. He looked at Tara. “So; you gonna hang out again sometime?”
She smiled. Looked down. Then backup. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” They hugged, mainly because there was nothing else to do or say. After they were finished, Tara headed to her car, putting a hand on Kelly’s shoulder as she passed by him.
“See you later, Justin.”
If facial expressions could be read that night, Sam could tell Kelly was shocked. His lips partially opened, and he looked like he was actually going to say something, but it was too late. Tara was already driving off.
Sam grinned, slapped Kelly on the shoulder. “Time to turn in. That was something, wasn’t it?”
Kelly nodded. He had no power to speak. Sam continued. “Important stuff in a few days. Let’s not forget.”
“Right.” Kelly didn’t stutter, surprisingly.
Mel gave them a suspicious look. “You know, you always talk about this ‘important stuff’ and Stan and I are beginning to suspect that you two are having an affair.”
Kelly turned red with anger, but Sam laughed it off. “Right, Mel. You keep on hoping.”
After saying goodnight to Kelly and Mel, Stan and Sam both got in the car and drove off.
“So you know Tara pretty well, huh?” Stan asked Sam.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, we go back.”
“Seriously man, I have to know; what’s this important stuff between you and Kelly? It’s bothering the crap outta the rest of us.”
Sam looked at him, and he smiled.
“What, that’s it? C’mon man, don’t give me that!” Stan fumed, and then cursed.
Sam just smiled. “You wanna know?”
And so he told him. And Stan flipped.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Kelly wasn’t going to get any sleep.
As it turned out, Mel had the next day off and wanted to continue the nightly celebration. He called some friends to hang out at the apartment.
While they were on their way, Kelly had to deal with Mel and Claudia warming up for the party. Mel had bought some more beer. Mel had even turned on some background music, “To set the mood,” he explained to Kelly. “You ever do that for a girl, Kelly?”
Kelly shook his head. “N-no.”
“Sucks man, really does. Don’t worry ‘bout it though, this man here’s gonna get you hooked up tonight.” Mel rubbed his ands together, a wild look in his eyes. He then shut his eyes, tilted his head backwards slightly, and slowly began dancing to the rhythm.
“What if-what if I just wanna sleep tonight?” Kelly asked him. Mel stopped dancing. His eyes were wide.
“Why would you wanna go to sleep when we got ladies comin’ over who are single? Are you insane?” before Kelly could even answer that, Mel flung his hands up and snorted. “Man, forget it-I try showin’ you a good time and you just throw it in my face.”
Kelly didn’t care what Mel thought; he just wanted sleep. He didn’t want to party. He never partied, never had a desire for it. He wanted to be able to get up and go to work the next day and just do what he always did. It was simpler then; he knew what was coming, and at the very least, he could expect Rich to hand him his pay.
He was starting to walk to his bedroom when Claudia came out. “Hey, Kelly, c’mon and party with us. You’ll like it, I promise.”
Kelly almost pulled a double take as he passed by her. She was dressed in a dark skirt, shortened to the maximum. Her hair was wild; perhaps it was because she had just taken a shower. She smelled sweet.
Kelly’s heart hit his ribcage so hard, he thought he would fall over dead. His hand was on the doorknob. To party, or to not party?
Kelly hated when logic and wild, sensual Desire overloaded his capability to make a clear choice. It was what made him decided to remove his hand from the doorknob and agree to stay up. Mel was satisfied when he heard Kelly.
“Great.” Mel looked like a six year old at Christmas. “But first, you’d better get some better clothes on.” He was pointing at Kelly, a smirk on his face.
Kelly realized he was still wearing his Starbuck’s gear. Claudia laughed, and Kelly immediately dove into his room, cursing Mel.
That night, there was over a dozen men and women that came to the apartment. The good times started rollin’ and nobody cared if there was a noise complaint the next day. Kelly sat on the old soft couch that Mel had purchased months ago. He hadn’t touched any beer, nor would he.
Plenty of wild girls came up to hit on him; the majority of them were drunk. Claudia was one thing; these girls were quite another. They were the essence of whores. They wore very little clothing, and pawed at any guy that appeared single in the apartment. Most of the time, they had good looks. But good looks were not exactly what Kelly found interesting. Most of the time, the slutty behavior turned him off.
Eventually, when everyone seemed drunk, Kelly had enough. He rose from the couch, ready to burst into his room. Mel reached out to grab him while Kelly walked by. “Hey, where ya going?”
“Bed.” Kelly didn’t look him in the eye; didn’t want to.
“Aw, come on. You still haven’t found a girl yet? Here, let me get you one,” he was about to start yelling when Kelly went anyways, ignoring Mel’s shouts to some of the girls to provide company for Kelly.
“He’s single, lonely, and he’s a virgin!” Mel’s voice, filled the drunkenness, chased Kelly into his room. “Get him while he’s still fresh!”
Kelly slammed the door shut. He put his back against it, praying that no one tried to open it. An afterthought struck him, and he locked it.
Exhausted, he went to the bed and fell on it. As he hit the soft mattress, he couldn’t help but feel a hardened object right underneath him as he landed.
The object yelped, and sat up while Kelly fell off the bed, stunned, his heart sprinting in his chest, and his gut cursing him for being so stupid. He sat up then, taking stock of the girl who’d been on his bed.
For starters, she was missing her shirt. Secondly, she wasn’t out of it like her cohorts outside were. Thirdly, she seemed very calm about having some guy she didn’t even know fall on top of her while she slept.
“You got a name?” She asked him.
Kelly wasn’t listening. His mind was focused on one thing, and it drove him to speak clearly without stuttering. “That’s my bed.” He said.
“Thanks for letting me use it.” She sat up, reaching for her shirt. What Kelly was seeing seemed beyond his comprehension; he’d never really been a fan of pornography, not even as a kid, so he had never really seen a girl naked before. It was startling.
Unexpected. He didn’t like it at all.
“Are you going to be sleeping here?” he asked.
“Maybe. Would you mind?” she slipped the shirt on but didn’t bother buttoning it; her breasts were still visible.
“Yes.” He stood up. His mind was firing on all cylinders now. What to do, what to do, what to do? Sam would know. Mel would know. Stan would know. What to do?
She was smiling at him. Think fast, Kelly, think fast.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
“Keep it. It’s yours for the night.” Kelly left without hearing her reply. He just didn’t care. He didn’t want this.
Leaving the apartment was painful; Mel was hollering at him. “There he goes! Get ‘im, girls, get ‘im!” and everyone else was laughing.
Suddenly, something exploded in Kelly. “Call me in the morning when you’re sober!” He shouted at Mel.
He leapt out the door then, determined not to wait any longer. The outside was quiet; as he went down the stairs, heading out the door, the wind blew a gentle, warming breeze on him. He had forgotten his jacket. He refused to go get it, and opted instead to walk. He was going to walk all night if he had to; he had a place to stay.
“Justin!” A female voice hailed from behind. Justin? No one called Kelly by his first name. Kelly ignored it.
“Kelly!” The voice persisted anyway. “Kelly, wait!”
It took a full minute for dawning to hit Kelly before he realized that it was Claudia. He stopped.
She was running, and managed to come to a halt, two paces away from Kelly. “Look, I’m sorry about Mel, I really am,” she began.
“I know.” Kelly thought she was out of breath. Was that her gasping? It only took a glance to see that her lips weren’t wide open, and she wasn’t sucking wind in has hard as she could before Kelly realized-
It was he who was breathing hard. Kelly took a deep breath while Claudia tried to coax him. “Please, you know how he gets. I’m sorry. I told them to leave you alone. You can come back.”
“T-there’s a girl in m-my bed.”
“What are you talking about? Sarah?” Claudia bit her lip. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Kelly. I’ll talk to her. I promise, okay? We’ll get you your bed back.”
Kelly shook his head. “I’m going.”
“No you don’t have to! Kelly, they were just having fun! You know how it is!” She almost seemed desperate to keep him. He honestly didn’t give a rip.
“I know,” He said again. “Mel’s drunk. N-no biggie. I’ll go sleep somewhere else.”
Claudia tried once more, but Kelly was done talking. “Good-g-good night, Claudia.”
She stopped speaking. It was only then did he see them. They were small; so small, so insignificant-seeming that he had almost missed them. Tears started to form up on the brink of Claudia’s eyes.
Kelly instantly felt horrible about the way he was treating her; like she deserved what had happened. He then made up his mind once and for all, and said, “Thanks.” He wanted to touch her, let her know how he really felt. But he couldn’t. He waved instead.
He was alone. Forevermore.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Sam Young was about to fall asleep when a persistent knocking at the door caused Stan and Sam both to jump up. “Did you have a friend come over here?” Sam asked Stan as they both headed towards the door.
“Nah, man. I gotta work tomorrow.” Stan opened the door for them, and they both got a surprise.
Justin Kelly stood in front of them, dispirited and upset. Sam knew immediately what had happened; he just had to look at the brokenness in Kelly’s eyes, and the way the kid hunched. He just knew.
“You need a place to sleep?” Sam asked.
Kelly nodded. Stan snorted. “The couch is open if you want it. Sorry; it’s all we got.”
They tossed a few pillows on the couch for Kelly, and Stan managed to come up with a blanket for Kelly.
Kelly was moved by their kindness. “You guys are the greatest,” he said without stuttering. “Thanks a lot. I mean it.”
“Who would we be if we weren’t true friends?” Sam smiled.
“Major dicks, that’s for sure.” Stan muttered.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Fight Night.
Small’s crowd of followers had been rooting nonstop since he had entered the ring. His opponent, a tall but skinny character with a single tattoo of a Celtic cross on his chest, and a face that suggested somebody upstairs had a sense of humor, looked intimidated by the yelling and screaming and booing that Smalls’ Warparty issued.
Smalls’ cornerman leaned up to speak to him, slapping him on the neck to get his attention. “You see that?” the cornerman had to yell to be heard at all. “He’s scared. He’s a rookie. Finish it quick.”
It was the magical words. Like a switch was thrown, Small’s demeanor, relaxed not a few seconds ago, now was a contorted face quivering with an intensity that seemed to make his opponent even more jumpy. The poor kid turned his back to Smalls, so that he could talk to his corner.
Ten seconds later, the bell rang, and the ref shouted “Go!”
And Smalls came out, hands up and ready to go. His enemy’s hands were at chest level, timid. This kid was truly scared of Smalls. He didn’t want to be in the ring with the man.
So Smalls gave him a way out. Hit threw two jabs, working his way inside the kid’s inside, and hit him with an overhand right, staggering him. The kid fell against the ropes, and Smalls hit him four more times, dropping him.
The ref pushed Smalls away. Gave the kid a tencount. The rookie didn’t get up; he waited it out, refusing to rise to Smalls’ challenge. As soon as the ref waved his arms, signaling an end to the bout, the crowd erupted into a smattering of boos as Smalls jumped up on top of a corner, screaming; like a predator having finished killing its prey. He beat his chest, slapped his face, and the crowd was whipped up into a frenzy.
It took the organization an hour to cease the riot.
Smalls reveled in it all; it was everything he could want.
Days had passed since Sam, Mel, and Stan had gathered together to meet at Fred’s.
This time, Sam was alone, having finished sparring with Mark for several hours. He had taken a shower, but he still felt grimy in his clothes. His whole body hurt; a good sign for sure. Pop had always said to him, seeing him doing workouts, “If you ain’t hurtin’, you ain’t learning.”
Sam had never quite understood the ramblings of the old man, but there was no misunderstanding the man’s dedication to hard work, and taking a no-quarter approach with physical training.
He refused the drink Fred’s daughter Kayla offered him. She lingered a moment, taking stock of the empty seats that surrounded him at the table, and then said, “Aw, are you playing the lone wolf thing now?”
Sam honestly didn’t know what she was getting at, but he replied, “Yeah. Sort of. Just got out of the gym.”
“Really? I guess that explains,” she made a face and touched her nose.
Sam laughed; he knew his nose was swollen. Mark had caught him today. It was a rarity when it happened, but when Mark did catch him, regardless of what kind of punch it was, it left a bump. And it hurt. But Sam had given as well as he had received. He really didn’t make it a habit to clue people in on the gym, however, and he wasn’t going to a girl he hardly knew about it either, even if she was pretty.
Kayla took a seat next to him, glancing to make sure her father wasn’t paying attention. “So, you got in a fight.” She said.
“Not exactly.” Sam didn’t meet her eyes. He was just hoping that she would get up and find some other guy. But she didn’t.
“So…” she was still trying to figure him out. “You didn’t get in a fight. Your nose just…gets bruised every now and then?”
The corner of Sam’s lips curved upwards. He could feel the smile coming, and he didn’t bother stopping it. “Something like that.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He kept them on the table, relaxed, controlled.
“Right,” She laughed. “I’m sure.” She was waiting on him to say something, anything. She was trying to force him to play her game.
Too bad she didn’t realize that the only game Sam played was his own; and it was called, “How Much Can They Take Before They Leave?” and it worked well. Sam kept his vision straight on the door, and finally, Kayla sighed, bored. Sam almost smiled again. He barely managed to adopt a neutral look on his face.
“Well, if you aren’t going to tell me, maybe I can get Kelly to tell me when he comes in,” She stood. “Talk to you later, Sam.”
“Nice seeing you too, Kayla.” Sam said over his shoulder as she left. He then put his head back, leaning it against the chair’s headrest. He grinned, and a short bark of a laugh came out of his throat.
Fred was staring at him from the bar. Sam lifted his head back up, and waved. Fred tipped his head in acknowledgement. And then he went back to work.
Sam’s stomach rumbled. He had forgotten that he was hungry. “Hey Fred, can I get some ribs?” He shouted over the din of the bar.
“Sure thing.” Fred shouted back, and then nudged Mauricio. Mauricio nodded, and gave Sam a thumb’s up.
Sam sat there for a little while, just thinking about nothing in particular. He was in a decent mood when the ribs came out for him. He tore through those quickly enough.
And then he noticed the bouncer glaring sourly at him. A familiar face.
“Hey, Kayla,” Sam caught her as she was passing by again. “Does he work here now?” she looked in the direction of his pointing finger. She nodded.
“Yeah. Just started last week. He’s a prick. Claims he’s a fighter or something.”
And that much was true. Sam returned the stare of the angry Chalkline as the man folded his arms across his chest. His face held a small mouse above his left eye.
Sam paid his bill, and sauntered by. “How you doin’, Chalkline?” He acted very casual.
“Get out of here before I break your arm.” The man scowled fiercely at him. He wasn’t going to make things easy. He stepped close to Sam; their bodies were touching.
“Hey, what’s the trouble here?” Fred shouted from behind the bar. Chalkline ignored him. Sam did as well.
“I’ve got nothing to say, if you want an apology,” Sam said sternly. “You lost the fight. I don’t see why you’re so upset.”
“You hit me, you little prick. One punch that the ref couldn’t see,” Snarled Chalkline, his nose now touching Sam’s face. “Give me a reason I shouldn’t thrash you right here, in front of all of these people.”
Sam glanced around. All activity had ceased within the bar. Fred was pissed, and trying to get around the bar. If there was going to be some action, it was going to be now. Fred was starting to approach when Sam turned back to Chalkline.
“You couldn’t whip me then, you won’t now.” Sam said slowly. “I don’t want a fight. And you don’t want to be fired.”
“Hey!” Fred barked, getting between them. Chalkline’s nostrils flared. “Break it up! Go home, Sam.” Fred directed him.
Sam nodded. He looked Chalkline in the eye one last time, and then he headed for the door. He heard Fred curse Chalkline as he was leaving. “You wanna fight? You leave this bar, you’re fired.”
Sam was out the door, heading for his car across the street when Fred’s door slammed wide open again .This time, Chalkline stormed out. He threw his jacket off, his hands up in the universal gesture of ‘bring it on’ as he shouted at Sam.
“You walkin’ away from me?” he was screaming. “You runnin’? Don’t you dodge me! Don’t you dodge me!” He was raising hell in the neighborhood now. Lights were going up all around, and people were peeking out of windows. A couple walking on the sidewalk were staring.
Sam kept his back turned. He didn’t need this; there were so many things that could happen in a street fight, so many ways to lose.
What if the man had a weapon? A knife or gun? Sam could disarm him, maybe; he had a chance. He was better conditioned, he believed. He was tougher, if not as tough as Chalkline. He was faster, too.
What if the cops came? Was it worth it? Sam didn’t want trouble. It wasn’t worth it. He was a man of action. But he was also a man of peace.
It all ended when Chalkline blitzed him from behind, throwing a savage rabbit punch on the back of the neck. Sam dropped to his knees as Chalkline stood over him, throwing punches. There was a scream or two, and then there was somebody screaming, “Call the cops!”
Sam covered up. Trying anything else was stupid. Chalkline was trying to pull him up; he put an arm around Sam’s neck.
Using it as an opportunity, Sam flipped Chalkline over his head. Chalkline hit the ground, completely stunned.
Using the moves Mark had taught him, Sam pressed his knee against Chalkline’s chest, and hit him hard. He hit once, and Chalkline’s head bounced off of the ground. He hit him again, and the man’s eyes started to get blank. Sam hit him twice more, and Chalkline stopped struggling.
“Are we done?” Sam was gasping, and he seized the man by the collar. “Are we done!” this time, Chalkline’s eyes slid into focus. Sam hit him once more.
“Are we done!” this time, Chalkline’s answer was almost a whisper.
“Yes,” The man sounded like he was on his way out. “Yes. I’m done.”
Sam let go. He stood up, taking note of how many people were staring, and what this looked like. Self defense? Hopefully, everyone saw that Chalkline had attacked Sam first.
As he went over to his car, Fred came running over, out of breath. “Are you okay?” Fred’s eyes were filled with concern; he didn’t seem so worried about his former bouncer, huddling against a brick wall, nursing a broken nose and a stream of blood.
Sam looked him in the eyes, and he nodded.
“Yeah,” He said, and he opened the car door. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Sam almost shut the door when Fred asked him this.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about me. If the cops come, give ‘em my number and my address.” Sam shook hands with him, and drove off then.
His head and neck hurt worse than they had after training that day. His nose was already in pain, now it was worse. But what hurt the most was seeing into Chalkline’s blank eyes as Sam had fired down on him.
Sam shivered as he recalled how the man was lying on the ground, nursing his wounds, no doubt even angrier than before.
No doubt Chalkline was also embarrassed that he had been given a severe, textbook-like thrashing from a guy much, much younger than him.
But Sam didn’t enjoy it. He only felt pain as he reflected on the impact that violence had on the world. Like a stranglehold, it destroyed what was left of man, making him less of a human being, and more of an animal. It took away all the kindness of the human soul and turned it into a weapon.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
It was Saturday, and Stan was leaning against the register, half asleep when Kelly finally showed up for work. Stan lifted his head up enough to watch, with some amusement, as Kelly peered around, looking to make sure Rich wasn’t in open sight, so that he could sneak in. He acknowledged Stan, who smirked at him.
“Boy, you’re in trouble now,” Stan told him. “Man, he’s pissed. Goin’ off about no good employees bein’ late and all of that. He’s gonna kill you. Throw you right through that window.” He pointed to it as Kelly ignored him and grabbed his cleaning gear.
He didn’t have much time to get up the stairs before Rich’s door flew open, and Satan himself stood there. “I see you, Justin. Get down here and get in here.” He beckoned to Kelly.
Great. Perfect timing. Kelly looked like a convict, trying to steal up the stairs as quickly as he could. Now he looked like a four year old caught trying to steal cookies from the jar after bedtime. Real nice touch.
He put his stuff on the second floor and went back down to Rich’s office. He’d always thought Rich was a funny character; nothing was out of place in the office, every single little detail of it was picture perfect. The pencils and pens sitting in a little cup next to the computer. Folders carrying mountains of paperwork, all shuffled neatly and organized. There didn’t seem to be any dust within the vicinity of the man’s room. Kelly saw the catalyst; a bottle of spray for cleaning and a dust rag. Rich was a perfectionist at heart, and had a profoundly absurd fetish for cleanliness. It always made Kelly wonder if the man had done something in the past that could be constituted as ‘dirty’ and Rich had never felt clean afterwards. Therefore, the man’s environment always needed to be clean, to keep that disease at bay. Kelly felt sorry for the guy then; after all, he had reason to be pissed with Kelly for being late. Kelly was still new to the job.
“I don’t even know what to say.” Rich had his back to him, studying something on the computer. “Seriously man, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” Kelly didn’t quite know what to say. “I, uh, j-just slept in late, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” Rich turned around finally. He flipped his hair away from his eyes. “Sleeping in is no excuse, kid. I need you to focus next time. I need you here, man. Stan’s an idiot, we both know that. If it were up to him, he’d put me out of business just for laughs.”
No he wouldn’t, Kelly thought. But he said aloud, “I d-don’t-don’t-don’t think he’d do that.”
“You don’t know him at all then. The punk hates me.” Rich sneered. “Oh yeah; I can see behind his eyes and into his soul. I can hear what he says in here. I don’t care about Stan, though Justin. You’re the perfect kind of worker for me; tailor-made, in fact.”
He stood up. “That’s why I need you here, kid. Please, for my sake if not God’s, please don’t be late again. I can’t handle that.” He held out a hand. “Okay?”
Kelly paused a moment, now really feeling sorry for him. Rich looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His eyes were filled with something else…a personal depression perhaps. Kelly took his hand and shook it.
“Yes, sir.” He said.
“Thank you Kelly. I mean it, man.” He grinned suddenly, and the face of darkness and despair was gone in an instant. A mask? Kelly now wasn’t so sure. “Stick with me, Kelly,” Rich beamed. “And we’ll make it in this world, together. You and I. A true team.”
Kelly left him then to his wild, fanatic absurdities. He couldn’t get out of the office fast enough. Stan was leaning next to the door as Kelly shut it.
“He pissed?” Stan inquired.
“He finally admitted he h-hates you.” Kelly said.
Stan snorted then. “Yeah. Kinda figured that out for myself.” They went back to work, both of them.
Later, Stan called dibs on a ten-minute smoke break. “Be back in ten. Cover me, Kelly.” He went outside before Kelly could say a word.
“M-much obliged!” Kelly said aloud, despite there being customers waiting for service. He handled the making of drink and the register fairly easy. He wondered why Rich didn’t just hire a barista. But given the way Rich acted with Kelly, Kelly didn’t really want to get to know the man any better than he already had.
It almost seemed as though the man had been fawning over him, his darling little Kelly, his prince. Kelly’s stomach lost its appetite after that thought.
A man cut through the line of customers, cursing Kelly. “I wanted this heated!” he yelled right in Kelly’s face. “Are you deaf?”
“No-no, no sir,” Kelly remembered Stan’s advice for situations like this, and that was to always make them feel respected. Even Stan, the man with a great temper, kept his cool with an angry customer; it was a feat that Kelly had always admired in Stan, the need to absolutely take whatever anger you might have, and shove it deep down, replacing it with kindness. Kind of like Christ, except Christ rarely got angry. At least, that was what Kelly had thought about Jesus. He had never really read the Good Book when he was a kid.
“Then what’s wrong with you?” The man was still standing there, despite Kelly’s hopes that the man would leave. “All I asked you for was a small cup that was heated. Is that too much to ask for?”
Kelly bit his lip. This guy was holding up the line, and he was pissed off to the nth. He was a smaller guy, way smaller than Kelly, and from the looks of things, had a touch of Little Man’s syndrome. It made Kelly want to laugh out loud.
Kelly also wanted to laugh at how Rich didn’t come out to deal with the customer, leaving Kelly to deal with it. Thanks, Rich. Thanks a lot. Kelly tried to be civil. “Sir, I apologize. I’ll give you a new one, free on the house.”
“Damn right, you will!” the man hissed. “What, you think I wouldn’t notice if it was cold? Little punk, you’d better get me one here, fast, before I get angry.
Where, oh where, was Stan? He would’ve dealt with this easily. He might’ve kept cool, but he also would’ve made the man leave without a drink at all.
People in line were grumbling, and things were looking bad. Rich wasn’t going to come out for this; it was his gig. He didn’t want to be associated with Kelly’s failure. Stan was having a cigarette, and he probably didn’t care that there was a big line waiting in the store.
Kelly was quick as he made a new drink. He gave it to the man. “There you are sir,” he almost made it. “H-have-have a g-great day.” He barely got this out of his mouth when the man snorted, and flung the cold drink at Kelly, part of the cup hitting him, and it exploded, making a mess behind the bar.
“Why they would hire a retard for a Starbuck’s I’ll never know.” As left, this parting shot hit Kelly right in the gut, and his temper came back. Like a fire from within, the desire to hurt the man came on fast. Kelly didn’t know what he would do, but he wanted to hurt the guy. He almost prayed that Stan had seen what had happened and would drop the man the moment he stepped outside of the door.
But no. Stan came in then, looking at the line casually. “Something happen here?” he noticed the mess then. “Whoops, sorry folks. Let me get the register. I apologize for the slow start here.” He leapt over the counter. “Let me get this; you just clean that up.” He smiled sympathetically at Kelly. “You all right?”
Kelly didn’t answer. He stormed his way up to the second floor and grabbed his cleaning gear. He just wanted to be left alone.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Later, when the crowds were gone, Kelly sat upstairs, ignoring Stan’s butchering of the song ‘Over and Over’ by Three Days Grace. He ignored the fact that he hadn’t cleaned a single table since the incident. He ignored the fact that Stan was concerned, shooting glances upstairs every now and then, no doubt worried about his friend.
He was alone, at least. Kelly liked that. Like the times when he was a kid. Like when mom left him with dad. Like the time when dad left him with some fat old lady he hated. Like the times he was picked on for his stutter. He hated people; and he had reason to do so. Few had redeemed themselves in his eyes. Sam Young and Stan were two of such guys. Mel would have his time to say sorry for the party. But that would come later.
Right now, Kelly enjoyed staring out the window, marveling at the view of skyscrapers looming over the Starbuck’s, as if threatening him with something ominous. Like his day was going to get any worse; he’d already been made a fool of. What could get worse?
Kelly felt an urge to let a few tears drop then; he almost let it happen when Stan called up. “Hey man, you sure you’re fine?”
“I’m f-fine, Stan. Just keep working.”
“You know none of the tables down here have been cleaned, right?”
“I’m aware of that, Stan.”
“Well, don’t blame me if Rich comes out with his the Second Coming behind him, screaming for your damnation if you don’t clean these tables.” Stan said.
“I know, Stan. I’ll get to them.” But the truth was, he didn’t even care if he was fired. He didn’t know what he wanted. He hated this world and the cruel whims it catered to, and the people it molded into jerks and bullies. He hated how the rich seemed to be the only ones happy, and the poor like Kelly suffered. He hated – well, just about everything, except moments like this. Moments where the pain could seep through. Like getting hit by a belt or beaten with something blunt, the pain freed you for a short time.
Stan was suddenly up the stairs was sitting down next to him. “How’s the view?” he asked after a moment.
Kelly shrugged. “Beautiful, I guess.”
Stan smiled faintly. He then reached over the table, putting a hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Dude, you’re one of the toughest kids I’ve ever met in my life,” He said. “I mean, any normal guy getting humiliated like that by some shrimp business jerk would’ve broken down and cried openly, or he would’ve gotten a lawsuit on himself by hitting the guy. You didn’t do either.”
Kelly’s eyes darkened as mere mention of the subject stung. He turned away from Stan.
Stan stood up, going back down the stairs, when he said one last thing. “Any man can fight. Any man can hit somebody. Any guy can stand up and call somebody out. It takes a real man to hold himself back for the sake of peace and everything that is good in this world.” He was halfway down the steps when he said “You’re all right by me, Kelly. You’re a real champ.”
This consolation was comforting, but only for a moment. Yet nevertheless, Kelly was glad he met Stan weeks ago. He instinctively could tell that Stan wasn’t the kind of guy that was going to sell out as a friend one day and ditch Kelly. And that was a true friend; the guy who always had your back, no matter what. Even when times were rough and enemies were aplenty and abound, a true friend was always there to give as good as he got, no matter what the consequences were.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Kelly had finally gotten back around to cleaning when Rich had finally came out, pissed when Stan informed him about what had happened. Apparently the Canadian had been on a phone call with an important partner in the Starbuck’s ownership, and couldn’t hear the screaming Shrimp hollering at Kelly.
“Man, now that just pisses me off!” Rich exclaimed after Stan filled in all of the details. “What kind of nerve does the common man of this day have? The absolute nerve? If he comes back here again, guys, let me know. I’ll deal with him.” It was Rich’s speech. But Kelly wondered about the validity of such a statement. Stan just chuckled and muttered, “Bull,” when Rich’s back was turned.
“The day Rich does something is the day that you get him back,” Kelly commented.
“You’d better be ready, ‘cause that day is coming. Real soon.” Stan went back to work. “C’mon, let’s not give him any more reason to be pissed off.”
Work went well for the next hour. Stan was going to get off once again, in twenty minutes time, and Kelly once again would get stuck with cleaning duty in an hour’s time. Not that it bothered him; he had a lot to think about.
Stan finished his work up in those twenty minutes. “All right dude. I’ll see you later at home.”
“Bye.” Kelly glanced at the clock on the wall. He had all the time in the world to clean up and wrap up the day.
But as Stan was leaving, Tara Fields came in, looking as beautiful as he had ever seen her. Kelly’s heart started to pound, and his breath got short for a few moments. She smiled when she saw him.
“Hey Kelly,” She said. “How are you?” She sat down at the table that she’d sat down at last time, when Stan had first introduced her to Kelly.
“I’m all right.” Kelly whipped up the drink Stan had made her last time. He gave it to her, and she looked up at him, her smile sending off signals in Kelly’s body.
“Wow,” she said as sat there. “You talk about weekends. I’ve got to study for several exams this week. You ever have that kind of weekend? You know, where you’re just about to go crazy over the sheer amount of work you have to do?”
And what was he going to tell her? That he had almost dropped out? Barely made the grades to survive? Lost his family around the same time that he grew up? Kelly didn’t want to clue her in, so he said, yes, he knew what those times were like.
Tara laughed. “Yeah. It’s horrible. But I’ll get by.” She looked up at him. “Aren’t you in school right now?”
Screwed over. That was how Kelly felt at the moment. Trapped in a corner. He decided to be honest. “I’m-I’m n-not doing school.”
“Really?” Tara was surprised, and it showed on her face. “So you’re just working here? Don’t you live with Mel?”
Kelly’s face darkened at the mere mention of Mel. “I’m not living at his place for now; I’m staying with Sam.” He was amazed that he didn’t stutter through the sentence. Was he getting comfortable around this girl? Kelly honestly didn’t know. It sure surprised him.
“What’s wrong? Did you guys have a fight?” Kelly at first thought she was being brutally forthcoming and didn’t realize how painful the subject was. But looking at her, her face a fix of concentration, he quickly realized she was sincere in how much she cared. So he answered.
“Not really. I just can’t live with him.” Kelly shrugged. “He’s-he’s a d-diff-different person from me. I don’t like how he acts sometimes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She said slowly. “But at least you’re staying with Sam, right?” she brightened. “I knew him back in high school. We go back. You should’ve seen him back then. He was more like Stan than anybody else. He’s grown up.”
Kelly didn’t know what to make of her reminiscing. He wondered if she and Sam – could they have been-?
It was possible if there was a relationship between them; it didn’t shock Kelly at all. Sam was the handsome, perfect at everything character; the very person that Kelly sometimes longed to be. But Kelly knew that wasn’t his place to be someone like that. He was destined to be who he already was; Mr. Stutterbox.
“Well, I’d better get going,” Tara stood up then, and Kelly felt something give way in him as she said “I’ve got to get studying after all. Procrastinating won’t help. You take care, Justin. I’ll see you later.”
“Need a w-walk?” What was he saying? He knew what he wanted to say; how he wanted to spend a little more time with her. How he wanted to get to know this beautiful angel-in-flesh. He tried again, his mind protesting, his heart agreeing, and his loins being pulled back and forth in the heated tug-of-war. “I-I can, uh, you know,” he didn’t get time to finish as she stepped closer and said-
“Yes.” It was simple and to the point. She knew what he was up to; what he wanted so badly. What he needed so badly. “Yes.” Her voice was soft, and in that moment, Kelly felt like he was going to faint.
Her car was parked on the next block; parking in Chicago was hell nowadays; Tara was lucky she’s gotten so close to the Starbuck’s. Kelly wouldn’t complain regardless; he’d gotten his wish.
“So what do you like to do besides work?” Tara asked him as they made slow progress towards her car.
How to answer this one as well? Kelly decided to be subtle. “I hang out with Sam a lot. Sometimes I hang out with Mel, but not lately. And Stan’s always working here with me.”
She nodded. “I have friends, but usually, they’re busy too. I guess that’s just how the world works, though, right?”
Kelly agreed. The walk seemed to be taking forever, and he was regretting his decision to come out here, to walk with a girl that was way out of his league. What had he been thinking, that he would get a date? That she would find him attractive? What?
He tried not to show his nervousness; he was failing miserably. Tara didn’t even seem to notice.
They finally made it, and not a moment too soon. Kelly thanked her for coming by. Tara smiled. “It was my pleasure.” She said. “Thanks for being a gentleman.”
Kelly would’ve laughed, had he the strength to do so. He was feeling weak.
Tara left the door open as she put her purse in the passenger seat, and looked up at him one last time. “I’ll see you around, Kelly. Take care. I mean that. You’re a fun guy to be around.” And with that, she shut the door, and took off.
Kelly stood there, mouth wide open, now not only weak, but baffled and stunned. What had she said? He was fun?
And then, the meaning sunk in, and he almost leaped for joy.
Kelly went back to work, feeling dizzy and confused, but most of all, feeling happy that somebody cared. Somebody like him. Somebody thought he was fun.
And he went to bed on the couch that night in Sam’s house, Tara’s words never leaving his head for a moment. The buzz of excitement and happiness would keep him high for the rest of the night.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Chapter 8
“Hey man, let’s talk.” Mel insisted, grabbing Kelly before he could step out the door.
He had been packing his stuff, ready to leave and live fully at Sam’s. He only had maybe eight boxes of stuff. Sam and Stan had brought the car, and were waiting outside.
Kelly wore the jacket that he had forgotten a few nights ago when the trouble had all started. His hair was wild and his eyes were lined with red. He hadn’t slept well the previous night; his mind was on Tara entirely.
And the last thing he wanted was to talk with Mel about what had happened. He had been living with Mel for a whole year, and until now, he had tolerated Mel’s jokes and mockery with ease, assuming that it was just the ramblings of a drunken idiot. But now Kelly was done with it; that was all there was to it.
Claudia came in the room, looking sadder by the minute. She had obviously put Mel up to this; or had she? Mel looked sincere when he said-
“Man, I was drunk; I’m sorry dog. I didn’t think about it then, but when I woke up I felt bad.” He looked at Kelly, hoping that Kelly would understand.
Kelly didn’t. But he let Mel continue as he balanced a box of his stuff on his arms.
“Look, I’m sorry I’ve been harsh. It’s all in good fun man. I didn’t think you were taking it seriously.” Mel sighed. “Claudia and I talked; I’ll give the drinking a chill. You don’t have to do this man.”
Kelly put the box down. What was he going to say? He had known from the start that this was going to happen. He glanced from Claudia to Mel, and then Claudia, and then Mel again. “I’ve stuck with this for months,” he said slowly. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”
“Yeah, but I’m not gonna do it anymore, right?” Mel was pushing it too hard, and he didn’t even realize it. Claudia was biting her lip.
“Mel,” Kelly said, “You’ve done this before. Did-did you hear me? I’ve heard you say this all before. I’m n-not stupid, man. You let me stay here, and that’s cool and all, but I’m leaving. I-I wanna stay with somebody who’ not going to party, or let girls sleep in my bed…”
“That was my fault.” Claudia stepped forward. “Please, Kelly, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it. I thought you’d stay up later, and she’d be done sleeping then.”
Kelly ignored her. “I’m just tired of this. I w-want out. I’m going to stay with Sam. That’s-that’s all t-there is.”
“Do us a favor, will ya?” Mel grabbed his arm as he was turning away. “Just a favor? Don’t pack up. Leave your stuff here. Just think about it man. Just really think. I’ve apologized, Claudia’s apologized. The last thing we wanted is for you to leave because things got uncomfortable. It was all in good fun, man. It’s not like we did it on purpose.”
Kelly put his box down carefully. He looked at his room, the one place he’d felt like was a true home. No one to tell him what to do; no one to boss him about. He nodded his head. Why not? Mel wasn’t the enemy here; Mel was a good guy with a wild side, that was the problem.
“All right,” he said. He picked the box up again before Mel could say something. “I need this, so I’ll take it with me. L-leave everything else boxed up for me.”
“Sure man, sure.” Mel looked relieved. Claudia smiled, joyful. “Remember man; we’re here for ya. Whatever’s botherin’ ya, we’re here to help.”
“Yeah,” Kelly said. “Talk to you guys later.”
He couldn’t wait to get out.
Once he was down the steps and out the door, Sam and Stan both met him with the car. “That’s all of it?” Stan cast a wary eye at the box.
“No. Mel wants me to reconsider.” Kelly got in the back seat with the box while Sam shut the door for him, and then got in the passenger seat.
“So you’re still unsure?” Sam asked him.
“Yeah. For now.” Kelly was looking out the window, distant and feeling like a vague, ominous front was on the horizon, streaking towards him.
“Hey Sam,” He asked casually. “You going to the gym today?”
Later, Sam Young stood in the gym with Mark, getting warmed up to start training for the day. Mark glanced at him, and then took a look at his friend, in the distance.
“Dude, is he a rookie or something?” Mark asked Sam. “Look at how he’s going at that punching bag!”
Justin Kelly was slamming the bag back and forth, throwing punches like no man could. His arms came at looping angles and hit the bag with dull thwacks so loud that at one point, every man in the gym had been staring at Kelly.
Kelly’s face was intense; the sweat running down his head ran through his eyes, but his eyes never blinked. Not once. His mouth was open, and twisted into an angry grimace. His grunts as he hit the bag, a “Huh!Huh!Huh!Huh!Huh!” could be heard even though the radio was blaring Metallica.
“He’ll be fine,” Sam said. He smiled as he watched his friend go at it for a minute, and then he cupped his hands to his face, shouting, “Kelly!”
Kelly was far too into the zone to hear him. He was pummeling the bag as if it was Mel. Or the guy that had humiliated him at the Starbuck’s yesterday. Tara had told Sam about it; he felt sympathy for Kelly that he never imagined feeling.
But now looking at the younger man, Kelly wasn’t exactly someone to feel sorry for. He was doing what made him happy, it would seem. He was envisioning whaling the tar out of those who had wronged him, and Sam couldn’t blame him for not listening to anyone as to how you use a punching bag.
“Kelly!” Kelly finally heard him and stopped, his chest heaving, his mouth wide open. Sam then noticed too late that Kelly wasn’t wearing wraps. His knuckles were bruising, and blood ran down his right wrist.
“Remember what I taught you?” Sam was embarrassed. “do that.”
Kelly nodded. Went back to the bag. And as the rest of the gym watched, he threw light jabs, followed by a straight every now and then.
Sam sighed with relief. Everyone went back to work.
“C’mon,” Mark beckoned to him. They started grappling, and Sam was sprawling on him, when suddenly, Sam stopped and Mark took him down with a strange ease. Sam was staring at Kelly again.
Kelly was throwing the jab. But as soon as he threw a few, he then stepped back half a pace and threw a hefty right handed haymaker, rocking the bag back and forth in this fashion. The bag was swinging so hard, it looked like it was going to break from its fastening and fall to the ground.
And Kelly didn’t care. Mark started to laugh in disbelief. Sam felt his face flush red.
And then things got worse. The manager of the gym walked to Kelly, not happy at all. “Hey! What are you doing! Take it easy before you break that!” Kelly stopped to look at him as he continued. “What are you doing without wraps on? Is this your first time here or something? You can’t just start throwing punches unless you’ve got wraps on!” The man shook his head in disgust. “Get those hands clean, and clean the bag, and then go get some wraps!”
Kelly took on a glare in his eye, but as soon as it entered, it faded. Glancing at Sam quickly, Kelly shrugged and went to the locker room.
“Wow.” Mark chuckled. “Street brawler material or what?”
“He’s a good kid,” Sam said absent-mindedly. “Just forget about him. Let’s go.”
They grappled for a while, and Sam almost caught Mark in a flying armbar, narrowly missing as Mark ducked his head and Sam’s leg flew over it by half an inch. Mark pinned him down then, trying to secure a kimura, which Sam denied him.
Then Kelly came back later, wiping the bag down the punching bag he had brutalized. The sight seemed comedic; and Sam couldn’t help but smile at how careful Kelly was to clean every inch of the bag. After he was done with that, Kelly wiped the floor underneath the bag, should any of his blood have hit the floor.
“Weird kid,” Mark said.
“Not weird,” Sam said. “A normal guy who hits like a bull.”
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Sam stood Tara while she ordered her favorite drink from Starbuck’s. Stan was working that day, and he took her order while glancing off-handedly at Sam.
“And for your boyfriend?”
Tara protested, and Sam merely laughed. “Just a water bottle. I’m paying.”
“Oh, I see,” Stan worked the cash register. “You pay, and she stays with you. I see how this works; you don’t have to say nothin’. I’ve got it all figured out.”
“Stan!” Tara was trying to act serious, but even she was smiling. Sam rolled his eyes.
Despite his jokes, Stan gave them their drinks, and they both sat down at the table that Tara always used when she was at the Starbuck’s. It had a great view out the window at Chicago; the heart of downtown, in all of its frenetic scrambles of the day. Workers rushing back and forth, talking on cell phones, and cars slowly making their way through the network of roads in the city.
Sam had always had a love for his hometown. Out of him, Mel, Stan, and Kelly, Sam was the only one who was born in Chicago. He would never leave this town; he loved it too much. It was home. And for Sam to leave home would be to leave behind everything that he held dearly. All the memories, all of the good times, and the bad ones shared with true friends who helped him through those hard times.
One of those good times, in fact, was sitting right in front of Sam. He remembered Tara Fields in high school; she hadn’t changed a bit. He smiled as he recalled all those days when he would get in trouble to trying to pull pranks on the school administration, and how often many of his pranks were successful, and he got away with it. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been expelled.
And Tara Fields. She had always been quiet. She was friendly enough; when she said something, everyone paid attention to her. Maybe it was because of her looks; but Sam was past that. That had been when he’d first met her. He’d gotten her number casually, and had made bets with this buddies that he would get in her pants within less than a few weeks.
Sam had lost the bet; he’d found out while seeing her that she was not like any girl he had met before. She was smarter than anyone he’d met; she could say something that would make him stare at her in awe, while simultaneously insult his intelligence at the same time.
And above that, she held to a faith that Sam had never quite understood. Not in his time. His parents were a diverse bunch; the mother an atheist, the father involved in Scientology. Sam didn’t like talking about it, unless he was with Tara. She was the only one who he felt could understand him.
She kicked him as he realized that he was daydreaming. “You alive?” She asked him, following this with a laugh when he gave her a blank expression.
“So what were we talking about?” He wondered aloud.
She giggled. “Wow. I thought you changed over time.”
“Not really. What were we talking about?” He repeated.
She tipped her head. “Kelly, I think. You said he was at the gym with you yesterday?”
“Oh yeah,” The memory came back to him. Sam still had a hard time picturing the kid’s savagery as he tore through the punching bag. “He was crazy. The manager ended up kicking him out because he was destroying all of our boxing equipment.”
Tara laughed. “Wow. Is he okay?”
“Yeah, sure. He’s fine. He wasn’t upset or embarrassed. I think he was just happy getting to hit something.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy.”
Sam shook his head. “No, it isn’t. But then again, you don’t know Kelly as well as Mel or I do. I’ve tried to work out at a normal gym with him before; you know, lifting weights and such.” Sam recalled the images of Kelly’s angry approach to the weightlifting. “He got thrown out of there too, because he was abusing the weights. He was doing pullups and dips on machines he shouldn't have been doing them on, and when he lifted something heavy up, he’d start screaming and fling it down after he’d finish his reps.” Kelly shrugged as Tara laughed aloud again, this time even louder than previously. “He’s just crazy. I love seeing it, though; he’s not intimidated by that stuff. He’s got a fire that no one knows about. I love seeing him unleash it.”
Tara stopped laughing. “Wonder why he’s shy then?”
Sam had to think about it as well. “I don’t know. I think he’s always been like that. Since I first met him, he always stuttered and muttered. It’s just how he was born.” Sam looked up at her. “But you know what? It’s wrong that we should talk like this behind back. Let’s change the subject.”
She agreed to do so.
“So how’s school been?” Sam started off with.
Tara tipped her head. “Not bad. I’ve been thinking about transferring, but I don’t know where I would go after this.” She spread her hands to indicate the Starbuck’s. “I’d miss little places like this. Chigago’s been home for so many years. I can’t imagine what it would be like leaving.”
“Yeah, you moved here, what, when you were seven?” She said yes. “Imagine what it must be like for me!” Sam said. “I’ve been born here. I was born not eight miles away from this very spot, in fact.”
“At the hospital?” she was laughing, but Sam didn’t. That was a bad memory, his birth. He couldn’t remember that day, but he remembered his mother’s descriptions of how her husband had forced them into the basement of their home, and forced her to be silent as he and several friends from his Scientology cadre delivered Sam, all in silence. Sam screamed when he came out. His mother couldn’t. She wanted to so badly, she said, but she couldn’t.
“Bad memory, I take it?” Tara’s face took up a note of gentle concern. She knew she’d hit a sore spot.
Sam shrugged it off. “It’s in the past now,” he said. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Sorry,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to.”
Sam smiled. “It’s not a problem. You’re welcome to discuss it if you want.”
“No, Sam, no,” She was feeling guilty now. “I can’t do that to you. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“Really, I’m fine.” Sam said. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Forget it!” She wasn’t being nice anymore. She was pissed, and it was Sam’s fault. He sighed wearily.
“Sorry.” Now it was his turn to say it.
They were quiet for a little bit. And then Rich came over, being cordial as he greeted them coolly. “How are you Tara?” he asked. He nodded to Sam. Sam smiled back.
“I’m fine, thanks, Rich,” She smiled as well. “How’s work?”
“Fine,” But it was evident that Rich was pissed about something. Typical Rich. “Kelly had an incident a few days ago. You guys heard about that? Has he told you?”
“No,” Sam said slowly. “Stan did.”
“Yeah?” Rich glanced Stan’s way, and then looked back at them. “So how’s he taking it? Is he gonna come in tomorrow? I could sure use the help.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Sam promised. “He should be fine. He was happy yesterday.”
“Really?” Rich seemed interested. “Happy? How so?”
Tara giggled while Sam sighed. “He, uh, he went with me to the gym.” He wasn’t going to fill the blanks in; Rich could find out more from Kelly if he really wanted to.
“Great.” Rich seemed relieved. “He’s my best man here. You know that? Wouldn’t trade him for anybody.” He bobbed his blonde head towards Tara. “Unless, of course, this kid is interested in a job…”
“No thanks, Rich,” Tara laughed. “I’m busy enough as it is”
Rich frowned slightly. “Suit yourself. It’s there if you want it.” He left then, and Sam rolled his eyes.
“What, does he love Kelly or something?” he said to Tara.
“Why are you asking me?” She replied. “I barely know the guy. I just talk to him whenever I come in here.”
“Hm,” Sam glanced at Stan, and couldn’t help but notice Stan giving Rich the finger to his back. Rich went in the office, and Stan called over to Sam and Tara.
“One of these days, guys, I’m gonna fix him. Gonna fix him good.”
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The Organization had hit a snag.
One of their top contenders in the Light Heavyweight division, Cage, had a fight in four days. His opponent had called in that he couldn’t fight.
Apparently, a torn Meniscus was the catalyst. Now the organization’s president, Mr. Black was discussing what to do about the card with the matchmakers, Mr. King and Mr. Arraya.
Mr. Black was peeved about the sudden shift in the card. “Typical of a low-time fighter to back out of a great fight,” He shook his head. “What now, guys? Who do we have?”
“You still want him to fight?” Arraya disagreed with it all. “Why? To fight someone who’s not even worthy of being in the ring with him is almost certainly going to screw everything up. Why not just put the fight off until the next card?”
Black stared at Arraya, a short, wizened little man who was only good for sizing up fighters by strengths and talents. Otherwise, he was just a pain in the ass. “Are you kidding me?”
King spoke up then, calmly, “If we take him off the card, it’s going to get results. No one will come watch the card. Cage is the one they want to see fight. They won’t pay for another fight of two nobodys.”
Black was grateful King had stepped in; but Arraya was still hesitant.
“And what if he gets hurt in this one and loses?” He whined. “What if he loses to some nobody? What’s that say about him? If we do this, we risk bigger casualties than just a small crowd.”
“So let’s get somebody who poses him a threat,” Black scratched the back of his head. He was getting a migraine just sitting here. “Let’s put him in with another big name. Who we got?”
“No man that’s a good fighter will step in the ring with Cage; especially with only four day’s notice”!” Arraya protested.
Black’s eyes, however, were on the man sitting next to him. King was holding a cup of coffee, staring into in, thinking deeply.
“King?” Black said to him.
King looked up. “There is one guy I know who’s crazy enough to do it.” He said. “I’ll call him.”
Black slammed his hands on the table, relieved. “You see?” he said to Arraya. “This man knows what’s up. Hit me, King. Who’s our guy?”
King sighed. “He’s called Smalls.” He started off. “Everyone loves him. He’s a people’s favorite. Despite that, he’s a low-profile fighter. Gets in the ring and fights, and then when he’s finished, gets his check, gets checked by the doctor, and then he’s gone. He just leaves without talking to the fans or anything.”
Arraya took this in. “So he’s a real fighter.”
“Yeah,” King said. “But he’s not afraid of anyone. He’ll fight Cage. He could win too. It’d almost be as good as Cage winning.” He pleaded Black with his eyes, begging him to consider it.
Black was past that. “Call him then!” he stood up. “And do it soon. We don’t have much time.”
Sam had been sitting at home with Stan and Kelly, watching a movie, when the phone rang. He picked up. “Hello?”
“We’ve got a fight for you. Large check, too. Be ready in four days.”
...end of book one. Book two is next.
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That next day was abuzz as Stan, Mel, Kelly, and Sam all grouped together at Fred’s. Finally, as he had with Stan, Sam laid down the details about the Organization, and the upcoming match against Cage. He explained his involvement, and they couldn’t believe it. Mel was in disbelief, and Stan kept laughing about it. Kelly remained silent; he’d been in it since the beginning.
“I knew it!” Mel said, shaking his head. “I knew there was something strange about you, man,” Sam laughed as he shook his hand. “Dang. Congrats. But seriously,” he looked at him seriously. “Three days? Can you even get someone prepared for that?”
Kelly gave a knowing smile as Sam nodded, a smile creeping on his face as well. “Yeah, we’ll be prepared. Four days is nothing for us.”
“Who’s us?” Stan looked at him, confused. “Who’s with you?”
Sam shook his head. “Come see the fight; you’ll see who I’m with.”
“Whatever man,” Stan stood up, throwing his bills on the bar. “I’m gonna go. Got work tomorrow, right, buddy?” he patted Kelly on the back.
“Oh, def-definitely.” It was strange, but Kelly seemed even more enthusiastic about this upcoming fight than Sam was. Perhaps it was because Sam had confided in Kelly before any of the others; maybe Kelly just felt like he was a part of the team. Neither Mel nor Stan could be sure, but they both were glad about seeing the look of joy on Kelly’s face as he hummed a song.
Mel was staring at Kelly, his eyes speaking to him. “So, about moving out…” Mel began.
“Don’t worry, man,” Kelly assured him. “I’ve t-thought about it.”
Mel nodded. “So what’s your decision?”
Kelly’s lips curved upwards, and his eyes glittered. He punched Mel on the shoulder. “We’re good.” He said. “I’ll bring my stuff and I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
Mel’s shoulders quit sagging. It was evident this had been a severe burden on his shoulders; no doubt Kelly’s forgiving him felt tremendous.
“This is great,” Sam slapped Kelly on the back. “We’re gonna have a throwdown a few days from now. You pumped?”
“Yeah.” Kelly said.
“Yeah? You sure? ‘Cause I’m pumped.” Sam said.
“Not as much as me!” Kelly was practically restraining himself from jumping up and down. “Can’t wait!”
“Tonight’s the last night for this, then,” Sam ordered a shot, and once Fred delivered it, Sam held it up. “To success, and a war in the ring.” Everyone toasted, be it beer or water. Sam downed the shot. “All right then,” he said. “Let’s go. Need to get sleep, need to get into the mindset of a warrior.”
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“So?” Sam glanced at Tara as they were walking down the street to his car.
It was the evening before fight day. Sam had made sure his team had taken it easy as far as training had gone. The last thing needed was an injury before such a large fight.
The paycheck wasn’t something Sam was even interested in; he just wanted the win. He just wanted to see the look of Cage’s face when he was on the ground, staring up at his opponent, who would be jumping on the corner, screaming his head off, or pulling the gravedigger taunt. Sam loved fighting; it was as much a part of his family as cement the part of a brick building. It was the glue that held his life together.
Not just his life either; more lives clung to the glory of fighting than just Sam’s. He knew he wasn’t the only man who lived life on the edge.
Tara had said something while his mind was wandering. He glanced at her. “So…”
“You never told me you were involved in fighting before,” She said carefully, as if she was analyzing every word she said “I’m not sure what to think about it.”
Sam snorted. “Think what you want about it; it’s just a side thing I do. It’s a hobby, if you will.”
“What, to hurt other guys? Put them in the hospital for life?” Tara folded her arms across her chest. She shivered slightly in the wind. “I’ve heard the stories about this ‘fighting’ stuff. Men who have brain damage for the rest of lives; brains beaten into paste, bones cracked, and teeth missing. There’s a reason why a lot of the states have banned it.”
“And there’s a reason why a lot of them haven’t,” Sam stopped walking, and she followed suit, a doubtful look on her face. “It’s a sport.”
“It’s the new wave of gladiatorial contests,” She said. “That’s all it is.”
Sam bit off a laugh. “You obviously have been watching too much of the news,” he said. “it’s a sport. Safety is a large precaution. The ref stops the fight if a fighter can’t defend himself-”
“And what, the fighter is okay afterwards?” Tara rolled her eyes. “You can’t expect me to believe that a fighter is perfectly okay after getting beaten senseless for fifteen rounds-”
“Two rounds. It’s only two rounds in this organization.” Kelly corrected her.
“Whatever,” She waved that comment off. “You’re saying that everything is fine afterwards?”
“There’s only been one fatality in this ‘fighting’ stuff that you’re so worried about,” Kelly leaned close enough to smell her perfume. “You’re not looking at the bigger picture. You’re looking at it from a conservative angle.”
She cast a dark, sarcastic look at him. “And what’s the bigger picture?”
He leaned away, pondering this. Finally, he said “It’s glory. It’s a test. For years, man has tried to find ways of pushing himself to the limits. We’ve done football, hockey, and boxing’s always been there. But those sports are protected by more rules than this is. This sport – mixed martial arts – it’s different. It’s not that it’s more violent. It’s not that these are guys who get drunk in bars and then are looking for a fight. These are true athletes. They work hard in the gym to strengthen themselves, and they perfect their health in doing so. You won’t see one of these fighters smoking, or drinking a ton. Those kinds of fighters never last. These guys,” He started to perform as he spoke, as if he was making a speech. “These guys are warriors. This isn’t about blood. This is about what it takes to survive. This is about respecting your opponent, and being willing to give him hell for fifteen minutes.”
Tara nodded her head, listening. Sam continued. “I know you don’t trust this sport. It sounds daunting, doesn’t it? Tell you what. Why don’t you come watch tomorrow night? You might find here’s more to it than just what you’ve heard on the television.”
Tara tipped her head to the side. “And you’ll be there as well?”
“Well, it’s my team’s fight, so yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah. SO you’ll come?”
She laughed. “It’s a date.”
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It was that time of the night again. Fight night, to be exact, and the crowds were whipped up. This card had just been upgraded from interesting to unbelievable.
The show was sold out. Not a single seat was empty. And Mr. Black loved it. He sat next to King in the box above the crowds. Both had martinis in front of him, and King was planning on fixing himself a cigar afterwards.
“This couldn’t have gotten any better.” King said to Black.
“And I owe it to you,” Black laughed. “Thanks for backing me up against Arraya. Sometimes I wonder what’s keeping him here. He’s completely incompetent.”
“He knows how to promote,” King reminded him. “That’s what’s keeping him. You hired him, remember.”
“I’d rather not remember that.” Black said. “One of the dumbest mistakes I’ve ever made. I’m glad he decided not to come out tonight.”
King lit his cigar; the flickering of the lighter’s flame, bursting to light, similar to the way the crowd reacted as the lights darkened, and large-screened televisions replayed montages of fights seen before, or fights that were classic wars and battles. Black absolutely loved this; this was why he promoted MMA in the first place. He couldn’t get enough of it. He had never thrown a punch in his life, but that didn’t stop him from admiring those who did.
King offered him a cigar. Why not? Black accepted it graciously while he forced himself to sit down and enjoy the show. “This is going to be a good night.” He said.
Ten minutes. That was all there was left to wait before Smalls fought Cage, a man who was undefeated with eleven wins without a loss, draw, or disqualification to his name. Most fighters in the organization in the Light Heavyweight division was scared of Cage.
But not Smalls. He thrived on this; the waves of people he had seen coming in tonight, all the same that had seen him fight before. They loved him. They wanted a war. And regardless of a loss or a win, Smalls would give them their war. It was the one thing he was good at in this world, giving wars.
Smalls’ hands were wrapped. So excited about fighting, he had forgotten about putting them on; his trainer had to do it for him. “Seriously, sit down, will ya?” The man told him. “You’re warmed up. Now don’t go overboard.” The man shook his head. “God; you don’t come in to train much, you don’t work on what I’ve shown you, and then you call me up out of the blue to let me know you have a fight in four days’ time? You’re incredible, man.”
Smalls winked at him. “It’s what I do.” He said.
Smalls cornerman got up. He went over to him, and whispered in his ear as their trainer went over to the other corner of the room. “I’m not gonna be cornering you tonight. He will be.”
Smalls stared up in surprise. The man over his shoulder had been cornering him for eight months now. “What’s the big deal?”
His friend smiled. “I managed to convince someone to come watch.” He stood up and slapped Smalls across the face. “Give her a war, ‘Smalls’ and do it for me.” He grinned.
“It’s what I do.” Smalls repeated tonelessly. Again.
He stood up and started to bounce back and forth. His trainer Bob cursed him again. “Sit down!” Bob shouted. “A few minutes to go. Can you even wait for that?”
“Nope.”
Cage was introduced first. From Tara’s view at the front row, not five feet from the ring, the man was big. Six feet tall, about two hundred pounds, the announcer had said? Tara didn’t like it. Cage was built like a solid rock. Muscle bound. Tara had heard some fan nearby mention something about this guy being an Olympic boxer. Tara cringed as she imagined Sam trying to fight the man. She didn’t want to believe this was happening, that Sam was actually going to fight.
She’d always known he was crazy, but not this crazy.
She didn’t like the crowd, either; several guys, drunk and rowdy, had been hitting on her nonstop. One even asked her in a casual tone if she needed a walk out to her car in case she’d forgotten something. Tara had tried to ignore him, but he had been a most persistent character.
The crowd to her was like a dark, surging wave of violence and anger. Hundreds screaming, all crying for blood and agony. She didn’t like it. It disturbed her to know that Sam thrived on this. She felt an urge to pray for him; she kept staring at Cage, and Cage seemed ready to fight. He was ready to kill.
Just then, the reserved seat next to her was filled. She glanced at the newcomer, and did a double take when she realized it was a familiar face.
Sam Young smiled as he sat down next to her, wearing a blue jacket. On the back of it, it read ‘No mercy for the wicked’ and it looked absolutely expensive. Tara had a feeling it wasn’t his. But then again, wasn’t he the one who was fighting?
“What are you doing here?” She had to shout to be heard.
Sam lifted a corner of his lips in a smile. “I’m here to educate you in what it’s like to be a fighter.”
“But you’re supposed to be in there!” She pointed at the ring as suddenly, the crowd was on its feet, erupting with cheers. Tara was startled, and Sam stood up then, yelling as well. He leaned close to explain to her.
“I should’ve told you,” he said. “I’ve never fought professionally. I just help a particular fighter train for his fights. He’s a good man.” He pointed to a procession headed towards the ring. “And there he is now. You can hear the crowd say his name.”
The crowd was chanting it, indeed. “Smalls! Smalls, Smalls, Smalls, Smalls, Smalls…” in a never-ending fashion, the crowd whooped a war cry for their fighter.
Tara tried to see who Smalls was; but his face was covered by a robed hood. His robe was entirely blue, as was his shorts. He bounced into the ring, and the crowd sat down was still going wild for their man.
“Annnnd now, introducing the fighter in the bluuue corner,” the announcer in the ring made a sweeping gesture to Smalls, who was paying no heed to anything but the combos he threw at the air, concentrated on warming up. “This man is a professional fighter with a mixed martial arts record of twenty-five wins, with nine losses, and two draws…” the crowd was hushed for the announcement. Smalls still paid no heed. He was facing Cage. His hood was still on.
“Ladies and gentlemen, stepping up to fight on four days’ notice, from Chicago, Illinois,” the crowd started screaming again as the announcer said in a loud voice, “Smaaallllssss.”
And then, Smalls flung his hood off. The crowd couldn’t have gotten any wilder. Tara thought she would go deaf. Sam was grinning wickedly, his eyes on his friend and fighter.
And then Tara took a good look at him, and her heart skipped a beat as she stared at Smalls, who now looked Cage in the eye across the ring.
She knew this man.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Justin Kelly, known in the professional Organization as ‘Smalls’ walked towards the center of the ring, feeling very much alive.
As the ref went through the rules, Kelly/Smalls took time to size up his opponent. Cage was big; he might have been only one inch taller, but there was no doubting who the stronger of the two was. Kelly might’ve had the punching power, but only slightly as an advantage. Cage was no slouch. There was a reason why he was being considered a top contender.
Cage’s eyes were calm, like stones. He remained stiff, but the veins in his neck throbbed. They both wanted this fight.
The ref requested they touch gloves. They did so, and went back to their corners, warming up.
It was time to go.
The moment the ref said “Go!” Tara felt a queasiness build up her stomach. She knew she was trembling; it was for fear and concern for Kelly’s safety. Seeing him go towards Cage, she knew what was going to happen, and she didn’t want to see it. Just didn’t want to see it.
The crowd roared as the combatants met in the center of the ring, and Cage started off by smacking Kelly in the head with several hard blows to start the fight off. Tara looked down, refusing to watch anymore. She couldn’t; how could she watch as a guy she liked well enough got hurt?
Sam was laughing. She stared at him. He looked at him, and then pointed at the ring. “It’s only beginning. He’s just warming up.”
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Kelly felt at home. The punches didn’t really hurt. Adrenaline took care of that. He took the center of the ring after Cage stopped swinging. Cage was smirking, and Kelly couldn’t help but feel a smile on his face too. Why not? There was no hate here. There was only the War that mattered.
And so Kelly leaped forward this time, throwing his own salvo. Cage dodged most of it, and threw a jab, which struck Kelly on the jaw. Kelly was now aware of the reach; he’d have to proceed carefully, lure the man close. That wouldn’t be a problem.
He could heard his trainer, Bob Seamon, screaming advice. He ignored it as usual. Cage came at him again, this time, pushing him into the corner. Kelly ducked as more punches came his way. He threw a straight, hoping to hit something, but came up short and ate an uppercut.
The crowd wouldn’t let up. They were still haranguing the fighters as Cage circled Kelly in the ring. Kelly tried once again to step forward, but Cage read him well, putting all of his weight on another uppercut, right to the stomach. It caught Kelly off guard, and Kelly stepped back, only to find-
It happened so fast, he didn’t even realize he was on the canvas until the ref was on four of the tencount. Kelly was on his feet at eight.
“Walk to me; good. What’s your trainer’s name?”
Kelly answered thus, “Bob Seamon. I’m fine.”
The ref stepped back, and the fight continued. Cage was looking surprised at Kelly’s resiliency. He had not expected a guy on four days’ notice to put up such a strong fight.
Kelly didn’t leap at him; he merely dived into the clinch. Fans began to boo, and Kelly knew they would. Cage was surprised, and was desperate, hitting him repeatedly in the kidney. Kelly then stepped back, throwing a jab, followed by the haymaker he had been practicing in Sam’s gym.
The combo worked, as the jab forced Cage to cover himself at a strange angle; that angle was exactly where Kelly had been planning on aiming the haymaker, and it hit perfectly. Cage was rocked, he leaned against the corner, stunned as Kelly threw more bombs.
But Cage recovered, and regained his composure, forcing Kelly into a clinch this time. Kelly latched on to his head, while Cage worked his body again. It was obvious Cage didn’t see what Kelly had planned. He’d no doubt heard from his buds about Kelly, “The guy has strong hands. Strong hands.”
Time to test the knees. Cage was thrown off balanced as Kelly jumped in the air, bringing his knee straight into his head. Cage grunted, and tried to push Kelly away. Kelly hung on like a monkey, and threw more knees, this time to the body, forcing Cage to bring his hands down.
Before Kelly could deliver a knockout blow, the bell rang, and the ref sprang between them. “Stop! That’s it. Go to your corners.”
Kelly sat down, barely listening as Bob hissed at him. “Nice, nice. Keep using those knees. That’s how ya do it.”
Cage was trying to look at Kelly through the mob of trainers he had. He was scared. Kelly could sense it from the other side of the ring.
The break ended thirty seconds later, and Kelly was up on his feet. He brought his arms up, looked at the crowd, and waved them up and down – indicating that the crowd should pay its final respects for the last round. They obliged him.
Kelly looked at Cage; Cage looked at Kelly, stunned that a low-tier opponent was still standing in front of him, and not on his way to the doctor. Kelly winked at him. Cage’s eyes narrowed.
“Go!” they came forward again. Cage once again chose to circle around Kelly, but not like a predator this time. He was scared, and merely trying to run time out on the clock.
Kelly dived forward with the jab, and tried to latch on to his head. Cage ducked and pushed him away. Four minutes to go.
Kelly tried twice more to secure a lock on the head, and Cage denied the first one. The second was locked in, but Cage was resisting as Kelly hammered him with knees. Finally, Kelly hit him with an elbow, and Cage gave a “uhf!” and backed away.
Kelly knew it was done then. Completely done. No decision for Smalls. Never a decision. He came and went for the head, forcing Cage to bring his hands up-
And Kelly went low as he did, bring that dangerous right hand around, hitting Cage straight in the ribs. Kelly felt something give in the ribcage as his punch landed. Cage gasped, and his hands lowered slightly.
Kelly went over the top again, a left followed by a right. Both landed, and the right hit flush on the chin. Cage’s eyes shut even before he hit the ground.
Cage didn’t move as the tencount was sounded. It was all over. Kelly spit his mouthpiece out, and before the ref could lift his hand to signify him as the winner, Smalls had mounted the corner. His heart flared. His throat and chest both burned. His head ached. His hands were hurting and so were his wrists.
He brought a gloved hand to his throat, extended the thumb, and dragged it across his throat. And then he scream, his arms up like Christ in the crucifix.
The crowd ate it up. They hailed him, their victor, their hero. No doubt winning this fight meant things. Important things. Things that would change his life.
And through it all, beyond Sam’s yelling of encouragement, Tara Fields stared at a boy she barely knew. The image of him, standing on that turnbuckle, a predator finished with the hunt, his face contorted with rage and satisfaction, would be burned into her brain for the rest of her life.
Tara felt a new admiration for Justin Kelly then, and she resolved to get to know him better from that moment on.
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The celebration in Smalls’ locker room was incredible. Bob had brought some champagne, claiming that all along he knew Kelly would win the fight. Sam had brought Tara into the locker room; with some convincing, Sam managed also to get Stan and Mel back into the locker room as well, getting them away from the crowd.
“Dude, we should come here every week,” Stan was saying as he opened a new beer. “Never mind if Kelly fights; what a way to spend the weekend.”
“Too bad a card like this happens maybe every few weeks or so,” Sam embraced Kelly, squeezing his younger friend’s head. “You did it, kid; you’re a contender now. You have to be.”
Bob agreed. “Yeah. The administration can’t ignore what you did here tonight. Good show, kid. But,” he held up a finger in Kelly’s tired face as the boy draped a towel over his head. “This means that you’re done with part-time training. You’re full-time now.”
Stan didn’t take to this kindly. “Wait a minute, man. This guy’s got a job already.”
“Now, I don’t mean that he has to quit,” Bob said. “But it means that the moment he’s done with work, he gets his ass in the gym. That’s how this works.”
Everyone laughed at Kelly’s misfortune. “You messed up good, man,” Mel laughed freely. “You shoulda just let him win. Now you’ve got twice the amount of work to put in.”
With everyone laughing, Kelly rolled on the bench until he was staring at the ceiling. His skin was red in some areas, evidence of the beating Cage had administered to him. His left eye, where he had taken a glancing punch, was swollen. His right hand trembled a little bit. He shut his eyes as Bob stood up.
“All right, guys, let’s let the man take a shower.” Everyone got up. Mel, Stan, and Sam all shook his hand before leaving. Tara was the last to leave. She stood by the doorway, staring at Kelly for the longest time. Kelly finally opened an eye, looking right back.
“What?” Tara was so used to hearing him stutter, she was surprised to hear him speak clearly without doing so for a change.
“Nothing,” She lied. “I never would’ve thought…” she pondered her words. “I never thought you would be the kind of guy to handle this. You’ve surprised me.”
Kelly smiled a little. “It’s what I do. It makes me happy.” He got up, still a bit dizzy. He shook his head to clear the pain, but it clung to him still, like it always did. The door slamming shut signified that Tara had left, and Kelly stripped down, and hit the showers.
The water was burning hot when he stepped into it. He jumped back out, adjusted the dial so that it was cool. He hated hot showers. Even if his muscles cramped up, it was worth it. The heat of a fight was just as bad as that of a hot shower; combine the two of them and you got a thirty minute day in Hell.
So Kelly scrubbed his whole body with soap, washed it away, and did the same for his face and hair.
After finished the shower, he slipped on some normal clothing. Jeans, tee shirt, his jacket. Sam came back into the locker room beaming, followed by an ecstatic-looking man. He was balding, and his attitude was that of a important person.
“Smalls, this is the president of the organization, Mr. Black.” Sam introduced the two. They shook hands firmly exchanging hello’s.
Black sat on a bench opposite of Kelly. He whistled, and then shook his head as he stared at Kelly. “Kid…that was one of the best fights I’ve ever seen in that ring before. And to top it off, you beat one of the top contenders on this side of the Midwest.”
“Thank you.” Kelly smiled. “It was an honor to fight him.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you should realize what this means,” Black produced a check, and handed it to Sam. “Your manager here will fill you in later on exact details, but let’s just say that you’re not going to be a low-tier fighter any longer. You’re a threat to the champ.”
Kelly’s mouth opened slightly as he digested this news. The champ? The Light Heavyweight champion of Chicago and the whole Midwest of the US was a Canadian named Axe. Axe had defended his title eight times consecutively for four straight years. It was rumored that he couldn’t be beaten. That he was the greatest fighter in the world at Light Heavyweight; he just hadn’t been discovered by the big time MMA organizations. Axe was vicious; if there was anyone that would’ve decimated Cage even quicker than Kelly had, it was Axe.
“Well what do you think? In the hunt for the title?” Black stood up. “I have to go, but I suggest you stay ready for a fight. We’re going to want to you back here soon.”
He shut the door, and Sam hugged Kelly again. “Can’t believe you did it, man. You’ve done me proud.”
Kelly winced as Sam’s shoulder clipped his eye. “Eas-easy, man.”
“Sorry,” Sam picked him up. “I’m just so happy for you, kid. Good things are coming to you. But it’s like Bob said. Now you have to work for greatness. Are you ready for this?” He paused by the doorway, eyes on Kelly.
Was Kelly ready? Kelly had no clue. It sounded good to him; higher paychecks, bigger fights, bigger crowds with the chances of having some fans, and above it all, the glory of someday challenging Axe for his title?
Kelly had never fought because he wanted to win. He never fought because he wanted people to think he was cool. Kelly fought because he was alone. Maybe, just maybe, this was the key to opening the door. Maybe this was the chance that would finally free Kelly of his trepidation, and perhaps signify his growth into being a true man.
He stood alone, and went at it with one of the best fighters in the country. He could do it. Kelly needed to do it.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Later that night, Kelly gave Rich a call. Rich answered on the final ring, sounding pissed as well as tired. “What is it?” Rich wasn’t trying to be polite. This wasn’t his business phone.
“Hey, it’s K-Kelly.”
“My only good employee? You do realize it’s two in the freakin’ morning?” Rich sighed. “What do you want?” Kelly could hear an audible sound of teeth grinding from the other side.
“I wanted to switch from full-time to part-time.” Kelly didn’t even finish this as he heard Rich groan from the other side of the line.
“Are you kidding me?” Rich cursed. “Who’s gonna take your place? Stan? Stan hates me; he wouldn’t take care of the place. Armelia’s a nice girl, but she’s not exactly trustworthy-”
“Rich; I’m s-sorry. I really don’t wanna upset you,” Kelly took a deep breath. “B-but I-I’m doing something on the side. It’s really b-big.”
“What could be bigger than your job at the Starbuck’s?” Rich demanded. “Huh? What?”
“I’m a mixed martial artist.” The silence on the other end suggested that Rich was pulling a blank as to what a mixed martial artist was. So Kelly elaborated. “I’m a professional fighter.”
“Kelly, what?” Rich was in complete denial. He was about to whine; Kelly braced himself. “What are you talking about kid? A fighter? Are you serious? You don’t even look like one!” And then, an afterthought occurred to him. “Well, maybe that explains the scars…”
“No, it doesn’t,” Kelly cut him off. “The scars are something else. But that’s none of your business.”
“Whatever,” Rich snarled. “This is completely ridiculous. Kelly, you’re telling me you fight?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not lying?” Rich was trying to see into him from the other side. “You’re telling me the absolute truth?”
Kelly took yet another deep breath. “Yes. Stan saw me fight tonight. He can confirm this.”
“What?! You fought tonight?”
Kelly sighed. He had no clue where the boss was going with all of this. But Kelly had no choice but to listen until the man was done ranting and venting. “Yes. I just got done a few hours ago.”
Silence crept through the phone for a little while, and then Rich said in a softer tone, “Why didn’t you get me a ticket then? I would’ve loved to see you fight.”
Kelly barked a short laugh. “Sorry, boss.”
“Next time invite me.” A sigh of Rich’s own trickled over the line. “Fine. You don’t have to come in tomorrow. I’ll…I’ll find someone else.” He paused, and then, “All right Kelly. You win. Part-time it is.”
Kelly breathed deeply and easily. “Thanks boss. Good night.” He hung up, glad that the conversation was done.
“Well?” Both Mel and Claudia had stayed up for moral support. Mel was leaning against the kitchen sink. Claudia was dressed in bedroom attire, tapping her fingers in a beat against the small table in the kitchen.
Kelly nodded. “He’s giving me part-time status.”
Mel laughed aloud. “Well, that’s a start. You’d better get some sleep, man.”
“Yeah,” Kelly was headed towards his bedroom. “Yeah. Good night, guys.”
“Good night, Kelly,” Claudia called after him. “Glad you came back.”
Sam was in the gym early, and this time he was prepared.
He stood in front of the manager, Ted Doyal. Ted was a smaller guy who loved MMA more than anyone Sam knew. There was only one problem; Ted had never fought in his life. He treated it like a science; like it was something you could learn by sitting back and watching from a chair or couch, eating a hot dog and drinking a beer.
Ted’s gym was a testimony of this; the mats were cleaned every other hour, and the trainers there were involved in jiu jitsu and boxing practices. However, they were spending more time teaching rookies and older women how to get in shape rather than concentrate on the very small percentage of real men who came in the gym; the fighters.
“So let me get this straight; you want to bring back a kid I kicked out of here a few days ago, for what purpose?” Ted was chewing gum, and he had an obnoxious way of chewing with his mouth open, showing stained, yellow teeth from many years of smoking. His face reminded Sam of a ferret. He was also carrying a water bottle around like he was training too. The truth was that Ted only lifted weights and ran every now and then; he had never stepped foot on the mat. Not that Sam had been paying attention to him if he had. Ted was not a fighter, never would be. Sam had a better man he wanted to step on that mat.
Sam had to force himself to remain patient and relaxed. He hated this guy. “He’s a fighter, Ted. He just got carried away. He has no gym to train at. He has to do his training in a courtyard of some building.”
“Is that my problem?” Ted shrugged carelessly. “It’s not my fault he’s got no respect for anyone’s property.”
“He’s going to be fighting for a title shot!” Sam felt an urge to shout, but knew it would do more harm than good to do so. “He’s a contender here! You’ve gotta do this. It wouldn’t make any sense to have a gym for MMA and not even have a true fighter in it.”
“Not my problem.” Ted shook his head and turned his back on Sam.
And then it gave way. Mark came over. “Dude, you wanna train grappling or striking today?”
Sam spit on the mat. Mark blinked. Sam shouted at Ted’s back. “Fine then! I’m outta here. I quit.”
Ted whipped around, alarmed. Sam paid well as a customer. “Hey, hey, hold on there, wait a sec,” He was pleading as Sam stormed out of the building, followed by Mark. Ted brought up the rear after them.
“Hey. Hey!” Ted screamed. “Where ya going?”
Sam turned around to speak to Mark. “You coming with me?”
“What?” Mark stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Hey, fellas?” Ted was looking at all of the bystanders passing by on the street.
“I’m dead serious.” Sam paid no heed to the idiot standing behind Mark, wringing his hands. “Dude, come with me; this guy has a chance to be a champ soon. He’s good; better than me.”
Mark pursed his lips. He looked sideways at Ted, and then back at Sam. “One of the best?”
“HEY!” Ted was going to burst a blood vessel, so Sam looked at him over Mark’s shoulder.
“Shut up!” Sam bellowed back. Ted quit yelling. He was shaking now. Whether he was angry or not Sam couldn’t tell.
“I’ll do it,” Mark smiled. “I trust you man. Besides,” He looked back at Ted. “You’re just taking our cash anyways, right?” Mark imitated Sam by spitting on the sidewalk, and they both turned their backs to an utterly confused and shocked Ted Doyal.
But as they walked away, Mark asked him again. “I hope you realize that was the only real place you can get a decent place to train?”
Sam nodded. “But he’s better off with some hands on stuff. You remember the Rocky movies?”
Mark smiled. “Yeah. Who doesn’t?”
“He made do with homemade equipment. So can we.”
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Later, Kelly found himself standing in front of Mel’s apartment with Sam. Both were dressed in loose clothes, ready to take a run.
“Ready when you are,” Sam said, jumping up and down quickly as Kelly took the lead, setting a fast pace.
The city became a blur, then. As Kelly ran, his mind shut down, and he entered the State. Nothing concerned him but his heart pound down like a jackhammer, and his legs burning from the distance he had pounded along. His breath ragged, hoarse, his throat dry. Burning, yet dry and raspy. He would’ve given anything to lick his lips, or swallow.
But he didn’t.
Kelly slowly allowed Sam to take the pace, slowing down slightly so. It wasn’t a big deal. Sam liked to lead, liked to compete. And yet he had never thrown a punch in a single professional fight.
Why, Kelly didn’t know. He wasn’t sure why Sam had volunteered to take him on and become Kelly’s manager. Kelly had only been getting used to the development in the recent months.
Why anybody would like Kelly enough to be friends with him or aid him in any fashion was a mystery to Kelly.
The run finally ended when Sam took a sudden turn at a random alley. Kelly dove in after him to follow him, and found Sam in the back of the alley. In this particular alley stood several men, sitting around, doing nothing really. Bob Seamon, Kelly’s part-time trainer, was one of such men. Mark was there as well.
Bob’s arms were folded across his chest, and he was smiling with his eyes. “You ready to train like you’ve never trained before?” This was to Kelly, who was just starting to regain his breath.
“Yeah,” Kelly said weakly.
“Let’s go, then.” Bob led him inside the building adjacent to the alley. The inside was one large room. It was bare, except for a padded mat spread across most of the floor. There was dust all over the wooden floor wherever there was no padding. A punching bag lay on the ground, chain attached to it; it had yet to be hung from the ceiling. There were several pairs of wraps on the ground, and other assorted pieces for training a fighter.
“Okay, everyone grab some gear,” Bob called “Let’s get cleaning.”
Mark and Kelly swept the floors and mats, and Sam and another guy, Brady, mopped the floor and mat afterwards. Bob set up the punching bag with the help of the other two guys, Marco, and Castillo.
As soon as the room was cleaned entirely to Bob’s satisfaction, he chuckled. “Perfect. Okay, let’s warm up and get into pairs.”
The warm up phase went quickly and painlessly. Kelly cast an eye over the new guys standing nearby, stretching. He wondered which one he would be paired with. It was Bob’s call, of course, but Kelly had his eye on Brady or Castillo. Brady was a taller and wiry guy, looked to be in his thirties. Castillo was grimacing as if he was doing something he hated with all of his heart. Kelly sized Castillo up and down; this would be the one Bob put him with, he was sure. Castillo was two inches taller, from the looks of things. He looked even stronger than Cage had been. There was not a soft spot in the man; he bounced up and down on his heels, unsmiling, his eyes filled with a blazing fury. He had four tattoos on his chest, back, and arms. His head was shaved, and a small scar ran lazily across the top of his head. Castillo’s body was naturally tan, courtesy of, no doubt, his ancestry. Most likely Hispanic, given the name-
“Kelly, you’ll be with Sam for starters,” Bob chimed as he passed by. Kelly blinked, taken off guard. He hadn’t expected Sam. Sam grinned as he started wrapping his hands.
“We know that all you’re gonna do is punch,” Bob was still going on and on. “But you’re too predictable, kid; that’ why you beat Cage, you know. He didn’t expect you to throw knees. I’m telling you now, if you start working the clinch like that in the future, you might wanna consider training more in Muay Thai. You’ve got some nasty knees.”
“I’ve got a harder punch,” Kelly tried to argue as he and Sam went over to a corner. Both put their fists up, ready to go, when Bob hailed yet again-
“Kelly,” he said, as a father to son. “Kelly, man, you don’t have any wraps on.”
“Oh.” Kelly glanced at his bared fists, ready for action. “Right. S-sorry.” He glanced casually at Castillo. The man smirked.
He wrapped his hands quickly, and went to it with Sam. As they sparred, Kelly realized he’d never sparred with Sam before. Sam had shown him techniques, but he had never used them on Sam before. Kelly tried to land shots, but Sam was almost never there. He would pop Kelly lightly in the ribs or kidneys, and then open a hand and hit him with an open palm, making a hissing sound as he did.
Kelly chased him around for twenty minutes, and barely landed a shot on him. His last one made up for it when he clipped Sam’s chin. Sam went down on his rear, stunned. Kelly almost laughed when he saw Sam’s eyes water slightly.
“W-was that good?” He asked Sam.
Sam just nodded. He shook it off.
“Time!” Bob barked. “Kelly, get over to the punching bag. Two minutes. Hit it as fast as you can, and don’t stop until I give the word.”
Kelly went at it for the full two minutes. “Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh! Huh!” his gasps tore his insides to shreds as his chest begged for rest. But Kelly denied himself any slack. Axe wouldn’t slack off. Axe would go hard at him for as long as it took. And Kelly would fight Axe’s game, take it to him, and make him eat it.
Right after Kelly was made the number one contender, of course…
“Time!” Kelly rested his head against the bag, his sweat mingling with the dried leather. He shut his eyes briefly. Opened them, hoping sweat wouldn’t flood in. Sweat did, but Kelly forced himself to ignore it.
“Next trial,” Bob pointed at Kelly. “Go to that back over there; knees and elbows only, as long and as fast as you can.” He waited a beat, and then, “If you think this is the real deal, you’re wrong. We’re just warming up.”
Kelly banged away, and for the first time ever, he felt at home throwing knees. As the minutes wore on, his knees and elbows became sticks with which to beat the drum with. They struck flawlessly, and pretty soon, he looked like he had been doing Muay Thai since childhood.
“Time!” And then Bob came over to him, grinning. “Beautiful work, kid. Nicely done.”
Mark and Sam were sparring as Kelly was made to watch. Sam was quicker, but Mark was a counter-puncher, always waiting for Sam to engage first. Bob was pointing out the mistakes both of them made. “You see that? Sam basically telegraphed that move. That’s why Mark saw it comin’…” Sam glared Bob’s way during the session, and Mark charged him. Kelly laughed as Sam managed to avoid getting hit. Sam ducked out and away from Mark’s body, landed two shots to the head as he did so. They were light shots, but had that been Kelly throwing his, the fight would’ve been over.
“You watch him,” Bob motioned to Sam. “You learn from him. He’s got the technique which you’ll need to beat Axe.”
Sam winked at Kelly. “All right then,” Bob pushed Kelly towards Castillo. “You two get in the ring. Oh, and by the way, Kelly, Castillo here’s had only nine fights. He’s undefeated. He’s making his debut next week.”
Castillo held out a hand, but his demeanor was ice cold. No friendliness, no warmth. Strictly there for the training. Kelly could get along with that.
Both were ready to get when Bob shouted, “Start!” Kelly came out slowly, wanting to see what Castillo had. Castillo came right at him, but dropped down, throwing a jab at Kelly’s body. Kelly dodged easily, and Castillo popped another jab down low, and then high. Kelly blocked both.
And then Castillo came over high, and Kelly took the brunt. It hurt, but not badly. Castillo was taking it easy. Kelly fired back, and the jab struck Castillo right on the nose. The man’s eyes, relaxed at first, then turned into something else.
And then he blitzed Kelly, running him off the mat. Bob made them restart, and Kelly was ready for the next charge as Castillo made his run. Kelly hit the top of his head. Castillo returned the favor.
The punched rocked Kelly, forcing him to stagger backwards, and he stood straight up. Castillo hit him again, and Kelly went down. “Hey, knock it off!” Bob shouted. “What, is this a real fight? C’mon, you two. Seriously. This is a sparring session.”
Kelly was back on his feet. What had he done wrong? Castillo looked like he was miffed.
Kelly hit him back, right at the neck. Castillo grunted, abandoned his stance, and seized Kelly by the back of the head. He slugged him across the face.
Kelly stood there, and then he returned a volley. Both were standing there, flaring through their nostrils, ready to tear each other’s head off. Bob and Sam were both stepping in front of them when the two combatants tried to have another go.
“Stop it!” Sam braced against Kelly. “That’s enough, Kelly. Stop!” Kelly did stop. Castillo did not. He lurched forward enough to move Bob and landed a final blow on Kelly’s nose. Kelly tried to hit him back, and then everyone else got involved.
“Take a break!” Bob was raging at the top of his lungs. “What’s the matter with you?” He glared at Kelly, and then Castillo.
Castillo wasn’t looking at him. Neither was Kelly. They were still waging war with their eyes, daring the other man to blink. Neither did, and Sam tugged at Kelly.
“Let it go” he said. “C’mon. Let’s go do some sprints.”
Castillo started to strip his wraps off. “The hell with this,” was all Kelly heard as his back was turned. But he felt the wraps hit him in the back of the head.
Castillo left without another word, and Kelly had a motivation for working hard the rest of the day.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Chapter 15
“Hello?” Kelly’s heart was running scared in his stomach as Tara’s voice, crisp, soft and beautiful ran across the line.
“Hi, it’s K-” oh God, not this. Not now. “It’s Kelly,” Kelly was grateful he was able to hold it back. For the moment.
“Oh hey,” Tara sounded sweet. So sweet. Kelly loved the very sound of her voice; the roughened edges of training, fighting and pain in life melted away when such a voice could be heard. Kelly believed this; it was a mantra in his heart and mind. “What’s up?”
“I was, uh, w-wondering if you w-w-were-were busy.” Dear God, what was that? Kelly cursed himself inwardly. He glanced across the room at Mel, who was smirking, and Stan, who was cracking up, but barely holding it in.
“What, you mean tonight?” Tara made a sound with her lips. “Not really. I just finished my exams for the semester. Basically, school’s over for now,” She paused. “Why?”
Oh God. What now? What now? What now? Kelly stared wordlessly at Stan and Mel, who were both making encouraging signs with their hands. Mel even hissed “Get on with it! Quit stalling!”
Kelly sighed. “Hello? You still there?” Tara couldn’t hear him. His breath was frozen in his throat. He couldn’t say anything! Panic was the word; God bless it, what do you say?!
“I uh,” Kelly scratched his stomach, trying to stall. “I uh…well. You know what? I’m sorry. Something just came up here at Mel’s. Can I call you back?”
“Um…sure?” Tara laughed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Something just came up.” Kelly hung up.
“What’s the matter with you?” Stan banged his fists on the table. “That was perfect! Perfect!”
“Shut up,” Kelly sat down at the table. “I can’t do it.”
“Like Hell, you can’t do it!” Stan stood up abruptly. “Mel, help me out here.”
Mel grinned. “C’mon, partner,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen? She won’t think any different of you if she turns you down. She likes you well enough. You’re being polite. You’ve got everything on your side right now.”
“I know!” Kelly hung his head in his hands. “But I can’t do it!”
“Why not?” Stan thundered.
“I’m-I’m too nervous!” Kelly stood up as well, hands balled up in fists. “Taking-take-taking a shot to the head I can do. I can’t do this!”
Mel burst out laughing. “Kelly, you crazy fool, this is way easier than taking a punch to the head. You know,” he tapped his head with a forefinger. “It’s all up in here, right? It’s a mental game. If you can’t handle this, how you gonna be a champ someday?”
Kelly cursed viciously; a string of vulgarities so bad even Stan was taken aback by the abuse. It got better; Claudia entered the room as the swearing hit its climax. She winced. “Is he okay?” She asked Mel.
“He’s fine. He’s gonna call Tara and go see her.” Mel sighed. “But he’s being a puss.”
Kelly’s eyes came to life. He looked Mel straight in the eye. “What’d you say?” He demanded.
Mel returned his stared. “I said,” he said slowly and deliberately. “You’re a little pussy. You can’t be a real fighter; you’re scared of making a phone call. You call yourself a real man?” he barely finished this when Kelly snatched the phone up, and dialed Tara’s number again. He didn’t even breathe.
“Hello?” Tara answered on the first ring.
“It’s Kelly again. Claudia’s cat got out. We had to catch her.” Stan and Mel both fell over like schoolboys, dying over this. Kelly moved further away, to avoid Tara’s hearing them.
“I see,” Tara said coolly. “I didn’t know Mel liked cats.”
“Neither did I. She just bought it.” Kelly noticed Claudia making a face. She mouthed the words-
“I…hate…cats.” Kelly ignored her.
“Anyways. I was just wondering if you’d be okay with a small get together.” Such simple words. And yet it took Mel’s taunting to goad Kelly into saying them. He felt ashamed of himself then.
“Sure.” Her response came too quick. Way too quick for Kelly, clearly not expecting such a beautiful girl to want to spend time with him. Kelly tried to make sense of what he heard.
“Sure? Great. Great.” He gave a thumbs up to the guys, who both raised their arms in triumph, and then high-fived each other like teens again.
“Did you have a rendezvous point in mind?” So great was Kelly’s excitement, it sounded almost as if Tara was purring over the phone.
“Uh, well, Fred’s is the only place I can think of that’s open right now.” Kelly found himself astounded he had gone so long without stuttering. A freakin’ miracle, that.
“That’s fine. I’ll meet you guys there then.” Tara said. “See you in a bit.” She hung up first.
Kelly barely got a grin on his face and put the phone down when Mel and Stan mobbed him. “Fred’s? Fred’s?” Stan made a face. “What are you doing? Take her out for dinner somewhere expensive. Mel and me will pay for it.”
“Uh, you might pay for it, but I won’t be.” Mel said matter-of-factly. Claudia sat on his lap. “I’ve got my expenses being drained by my woman.” She rolled her eyes as he finished.
“Fred’s is f-fine.” Kelly said. “It’s not-not-n-not a date.”
“Whatever,” Stan shrugged wearily. “I suppose we should just count ourselves lucky you made the call at all. Just don’t mess up the date, will ya?”
“It’s not a date?” Kelly exploded.
“Sure, Kelly. Sure.”
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
Kelly made it to Fred’s first, and Tara came in ten minutes later. Kelly had chosen a seat away from the bar and its regulars, in the back, next to the arcade games. It happened to be the spot where the music came from the speakers the loudest, however. But it wasn’t up to Kelly to choose; Fred’s was filled up to the very doorway tonight.
Tara slowly made her way to the seat, and sat down. “Hey,” she smiled prettily. “Where’s the guys?”
Kelly had gone over this in his head while waiting. “They uh, they couldn’t make it; something about drinking in peace tonight.”
“Wow.” Tara laughed. “Mel’s throwing another party?”
“Better-b-better not.” Kelly winced as the words came out. “I’m leavin’ if he does.”
Tara’s laugh, as Kelly discovered that night, was a drug that he just couldn’t get enough of. It was like a pleasure similar to a cool breeze on a muggy day, or the feeling of cool water going down your throat after a hard workout. And Kelly absolutely fell for it. He wanted to hear it more.
And that night, Kelly’s twin emerged. Deeply rooted within him for so many years, Kelly’s sense of humor finally broke free, allowing itself to come out into the light after being hidden away by the fear of association. Of communication. Kelly made a fool of himself, and Tara’s laughter rejuvenated his efforts every time.
“So what’s worse, being forced to pay the bill, which, dare I say it, ran over the triple digits, or is it a sin to run out after your friends, hoping somebody catches them first before they catch you?” Tara started giggling, and Kelly continued his anecdote. “You’d run, wouldn’t you? I sure did. And you know what happened?” He paused as Tara regained her breath enough to say-
“What happened?”
“They caught me twelve steps out the door. Who would’ve figured that the guy managing the place was a Gazelle in a past life?”
Kelly’s mind was put at ease as the night passed away. But, like all great times, it had to end. As soon as Fred announced that the bar was going to close in approximately eight minutes and twenty-one seconds, Tara and Kelly split.
He walked her to her car. Told her how great it had been. She agreed. And then she said, “Let’s do this again sometime. I really like hanging out with you.”
The feeling was mutual.
__________________ I'm so post-rock I shit sad birds
