Life As I Play It

Just past my twentieth birthday, I’m coming out of a depression; major surgery on my knee has torpedoed any chances of a professional career in football. The doctors keep telling me how I’m lucky just to be able to walk without limping; the fact that I can still do martial arts is proof of God’s existence, one of them says.

My oldest son is an infant at the time. Aside from finally graduating high school, he’s the only reason I’m smiling anymore.
Until a friend of mine (we’ll call him Ced) approaches me after work one night…asks me if I’m interested in fighting again. Of course, I say, but it’s not like any reputable commission will sanction me. That’s the catch, he says, No sanctions, no rules, no guarantees that you’ll walk out of there. But the money…

When Ced drops the dollar amount on me, there’s not a lot I won’t do. You’re gonna have to leave your son behind for a little while, Ced tells me, piquing my curiosity. Why? I ask, Where’re we going?

You’ve never heard of it, I promise. Little town called Sunburst.

Where the hell is Sunburst? We heading back across the bridge?

Ced chuckles. I’ll never forget that. Nah. We’re going way further than that.

Ced…where the hell is this place? Where’re we going?

It’s a little rinkydink town near the Canadian border…in Montana.

We drove–he drove, I slept–to Montana. I had never been, and I haven’t been back since that fateful morning where we were bound by conflict and the need to get out of there alive.

I kept asking myself, what’s he doing this for? He has money (gophers always get a cut) it’s not like he needs to be putting himself out there like this. Hell, I’ve never even seen him fight. I don’t want to get caught up in something and then have to babysit his ass…

I wasn’t the nicest person back then…
Montana has the most gloriously crimson skies I’ve ever seen. Dusk sets in early and quickly, the skies change colors fast and clouds take their time as they head towards the setting sun.

Sunburst is small, one of the small towns I’ve ever been in. Back then, I thought it was a suburb of a larger city. I didn’t want to be there long.
The fight was to take place at this exceptionally small bar, where the fights were the talk of the town. Ced was cool with the owner (who makes the best steaks I’ve ever had), and he bartered room and board for the night in exchange for a percentage of my winnings. (God help us if I lost). Turned out the guy I was taking on had run through most of the local competition, so someone coming in from California was a big deal.

The fight was rather lackluster. I was proud of myself for doing away with him so quickly, but a lot of people lost money that night…

The owner gets paid, he has no complaints. I don’t sleep well that night; never do in unfamiliar places.
The following morning, Ced and I have to answer for what we’ve done.
It begins as we descend the dark-wood staircase, bags packed, ready to return to our native land. We hear grumbling, and it’s angry. Who comes to a bar at ten in the morning?!

You ever walk into a room where everyone is arguing, and then they become silent the second you arrive? It was that type of tension. And there were sixteen people between us and the door…

I recognized a few faces from the night before. I wondered if they had been there all night. One of them complains that he lost his whole paycheck thanks to me. He’s the first to get up and start walking towards us. Shit.

Soon, everyone feels like they have something to prove, and they back him up. Suddenly, I really want to go home and hold my son.
Go right. Ced whispers to me.
What?
You go right. I’ll go left.
…Okay.
You ready?
Yup.

Ced lunged first. I had no idea he was so bloodthirsty. Before then , Ced was someone I had known less than a year, an on-again-off-again nerd/hustler who worked near the Embarcadero. I knew him through a mutual friend, but we had never gotten to know one another…not until that morning.

Now, suddenly, I’m fighting side-by-side against this person I hardly know, and I’m counting on him to watch my back just as he’s counting on me to watch his. Our survival depends on our cooperation; take a moment to distrust one another or ask questions, and we don’t go home.
I don’t know how long the fight went on, but we tore up the bar and beat it out of there at high speed. As we drove away, we passed three squad cars heading back towards the bar. Both of us laughed and enjoyed the sensation of passing adrenaline.

Ced and I remained tight for nearly five years beyond that, until our lives took us in separate directions.

But the friendship, forged from necessity, is strong today.

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

Post Footer automatically generated by Add Post Footer Plugin for wordpress.