Life As I Play It

Before the last fight, I spent a good hour on the net with Molly learning all I could about St. Louis. Yeah, I’ll cop to it that I’m moving out there to be closer to her–she drives two hours to come see me–but it’s more than that.

I’m a city kid. I love the country, I have nothing but love for small towns, but they’re not my environment. Give me skyscrapers, overpopulating human traffic, subways and other forms of public transportation any day. Damn, I haven’t been on a subway since BART back home and just the idea of stepping foot on a train hypes me up.

I also have a weird feeling, different than when I moved to Belding, Grand Rapids, Rapid City, or even Jefferson City; I always felt like those places were way stations. I don’t get this vibe from St. Louis, and Molly has nothing to do with it. Regardless of my relationship (which is going really good, and hope has a long future)…I don’t think I’ll be leaving there anytime soon. I think I’m getting ready to go home.

Then again, I may have said this about Jeff City a year ago. I’m wild-hearted, and it’s time I got that under control. It’s not about me anymore.

This is going to be the place where I raise my children, part of the time, anyway. I won’t lie, I want full time, they’re my kids, but my ex-wife’s family has played straight with me, I’ll play straight with them.

On one hand I’m really psyched about seeing my kids again, and on another I’m terrified beyond belief, and this is a fear I’m not familiar with. Do I really have what it takes to raise two boys by myself? Can I provide for them? Pay for their medical care when they need it? Help them keep their grades up if I get that responsibility? Can I ensure that they never have to worry about a place to live? I can barely keep minutes on my freaking phone for crying out loud.

And yet…I have to. I have to find a way. I’m good at that, it’s what I do, and this time I have so much more than myself counting on me to do it. And I love my kids. Both of them, even though I barely know Brandon.

These next few months are going to be some of the hardest of my life as in record time I need to secure an apartment and raise the fare needed to go get them, and bring them back. I’m going to need to work in addition to whatever full time job I pick up in January.

Besides, the sooner I get out there, the sooner I can put money away for other things. I’d like to own a home eventually.

And….I gotta be honest. Molly drives two hours one-way just to come see me. We have something pretty solid and I need to see it through. She shouldn’t have to put forth all the effort.

So there it is. I will be in St. Louis, Missouri by June, I want to be there between March and April.

So it begins.

A few days pass between the fateful sparring match between me and my cop friend and the events of about ninety minutes ago. The adrenaline is still working its way out of my system. I’ve already twittered that I won’t be going to bed; bad idea, since, as always, I have a lot to do. Not the least of which includes the update to my new series Universal Warrior: Journey to Asgard. Yes, that was a shameless plug. But it’s my blog. I can do that.

Spare moments between contracts are devoted to training; in the past few days I’ve knocked off close to a thousand push-ups, nearly tearing my shoulder in the process. I’ve gone through punches, kicks, blocks, meditation, even forms. Whatever’s coming, I want to be ready for it. I can feel it with every fiber of my being; this is the fight I’ve been waiting my whole life for.

The IM comes in tonight. The message is simple; “Out back.”
That’s the first twinge of fear to strike me. He’s out there, waiting for me.
As I get up, another message comes through, this one shakes me to the core; “Two knives.” He says, “Pick one.”
I’m almost ready to type; are you out of your f***ing mind?

No.
Not only is this man a cop, he’s my friend…and eventually I have to learn to start trusting people again. Besides, this is the fight I asked for. I refuse to believe that he’s going to come at me full force, blade-to-blade. Of course, it hits me that all those years on the road, I’ve never been in a knife fight. I know very basic techniques when it comes to using a knife, but my friend is ex-military. The advantage is clearly his.

Of my two knives, one has a compass, the other a knuckle guard. They’re both dull, but the one with the knuckle guard couldn’t cut through water. I go with the compass–in case I have to switch positions on the fly.
It hits me again as I leave my apartment and head downstairs, to the rear of my apartment building; he’s out there.

Indeed he is.
Dressed all in black, I might add, including this beanie that had to be pulled out of some action movie I saw somewhere. For a minute I wonder if he’s serious, and we’re gonna cut each other up.
Then he smiles.

I feel relieved. I may have lost–but I would’ve stood my ground.
He asks if I want to see what he’s working with and he pulls forth a miniature BROADSWORD that looks like it could cleave the world in half. Not really, but the blade is elegant, double-edged, and BEAUTIFUL. It’s about a foot long…and blessedly, it’s as dull as my blade. I snicker.

He clown each other about our knives (his is bigger) and we bow. So it begins.
He immediately corrects me, the only time he’ll do it that night; why isn’t your knife hand out front? I switch my hands around, holding my blade defensively.
Then it begins.
My heart rate increases. I exhale. Adrenaline flows. I feel like I’m eighteen again, in the prime of my life. I’m thirty-two, and I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.

I should say now that he is far better than I am with a knife, and had we been fighting, he would’ve put me down pretty quickly. I got in a few good shots, though. I realized that killing was his skill, not fighting, and this was the difference between him and I. This was what he wanted me to see, and having known me as long as he has, he knew I had to experience it to understand.

There were two key moments in this fight I was especially proud of. Fighting at my peak, I kept him away with kicks and our knives struck with such impact that he nearly dislodged my weapon on a couple occasions. He tried to get inside and demonstrate a killing technique; each time he did, I repelled him. Eventually, we stood toe to toe, slashing, dodging, intercepting, and countering. I had no idea how I was doing the things I was; I was just doing them. I often say that I don’t need things to be explained or even make sense. They just have to work. For about one minute, I stood toe to toe with him using a style I had no experience with and I frustrated the man. I feel pretty good about that.

The second time, just after we finished going toe-to-toe, he came in close. I tripped him, we fell together, me on top. I’m pressing the dull(er) edge of my blade downward towards his neck to demonstrate the kill, he’s pushing me off–but I’m physically stronger and he knows it. He can only save himself by putting his foot in my solar plexus (ouch) and sending me flying, landing flat on my back (OUCH!). We got up at the same time and simply took fighting stances at one another. Stalemate.

But….to all things an end…and he is the better man with the knife.
He came in close. He feinted low, knowing that I would go for it, and made a fatal error in lowering my blade to block what I thought was an attempt at my femoral artery. The second my hand went down, he grabbed it, holding it in place. The knife hand went to my throat.

If you ever have the sharp end of a knife pressed against your throat, then you know just how quickly your life can flash before your eyes. You also realize how quickly you can lose control of your bladder.

He looks at me. He smiles. I smile back, nodding. “You got me,” I concede, for the first time in life. I have to admit it felt good to say.
He tells me I’m not bad. For some reason, I don’t feel humiliated at conceding. I’m actually pretty pleased with myself. He extends his hand, and I shake it firmly. We may get together and spar, but it won’t happen as much as it used too. We’ll spend a lot more time training each other now. We don’t need to say it; we just know.

Don’t do nothing stupid for New Years, he tells me. You too, I respond. He turns, he leaves. I watch him go.
I got nicked a bit during our match. Soap and hot water should take care of everything.

I head back inside unsure why I feel euphoric. I lost. I did my best and I lost, and I’ve always said that was okay…right?
Well, yeah, but it’s not that.
The euphoria comes from knowing that my road has taken a different course now, and I have nothing left to do or prove in my old life. I fought once, I’ll write now.

And so the Busterwolf era finally, officially
Comes to a proud close.

Thanks for following along.

I may be straight and narrow now, but I’ve been a fighter for so long that I know almost nothing else. Everything else fades away in a confrontation, be it sparring or real life; you step outside of the passing world, just you and your opponent, and it’s usually strength of will that determines the victor. It’s pure; you either win or you lose.

I should take this moment to point out that I feel privileged to keep some of the company I do. I spar regularly with ex-military and current law enforcement, which is something I never could’ve achieved on the street.

A close friend of mine, who must remain nameless as he currently works with local law, comes by maybe twice a week so we can train. Usually we beat the crap out of each other. Well, to be straight, I usually beat the crap out of him–which is why he keeps coming back. He’s a good friend and I’ve learned a lot from him. He started me down the Krav Maga road. He did this by getting inside me once and playing Donkey Kong on my chest. Unpleasant.

So he comes over about seven days back after a shift. He’s had a long night, it’s about four in the morning, and I don’t sleep. Feel like sparring? He asks. Sure, why not.

I move the front room table away to give us room. As usual, we bow, and we begin to circle.

He uses nothing new; a hybrid grappling/boxing/kickboxing style that’s very brutal (and I’m glad we’re friends) but also very familiar. Last time we went at it, I took him down by the neck. Tonight, I’m getting tagged–and I don’t know why.

I can see these moves coming, even the feints; jab to distract, cross that means business. I know it’s coming, and I take it on the jaw anyway. When he gets a one-two shot in, I can see it in his eyes; he knows something is wrong with me.

I don’t know what it is.
I feel like I’m moving through quicksand and not only are my moves inefficient, he’s dodging them. At one point I threw what used to be a dreaded spinning crescent kick and found him behind me. I got off the street because I was starting to slow down…but I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s like I’m a rookie all over again.

He repays me for the miss by slamming the back of my legs with a kickboxing roundhouse. It staggers me. He immediately grabs me–knew that was coming, why couldn’t I stop it?–and puts me in that damn impossible choke-hold. I usually remind him that I know how to fight by driving my elbow into his solar plexus or sending him on the Wolf Express over my shoulder….this time I just tug at his arm.

He pushes me away. I turn back, my hands raised, and he looks at me quizzically as if facing a stranger. “What the hell is wrong with you, Avery?”

I just….lowered my hands.
I wasn’t tired.
I had plenty more to give.
I just didn’t want to fight anymore.
Shoot, I type that now and can’t believe I’m the one saying it.
I can’t even say that it was a conscious action to drop my hands. They just lowered on their own.

“I’m done.” I said, not believing the words even as my mouth spoke them. He looks at me; there are people who would’ve paid cash to hear this. “You okay?” He asks.

I nod. “Can we just…talk for a minute?”

After confirming that  I was indeed in my right mind, we talked. I made up two cups of tea (damn, I’m getting old) and we sat, the two of us. We spoke about our children and our experiences. We talked about what we wanted to be when we were kids and what we turned into as adults. We spoke as rivals, as martial artists, and most importantly, as friends.

But this wasn’t the end.
Now that I finally accepted that I had nothing left to prove (his words) he asked me if I’d be interested in one final encounter between him and me–one that put everything we had to the test.

Something crept up in me and I smiled. Yeah, I nodded. Busterwolf’s last battle.
He nodded. He told me he’d tell me when he was ready. Be prepared, he warned…and I don’t scare easily, but the way he said it scared me. And I loved it.

I was ready.
It happened tonight.
How it went is the next entry…

Even when people tell me I shouldn’t.
I live between two worlds. One world is the ‘normal’ world, in which people cringe at the thought of breaking the law, keep their head above the water, and do their best not to make waves. The other is euphemistically referred to as the underworld, where honor is often defined by the risks you’re willing to take, while keeping the details to yourself. Feeling inadequate and rejected by the normal world, I moved to the underworld and excelled.

The normal world is hard, and tends to turn a blind eye to people in the street; lower-class people are often condemned as murderers, thieves, hustlers, molesters, and ‘crazies’ before they’re even allowed to explain themselves.
To be honest, I understand the skepticism. A lot of these people refuse to help themselves.
But a few of them do.

Roughly ten percent of everyone I came across in my journeys had wound up in hard times because of situations entirely outside of their control. They didn’t feel sorry for themselves, and they devoted every moment they had to bettering themselves. Some succeeded. Some didn’t. Some took the so-called easy way out.

I can’t relate to depression, loneliness, or thoughts of suicide. I don’t know what it’s like to live with that kind of pain on a daily basis. So I reserve judgment and invite you to do to the same as you read on.

I have a very good friend in this area. I like to think of him as an honorable person. He’s a combat veteran. He’s dropped everything to be there for me and other people he cares about. I call him a friend.
He’s also the most terribly depressed and loneliest person I’ve ever come across. Like most of us, some of his problems he brings upon himself. Others were brought on for him. He doesn’t do much to better his situation. As his friend, I’ve never said anything until now. Part of this makes me sick to even think about. The other part—Busterwolf—won’t allow me to give up.

He is very, very close to crossing a line—if he hasn’t crossed it already—and I am desperate to stop him from doing this. I’ve talked to him. Other people have talked to him. This is my last resort because I know someone we both know will read this—it will get back to him.

Having lost someone I loved to violence, I can understand how that feels, and this is something we click on. However, it’s never crossed my mind to begin a relationship of ANY kind with an underage girl. So it was with horror that I listened and watched as he told me he was falling for her.

On one end, I was glad he was at least open to the idea of being in love again, and on the other…I despise pedophiles. I wonder how God so easily forgives something that causes so much damage.

The attraction is mutual; if I thought he would’ve taken her by force, I would’ve turned him in already. It wouldn’t have done a lot of good.

The more time they spend together, they higher the scenario is of something happening. I don’t want to see someone I care about get labeled with something that will follow him forever.

I don’t know what to do beyond this point. I post this and leave the rest to God.

There’s a lot of buzz about me and my new girlfriend. It made her a little crazy; in turn it made me a little crazy. I’ve decided to abstain from blogging about the more intimate details in my life because, well, they’re not anyone’s business. This will be the first and final blog I ever put up about my girlfriend.

First I gotta vent; I think it’s funny how some people buzz me about how I ended up in a relationship, one I chose I might add, when their own relationship began the same way; it didn’t make any sense to the outside world how they got together, but they’re still going strong today. I don’t know what makes me more nauseas; people’s need to be in each other’s business or the hypocrisy of criticizing someone for doing exactly what they have done.

I have a very select few friends who know everything there is to know about me. Trust and friendship is earned over time. Most of these people have simply wished me well. Others, well…I’m no longer content to keep my mouth shut.

So many people IM me or call (when I have the phone) and they don’t even bother to ask me how I’m doing. They just talk. They talk and rant and go on about their problems without so much as a how-are-you/fuck-you to the other participant in a very one-sided conversation. To be honest? I’m a fool for allowing it. See, since I’ve been everywhere and done just about everything, there’s not a lot I can’t relate too. So I usually tend to give good advice. It’s why most people would keep coming back.

But I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being everyone’s sounding board when the fact is, with a lot of people, I just don’t care anymore. If you think you’re one of these people, rather than bitch and moan, I dare you to email or IM or text me and ask. Make sure you want an answer.

Long story short; I’m sick of the bullshit.

So yes, I have a new girlfriend. New girlfriend as in it’s just her and me, exclusively.

The basics? Her name’s Molly. She doesn’t have that big an internet presence. She attends college and is trying to become a history teacher (I love ambition in a girl). She’s gainfully employed. I’m most attracted to her intelligence, eyes, and smile. She’s funny. She makes me laugh no matter what my mood is (also a huge plus). She genuinely cares about my well-being and consistently asks me about my kids. She doesn’t sugarcoat anything and at the same time she hates hurting people’s feelings—but she will. She loves animals.

She’s ten years younger than me and I’m very aware of the age difference. I’m also aware of the ramifications should we be together when I get my kids. We’ve talked about it, extensively on a couple of occasions.

Getting a little deeper; we share a lot of life philosophies, including similar views on religion and family. She has been through her share of shit and come through stronger on the other side. She is fiercely loyal to friends and family (huge plus), she knows what she wants out of life (another huge plus) or at least knows she is working towards something. She is very much together, and at the same time she’s about as screwed up as I am, which is why we work.

Am I in love? No–although I could see it happening.
Do I like this girl? Yes. A lot. We spend a lot of time together, even if we can only do it through yahoo.
Do I care about her? Yes.
Do I care about what happens to her? Yes.
Can I envision being with her in six months? Yes.
Can she envision being with me in six months? Yes. (How do I know, you ask? I trust her.)
Is she aware that I have two children that come first? Yes. Again, we’ve talked about it.
If I thought she was in trouble, would I be there? Yes, but she can take care of herself.

So there it is; the basics and a little more on my new girlfriend.

I have a challenge for you.

I’m really easy to get along with. Chances are if you’re reading this, I know you already. Hit me up. Send me a message or comment here. Trust and friendships are earned, built over time. I challenge you not to assume, and not to gossip. If you really want to know, talk to me, earn my trust, as I will earn yours, and maybe we can learn from one another instead of whispering behind each other’s back.

I also want to take a minute and sincerely thank the people who wished me and Molly well. These people are among my closest friends.

This is the last deeply personal blog I put up for awhile.

I appreciate all the views, comments, and emails I get about my writing. No doubt this will alienate some people, but please; do not look at my blog as a screen for every last thing that happens in my life. My blog is the summary.

The adventure is in the living.

There’s a lot I don’t talk about publicly, but one thing that’s universal is that I have the uncanny ability, or fault, to move on quickly.

One of my quirks is that I can block someone completely out of my psyche, as if they do not exist to me. This is a habit I got into when I was on the road, when I wanted to forget the friends I’d made in an area…and the enemies. I’ve found that as I’ve gotten older, I can’t do this as easily as I used too.

I believe that when you love someone, you want to see them happy. If their happiness cannot be found with you, then you need to step out of the way. In a strange conglomeration of this belief and low self-esteem, I would get out of the way when the person I was dating wanted to be with someone else. Their happiness meant someone, or something, was more than I could give them. As was my life’s tradition, I would cross paths with someone long enough to see them through something, and then move on.

My most recent and pivotal ex was different; I liken that breakup to coming out of the water, only because I realized how much I was losing myself in that relationship. It was doomed long before it was officially over, and it was officially over long before I mentioned it on the net. I know that we never could have worked, knowing the type of personality I was. I’m never going to be completely grown or mature. I may one day rise above being self-destructive, but my inner child will always be well-nurtured.

Knowing that I could never make Sam happy, even after giving it my all, coupled with the knowledge that she is doing better without me (relocating near her family and re-entering school), that’s what allows me to move on quickly.

Some people are hurt by the knowledge that their ex might be better off without them; I’m not some people. When you love someone, their happiness is what matters. You either aid them in getting there or you stand by them as they achieve it on their own. Or you get out of the way.

The sooner you do that, the sooner the person you’re supposed to be with makes themselves available.

I sincerely believe this. This is why I can move on so quickly.

I currently work as a full time writer, making it by the skin of my teeth in Jefferson City, Missouri. I plan to relocate to St. Louis, Missouri within the next three months. I just wrapped up work as a ghost writer for a romance/blackmail thriller novel, my first. I completed the recent National Novel Writing Month by writing 50,000 words in thirty days and am on track to complete my first novel, Universal Warrior: The Last Campaign, which tells the story of the first battle of the last war in Heaven.

A number of weeks ago, I learned that my children were abandoned by their mother, who took off with her boyfriend to become a drug addict.
Right now I am putting everything I have into finding a better apartment so I can be ready to take them on a full time basis when Terry, my oldest, gets out of school. This is the driving motivation in my life right now.

My children have been abandoned by both of their parents, they are angry, and I can’t blame them. I know it will be a tremendously uphill battle to not just take care of them and raise them, but to overpower that anger that both me and his mother are responsible for.

If you could please take a little of your time and say a prayer for the safety of my children, I’d really appreciate it. Believe me, it all adds up.

I got involved with martial arts when I was about seven; my parents were watching Bruce Lee’s Return (Way) of The Dragon and much to my dismay, I watched Bruce Lee snap Chuck Norris’ neck. Bear in mind, I thought Chuck Norris was invincible up to that point. The speed and fluidity with which Bruce Lee moved led me to start seriously paying attention to his movies, mimicking what I saw him do. After beating the stuffing out of me, I would ask friends to teach me what they knew, and finally, as a teenager, my parents were kind enough to enroll me in Kwan Jan Nim Sam Montgomery’s West Coast Tae Kwon Do, which was in Hayward, CA. I achieved my brown belt there before withdrawing.
In life I’ve studied Muay Thai, Tai Chi Chuan, Tae Kwon Do, Boxing, Jeet Kune Do, Judo, Jujitsu, and Aikido. Recently I’ve gotten into Special Forces hand-to-hand and Krav Maga, and still practice at least an hour a day.
I sincerely believe that if you want to know the truest spirit of another person, fight them. It’s then you see what you—and they—are made of.

On April 16, 2006, I was accepted into the Willie E. Thompson Fellowship Program in Saginaw, Michigan. In the process of verifying my identity, it was discovered that I had been through a total of twenty-two states in the past eleven years.

After leaving California for good, and the end of my marriage a few years later, I hit the road.

I made money doing whatever I could—mostly by fighting. I spent four years without a fixed address before finally moving to Michigan. It was funny going there because apparently, a bunch of stories were being told about my exploits in Missoula, NYC, KCMO, Rapid City, and eventually Bay City/Saginaw.

I stopped fighting two years ago when I felt myself slowing down. I relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri at the beginning of 2008. I worked as a security officer until late November 2008, when I started writing full time.

I’m sorry this section is short; if you really want to know all of the Busterwolf stories, they’re still on my myspace, and I talk about them occasionally on blogspot. Otherwise, my fighting days are behind me, which basically brings the Busterwolf era to an end.

I need to preface this by saying that I am at peace with my parents; since I grew up they have helped me out in some dire situations, even though they don’t agree with how I live my life. If you choose to proceed, you’re going to read some things you won’t like.

I believe my father is a good man who did the best he could with what he had to work with, and in parenthood not every decision is the right one. Having been a parent myself, I realize that you make it up as you go along…and I’ve forgiven him for the bad decisions.

I grew up in a physically and mentally abusive household. What made my situation unique was that outside of the house, you never would’ve known anything was wrong. I grew up middle class, my father had a prominent career, both of my parents are college-educated, no one could figure out what was wrong with me, or why I acted out.

My first memory of my father is of him hitting me when I was in preschool because I couldn’t get the color of a toy right. It was all downhill from there.

Over the years, I was called every name under the sun, chased around the house with belts and anything else he could get his hands on, and nearly rendered unconscious on a couple of occasions. In return, I got kicked out of almost every school I attended. My grades were so bad that they actually invented the letter ‘G’ just so they could have something below F. I got arrested numerously, spent a number of nights in juvenile hall and cost my parents a lot of money. I also ripped off my mother of well past a grand and subjected my sister to the same things my father subjected me too.

I left home for good at nineteen, shortly after the birth of my first son, after a showdown between my father, mother, sister, and myself. I never went back there to live.