Akting Out

We drive in silence. We were speeding moments ago, not that anyone but the tumbleweeds would notice. Still, pushing a buck ten on a dirt road in a fifteen year old truck may not be the best way to ensure a safe arrival.

He doesn’t say anything to me. He never does, when things like this happen. I always want to ask why he stuck by me for so long. But I never do. If I did, he might leave.

The horizon is reddening as the sun says its farewell for the day, and we’re heading towards it. Fitting, all things considered. I don’t know where we’re going to go. We have gas to get there, though, and that’s all that matters.

My ribs hurt and are soft to the touch. I can’t see well out of my left eye; tends to shut when someone puts their fist into it repeatedly. I guess that’s something I need to work on. It always hurts to breathe for a little while after the work is finished. It’s almost become routine. Make sure you get the winnings. No, I don’t want to go to the hospital. They ask too many questions.

I cough once into my hand. No blood. He keeps driving, not asking questions. I don’t think he’s even blinking this time. I don’t blame him. Things got back this last time around. I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find him gone. It’s okay. I’ll leave a little money on his clothes just in case.

We’ve worked together maybe twenty times, and there were loads of times I knew we pushed our luck just a little too far, but this last time was it. Someone got our plate—we saw them writing as we hauled ass out of there, that same someone has probably already called the cops. We needed to hurry up and get away from there. But it’s been almost an hour and no black-and-whites have pulled in behind us.

It was supposed to be simple. Just another fight, right? Just me and the other guy. He was the area’s best street fighter, and I can tell you that it was a title well-earned, after spending fifteen minutes getting to know him. Problem was, he was the area’s best fighter, and I was known across three different states. I can brag; I earned the right.

Nando—my silent, soon-to-be- former gopher and driver—had arranged the match because of the huge payday. We met in this little hole-in-the-wall bar in this little hole-in-the-wall town where the population didn’t exceed five hundred, and everyone was counting on their favorite son to make good.

He had a lot of pride, I’ll give him that.
Sometimes, when people watch you work, the cheering stops and the mood grows eerily somber. The only sounds echoing throughout the room are the ones from one man beating the life out of another. It’s ceased to become a spectacle; they are now watching someone die.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about it, but it doesn’t work. All I see is him and red. God, I pray quietly, I didn’t want to do that do him. Why didn’t he just stay down!?

Why is winning so important to you? The answer, as always, is almost immediate and comes from nowhere. I open my eyes. Connection broken.
It’s not my fault, I try to tell myself, he knew the rules. He would not stay down. He kept coming. I did what I had to do, that’s all.
That’s all.
I can’t stop the new memories. First, the fists to his kidneys, hoping the loss of bladder control would convince him to stop. Then, the round kicks to the ribs, over and over, hoping the inability to breathe would convince him to let it go. And finally, the uppercut to the Adam’s apple, the one that had stopped him cold, caused his mouth to explode with blood before he collapsed to the floor and stayed there.

Then, fighting against a town of angry civilians who had just watched their hero destroyed. The frozen look of horror on Nando’s face as he looked up at me as though I was the devil himself.
He’ll recover, I keep telling myself, hoping to believe it. He’s strong. He will.

He wasn’t moving. The nowhere voice again, carrying ultimate authority, reminding me that this, too, I will have to answer for one day.
The sky is red, the sun now a massive third of a circle as it continues to dip below the horizon, sending golden streaks through a sky of scattered clouds.
We may be safe in a larger city tonight, but tomorrow, we will have to leave the state. I tell myself, adding one more place I cannot return to a growing list in my mind.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise, I will recover, alone or otherwise. More work will be lined up. More than money will be gambled with. I’ve never tried to understand why I chose this life, or if it chose me, but it is the one I must live, for now.

And so, we continue driving into the sunset.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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