Life As I Play It

I talk to my teenaged son, who now keeps me in the loop as to when new games are coming out. The torch has been passed. Blessedly, he seems to be pretty well-adjusted. He’s still a sweet kid, and I thank God every night for that.

About ten years back, when I was staying with my ex’s family, long before my children were born, I knew this little kid named Anthony. He was about five or six at the time. One of my first memories of this kid was coming back to my room and finding my games missing. I tracked him to his grandmother’s room where, sure enough, there there were, and there was Anthony. Nervous, knowing he had been caught, he very cautiously gave me the bird. I was angry at the time. I think it’s funny now.

Anthony hated to lose. Sometimes, I would dread playing with him, because I knew we’d be in for a screaming fit if he lost. He would cry, scream, curse, and tell you exactly what he thought of you if he lost a game. It could’ve been football or anything on a console. Anthony didn’t just didn’t like to lose.

And he was relentless. He was always at my upstairs bedroom door, asking if he could play (since I had all the games). Sometimes I let him in, sometimes not, and when I played with him, I always took it easy. No point in annihilating some little kid, right? Besides, I remember him picking things up quickly.

Eventually, he got better at losing…and he learned from his mistakes. I remember, even when he was a kid, and we were tossing around Super Street Fighter 2, he caught me off guard a couple of times and nearly took a round from me.

When I last saw him, the screaming fits had been replaced with quiet anger. He didn’t scream or cry anymore. He’d even learn to laugh it off and say ‘good game’. But there was always that rolling anger behind his eyes each time he lost. And each time he lost, I remember it got a little harder to beat him. I’d seen that before.

Fast forward to two days ago.
Imagine my surprise when I get a call from Anthony, who’s calling on the line that belongs to both his, and my kids, maternal grandmother. I knew Anthony had grown up, but I had no idea how much. I’m talking to someone who’s almost a grown man now, nearly eighteen years old. Where’s all this time going?

Anyway, he called me to tell me that he had competed in a Street Fighter 4 tournament at his local gamestop. And he won.

My jaw hit the floor and the only thing I could think of was how proud I was of him. He was even teaching Terry (my son) how to play. Terry could compete, but he’s not ready for the pros yet. I pray I get to finish what Anthony started.

It’s not over for him. Next he goes to round two, and if he wins there, he advances to state.
I have to admit a shudder. I’m the most ferociously competitive person most people know, and I used to be damn near invincible at any game I played. But that was a long time ago, and I haven’t gamed professionally in years.

It would be a trip and a half if Anthony could now, finally, do what no one else has ever been able to do; beat me at Street Fighter.
I’m not going to compete. It’s not my tournament. But I’m proud of him. It’s really cool to see everything come full circle.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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I really wanted to throw something together at the last minute that reflected everything that’s gone on this past week. I just needed to find the right setting. I turned on “Reinterpretation” off of the stellar (and free) soundtrack to Super Street Fighter 2 Turbo HD Remix and here we go.

It always traces back to a game…

After all the drama, once again, I finished the next chapter of Universal Warrior at the last minute and got it off in time for Molly to edit before posting. I was then hit with a hard dose of reality—most of you know about it already—that sent me into a nice little depression.

What does all this mean?

This was what I kept asking myself, as, in nearly blind rage, I sent my left fist into the tile wall of my bathroom over and over and over again, until I looked to the tile and saw red. The tile hadn’t even slightly cracked, as though it was oblivious to my presence, but my knuckles had been worn down. Skin was missing.

I can see someone coming from almost a mile off. I can associate people with how they smell. I can size up people by watching them walk. I can tell someone’s lying before they open their mouth. I can take someone’s arm and sprain it, break it, or make it completely unusable for the rest of their lives.

And none of this means anything any more. The hunter has no prey.

It would be easy to say that the hunter has no place in this world, and maybe it’s true. But since I’m not going anywhere soon, my dilemma was finding the bright side. I’m not one for self-pity. I don’t have time to waste like that.

I feel like I get penalized a lot harder when I break the rules. I admit that I screwed up when I lost my job, but why is it other people did worse and were retained? I walked off of my job site to try to be there for the girl I was with at the time and I got fired. Fair enough, I broke the rules. My former supervisor was caught receiving oral gratification from an underage girl in the stairwell and he was transferred. How the fuck does this make sense?

Wait, I’ll tell you.
Had I not lost my job, I wouldn’t have been able to launch Universal Warrior, I wouldn’t have gotten into freelancing, and I wouldn’t have met Molly, whom, even if I wasn’t dating, is still one hell of an editor. Odd, but it all adds up.

So faced with the reality that I just barely edge by in a month, I was finally forced to acknowledge something I had known for awhile. It’s funny how saying something aloud makes it real.

I will be in Jefferson City for, at the very most, one more year.
If I wanted to throw everything I had into moving to St. Louis in a couple of months, I could—but it wouldn’t make any sense. At the end of this year, my credit rating will significantly improve. Opportunities will open up in January 2010. But that’s not what really got me.

My children are growing up without me. I have no one to blame but myself.
My plans don’t really change. I’m still working, I still plan to see them, when I said I would see them…the contact I have with them now if better than anything I had within the last five years. At least this way, they get to know me, and me them, a little bit before we spend time together.

Yeah, but it doesn’t make it any fucking easier to swallow.

No, it doesn’t, but this is what I have to work with, and it’s better than nothing.

I do feel, however, with Universal Warrior, my children, and this relationship I have…this is the fight of my life. It was never about anyone in the street. It was about the only things that really matter—which, I’ve long maintained, are the people who will go to the wall for you.

And I’ve never lost a fight.
So that’s the best face on a new situation, and the band plays on.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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I first discovered this mindset while practicing. Bruce Lee spoke of it often; reaction without thought. Don’t think. Feel. It becomes instinct to respond to a certain situation in a certain way. I’ve been striving at this for years, only recently did I start to understand. A punch comes, you block. You don’t think about it, you just do it. Thought requires hesitation. Hesitation forfeits advantage.

This is why I learned to run (blindly) with my first instinct. Screw who gets hurt along the way. I’m right, you’re wrong, and at the end, when everything has been wrecked, you’ll see.

I wasn’t sure how to quantify it, but it was an unsettling peace, almost like the dark side of the force. I associated people with how they smelled. Once I had that scent, I could track them anywhere. it didn’t require thought to do this, only instincts. Raw emotions. Who needs logic?

I learned to communicate without words. I’ve always found that one learns much more by observing and listening than running off at the mouth. I still believe this.

Look at my eyes. Read my body language. What do you think is on my mind?

Pay attention to someone as they walk. Within seconds, you can tell how they feel about themselves—not just generally, but at that exact point in time. When they speak, do they make eye contact? Are they shifty in their movements? Or are they fluid, decisive, and confident?

Do they know how to handle themselves?

Before I left NYC, the guy who had shown me around (and waited on the embankment when that damn train went over me) had long maintained that he had no interest in martial arts, and he had no idea how to fight. It’s a good cover; sometimes, when it’s revealed that you can fight, people want to test you. They either want to prey on you, or use you to prey on others. So I don’t blame him for keeping his mouth shut.

But we were friends. And I knew.
He had already seen me fight, we had resolved the situation we had involved ourselves in. He knew what I could do, but more importantly, he knew I was trustworthy.

So randomly, before we leave the high-priced hotel, I threw a punch his way. Nothing serious; if it had connected, I would’ve gotten his attention, but not much else.

Instinctively, his hand shot out and grasped my wrist. The look in his eyes was priceless, as though he was at a holdup, and everyone had just realized his gun was empty.

We sparred fiercely for a moment, which became a great experience with a bona-fide Kung-Fu expert. We never said  a word the entire time. Words weren’t necessary.

Anyways…logic set in about a year ago. Everything got a little crazy then, trying to adapt to everything I knew versus everything I was learning. The real world is rough.

I notice that since I have gone straight, my reflexes have dulled. At first I thought it was age, as I’m still in pretty good shape.
Instead, I find myself asking why all the time. Why do I feel a need to injure this person? Why am I doing this? What purpose does this serve?

Is there another way?

My writing is something else, though. I’ve never tried at my writing, I just do it. It’s always been that way, even before I could fight.

In fact, now that I’m older, I have found that I create the characters and their backstories (with their input) and then they pretty much do their own thing. I find myself, after a few hours, with several thousand words written. Reviewing my work often leads me to raise an eyebrow and say, “Wow, didn’t see that coming.”

When I write, I’m not conscious of the time, other people, or even my environment. I feel as though some curse may be brought upon me if I dare to step away from the keyboard before finishing the story. I end up sprinting for the bathroom when I’m finished.

The same gift I had for fighting…it’s as though it’s passed into my writing. Or it’s always been there, and I’m just now harnessing it.

This is the life I strive for…to flow freely without conscious thought, to react in the most appropriate method for situation. When I write, I want the words to flow through me, without my trying to control them. If I feel a need to raise my hands, I want to have no doubts that I have exhausted all other options. And then, I want to react in the most humane way possible.

I want to feel. Everything.

I’ve spent enough time in the darkness, and I’m really enjoying the light.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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It began about a month ago…by happenstance, I came across two settings prominently displayed on my CRT monitor. When I first saw them, I was stunned, because I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Avery’s Documents
Busterwolf’s Documents

Unable to take my eyes from the monitor, I took a seat at my desk and investigated further. It turned out there were entire settings devoted to both halves of my psyche. The settings weren’t so disparate as to warrant me looking into some couch time, but I did note that Busterwolf preferred Windows Media Player. Avery, me…I preferred Zune.

Most importantly…I didn’t remember setting that up.
People have told me that my eyes are different in every photograph I take. Two different people.

This isn’t going to be some long-winded drawn out BLAH about me vs. Busterwolf. That battle has been fought.

One of the vows I made in 2008 was to make it through the entire year without being arrested. It was difficult at times, I even got messed with my local law once, but I did it. I have never seen the inside of a Mizzou holding cell, and God willing, I plan to keep it that way.

Something else happened along that road, and I wasn’t even aware of it until I realized I had stopped taking so many chances…I went straight.

I found that I had a hard time blogging because not much happens to me anymore. Jefferson City is not really a town where things happen.

Switching to present tense now.

I write. I work out. I talk to my children. I have a relationship. I shop (speaking of which, this is a good week to snatch up Hamburger Helper at Wal-Mart. They tend to go on sale towards the end of the month). Oh, and I cook. I find it therapeutic…and I enjoy working with knives.

With my financial aid fiasco finally behind me, I’ll be back in school in the fall. I plan to pursue something Business Administration/Creative Writing, but I’m not sure in which order. I’m doing this because I’m sick of being broke. I enjoy business, I love writing, might as well get something on paper that says I know what I’m talking about. And, let’s be real. Wits, cunning, and drive can only take you so far. A degree can certainly increase your earning power, and I would like to have a family…

Well, it’s not just that, although I had to realize the power of an education on my own…

I have a teenage son and a very angry six-year-old. I hope that when they doubt whether or not they can accomplish something, they will be able to look at their father and say that he worked full-time while attaining a degree and gave us a good life. After being gone for so long, I owe them that.

”Hope” is a word I like the sound of. I think I’m going to start using it more often.

On a side note…HOW IN THE NAME OF CAPCOM VS. SNK DID I BECOME THE FATHER OF A TEENAGE BOY?!?!?!?!?!

I talk to him and I wonder if they make a “Teenagers for Dummies” book. Was I this monosyllabic when my mother tried to find out what was going on with me?!

He doesn’t owe me anything. I’m grateful I get to talk to him.

And then there’s my writing…which I am throwing myself into while I have the chance. I figure I haven’t much else to do now…and by the end of the year, I may be scraping for minutes to get words out of my head. Universal Warrior has a fan base, something to build from, and I will not neglect that.

So that’s it. Presuming the worst in every situation doesn’t allow for much hope, and without hope, dreams die. Instead of expecting to become someone’s adversary upon first meeting them, I present myself as I am and take things one day at a time.

I am not Busterwolf, but nor am I Iron Man, insofar as the name establishes a new identity to hide behind.

My name is Avery.

This is Life As I Play It Now.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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Out of the corner of my eye, in the rear view mirror, I see the road behind me. It is littered with those I have hurt, beaten, broken, and left with nothing. Some of these people tried to hurt me, some of them did nothing but try to love me, but none of them deserved what I did to them. I look back with knowledge won by experience and a heavy heart—I am sorry.

I comb over the past a bit more and wonder…no, I dare to hope…from events long ago, the pain I’ve suffered and survived, the sacrifices I’ve made, the things I’ve lost…have I paid my price?

I look to the sky. Is it square now? Am I even? Can I trust the good things You give me…is it finally okay to stop fighting?

Hypocritical question, of sorts; is it okay to stop fighting…even though I don’t know anything else?

Everything in my possession I earned. Everything I ever held onto someone tried to take from me, and every good thing I’ve ever dared to want, I fought for all I’m worth to attain. I have felt better when I fought for the good things in my life. My father, for all his faults, was right when he said that nothing in life worth having is free.

So when something comes my way, I don’t give it a second thought, I just enjoy having it—because I worked for it.

Nothing good in life comes without a price—right?

Feeling secure enough in my current situation led me to shed the Busterwolf persona, leaving the weaker, considerably less confident Avery in his wake—and there’s a lot about the world I don’t know. For example; I haven’t the vaguest idea how to work Photoshop. Just opening the program is daunting to me.

For now. I have books.

My point is, the sheer, unadulterated confidence that came with fighting, and the ability to stare into the depths of human darkness, and come away (relatively) uncorrupted—all that’s gone now. I don’t think I’ll be on the street again, and there is no need for it.

So what now…?
How does life go on without Busterwolf?

I look upon some of the people I follow on twitter, and the people of the writer’s group, and I feel as a child among giants. If I was more active in social networking, I’d never get anything done. I only recently learned who Nancy Grace was and the inability to carry an intelligent conversation frustrates me to no end. It’s like being back to square one.

I feel as though listening to people is an excuse to cover up my lack of knowledge.

And then there’s—one more situation.
It is the one good thing in my life that I did not have to fight for.
Instead, I’m fighting an internal battle to make myself believe I’m worthy of it.

What’s the catch? What’s the drawback? Why me? Where’s the game? Where’s the shadow to the light? Where’s the lie? Where’s the–

I need to stop.

I didn’t write this blog looking for sympathy—I will come to terms with this on my own. I have too. I’m the only one who can make myself believe I’m worthy of the good that’s come my way lately.

Putting these things in writing allows me to deal with them, and as always, I hope that anyone else reading who may be going through something similar realizes that they are not alone…or those that know can pass on some advice.

Busterwolf is indeed gone, a relic of the past.

Only Avery—Iron Man—remains, and this is my ground zero. From here, up is the only direction.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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Four years ago, I was staying in an unlisted shelter in Saginaw, Michigan. Located in one of the city’s most dangerous neighborhoods, one would walk through a crime scene at least once per week, and Busterwolf had to be at his prime.

At the time, I was trying to raise enough money to leave Saginaw behind and head for Grand Rapids—where there were more jobs, more opportunities, and what I believed was the rest of my life. I wasn’t concerned about how I raised the money—I just wanted out.

And no one could outfight me.

The adventures in Saginaw were many, including a fight outside of a nightclub with two friends, one of whom was an adventurous, married woman, and a tournament that had been arranged just to see if Busterwolf was everything the legends said. Those invested in this tournament were so serious about seeing me fight that when I tried to back out, they conveyed their seriousness by firing a bullet at me.

Eventually, I was able to leave Saginaw, convincing myself that Busterwolf’s days were indeed behind him. When I arrived in Grand Rapids, I caved to the legend once again, and the real adventures began. They included two students (my first since my son) and the only man who put the fear of God in me, so much so that I could not beat him…

I realized a little back that I compiled all of these adventures into my very first blog, which goes all the way back to the days in Saginaw. Sometime this year, I’m going to compile and edit them, and then, if I can, self-publish them. I think they make a good read, and I changed most of the names…

The book will be entitled “The Road”. I’ll keep everyone posted as I put it together.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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