Fighting Love

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A young man's struggle through love.
1.8k words
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Sean Renaud
Sean Renaud
1,344 Followers

My father always said I should think before I act. I thought while looking across the expanse of the ring at my opponent. Didn’t everybody’s father say that? Bouncing lightly on my toes I closed the distance my taped fists guarding my face.

At the moment I obviously had more important things to worry about than paternal wisdom. One of them was a fist that narrowly missed my jaw; another a knee I barely blocked by tucking my elbows into my chest. I’m here because I didn’t think. It was true; I wouldn’t be dancing in circles with a champion kick boxer if I’d listened to him. I would have been a doctor, or a lawyer or president of the United States of America. Instead I pivoted on one foot and sent my heel towards his head. His head canted just enough to let my foot past by. He tried to catch my ankle as I snapped back into my stance.

My mind was going a mile a minute, the way it always does when the world slows to an inch an hour. Where everything happens in slow motion and you have time to consider everything a thousand times. Where it takes a full minute to fall but a millisecond to consider what you could have done better. In this case I could have stayed home. I could have watched TV with the woman of my dreams.

Her name was Samantha and I never did pay enough attention to her. She deserved the entire world delivered to her on a silver platter. She deserve to have Prince Charming sweep her off her feet to his castle in Spain where she could spend the rest of her days worrying about which car to be driven around in. Instead she had to settle for me; a dark prince and I wasn’t much of a prince at that. The Dark Ponce would probably have been a more fitting label for me. A high school graduate who’d joined the Marines three months after graduation.

Joining the few and the proud, it was the first time I didn’t think before acting. I figured it would be an easy meal ticket, a way to avoid college for four years, get out of my parents house and escape that lingering question of what are you going to do? I didn’t really think about the possibility of going to war, to me there wasn’t one. I would spend my four years getting yelled at, doing push ups, running insane distances and getting to look like the Rock. Well Wesley Snipes; I’m a few shades to dark to ever pass as the Rock. In reality I got out of boot camp at one hundred forty four pounds, about fifty pounds smaller than I’d ever been in my life. It was like a kick in the gut, this one so painful it left me doubled. My girlfriend left me for the neighborhood thug; my boys replaced me with a rotund bastard who happened to be my equal in Street Fighter. The world changed while I was away.

If that weren’t enough Saddam Hussein had to grow a pair of balls and refuse the demands of the Honorable George Bush. Because of his ignorance I had to go to war. I can tell you stories about rocket attacks and code red alerts. I can say with some certainty that prison food is better than the shit they pass off as food in the field. I can tell you about the camel spiders as big as dinner plates. I can tell you how it feels to have mortar rounds come down around you but I couldn’t make you understand. It’s boring. Boring beyond reason. Boredom with no limits or bounds where every single day is Groundhog Day. You wake up, eat shitty food, watch movies till the time comes to eat again, then you watch movies till its time to eat one last time. Once that exciting cycle is over you sleep and start over. By the end you don’t even run when you hear rockets or take cover from mortar, you just keep going about your business.

When I came back the woman of my dreams wanted to be mine again. My heart literally stopped in my chest. I was so happy that while all of you know what I mean none of you can describe it. I won’t even bother to try. “Don’t take her back.” My father said. I was nineteen and in love, do you really think I listened to him? To this fossil of fifty years to who love was an annual dinner and not nightly escapades to sordid to be recorded on paper. Of course I didn’t, but I should have. Things happened so fast for a few months, the pacing just like the flurry of punches my opponent was sending at me. Like I always do I was able to dance this way and that, I might have no rhythm on the dance floor but in the ring I’m the King of Rock and Roll. He couldn’t touch me and for a while nothing could, not the fact that she’d left me. Not the fact that she’d been with him for close to five months before she dumped me. Not that she’d been sweating in the nonexistent backseat of his powder blue Camero.

I looked up at my opponent and grinned slightly. There was a slight trickle of blood oozing from my lip but like any warrior it only excited me. There is a thrill in the hunt and a certain satisfaction of knowing that anybody could be here and I was chosen. This wasn’t some punk kid on his first fight; he was no virgin who wouldn’t laugh at my mistakes. This was a man considered champion in three countries. It was finally my turn to go on the offensive and a started with a roundhouse that I carried around into a low sweep.

I bought gifts for the girl; I took her places and did things with her that she’d never done. I marked my territory like a hungry wolf. I knew, I just knew that if I could claim her that she could never escape me, she’d be mine forever. I was even beginning to search for the perfect band of gold to shackle me down to her for eternity. He ducked beneath the kick planting his weight before the sweep. Shin and calf collided and I was the first to falter and the first to recover. I came back with an uppercut. He leaned back and then settled into a new stance and stepped away from me.

It all changed in a single moment, his rhythm, his moves, everything. I wasn’t prepared for his change of stance any more than I was ready for my woman’s shifting interests. A sudden desire to be swept off her feet, to have that white picket fence with the pitter-patter of fists against my face.

His name was Manuel, a fat, pierced, married to the creature from the black lagoon, daughter named Mariah, works at Blockbuster, still living in his parents house twenty-four year old gamer. I think if I didn’t always think of him as marking my territory we would have been good friends. We really did have a lot in common. We might even have been friends if she hadn’t left me because he was jealous of me. Imagine that, your woman leaves you because her lover is jealous of you.

I changed my stance to match his, arms extended away from me with my palms out. Feet just over shoulder distance apart and something became immediately obvious. I was only good at being myself; I was no good at being him. Day by day I had to watch as I lost territory to the warrior. I had to watch this girl, this girl who still considered herself part of my territory allow herself to be marked by another. It was infuriating. It must have driven him mad as well because it was a short fight after that.

He slipped back into his original stance and I caught him in chest with knee. Before he could recover I’d his feet from under him. I only barely missed his chest with a stomp. I should have finished it there. I should have finished him as he gathered his unsteady legs beneath him. Why didn’t I? Why am I about to volunteer for more punishment? Its obvious to some that I must enjoy the pain, that I somehow don’t feel complete without it. Its only reason why even after my father told me not to do it. Not to trust this woman, to think before I acted that I still welcomed her back.

Open arms and open eyes. I’d be better off with closed eyes and arms at least them his kicks wouldn’t be hitting such tender places. Even my mocha hued flesh would show black and blue blotches from this battle. Much the same as my heart bears the scars of her attacks and still I take her back. I take her back again and I know that when it happens again I’ll take the plunge again.

I guess that is really truly what love is about. Its about never giving up, its about knowing what you want. It’s about how you feel about them and not how they feel about you. It is a lot like fighting. How the man across from me feels as he punishes my body isn’t important at all. What’s important is the way my blood rushes to the surface and I suddenly see red. It’s not about the punch he didn’t block that sent him reeling. It’s not about the block he failed to put up in time to keep my heel from crashing into his ribs. It’s about the explosion in me that left him on the mat at my feet.

I only know how to love one way. It’s exactly the same as the way I fight. Forever and with everything that I have. I never lose, maybe the battles but never the wars. This isn’t any different, this broken man laying unconscious at my feet unable to connect the man standing over him dripping sweat and blood with the man who’d been sitting in the stool with his head lowered in fear of an unavoidable knock out. It’s the same for her, can’t manage to believe that the man who will stand by her side till his body is to beaten to stand is the same one who believes she will leave him again. It doesn’t matter to me what the chances are, how badly I’ll be beaten. I’d rather enjoy the time that I have now. Live on the impulses that keep my heart pulsing than trust in whatever lies my mind can conjure. He didn’t beat me like I knew he would, she won’t leave me like I think she will. I couldn’t go on if I thought before I acted, life would be too painful.

Sean Renaud
Sean Renaud
1,344 Followers
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5 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 14 years ago
Summanabich

whare ar all dem biches fer me ta pull ma taffy to? took me haf a beer to find the litel man and this is all i git fer wakin off readin? imma go hump sis fer a bit.

sexy_southern_galsexy_southern_galover 15 years ago
WOW. Amazing.

The clarity it takes to view the world this way is hard earned. You'd have to experience a lot to be able to write that way. Your wording makes the characters appear easily in my head and i could see the main char bouncing on the balls of his feet in the ring. The swinging punches, the sights and sounds. You should try writing a fictional story - maybe one about ancient warriors or gunfighters or knights on the battle field. Absolutely amazing. If all your works are like this or are better - you should try and get published.

AnonymousAnonymousover 16 years ago
Crap.

A tough kick boxing soft-cock. Dumb shit, that all he'll be. Dump the slut and find a real woman you fucking wimp. Harden up a bit before it's too late. You're only gonna be strong and fast for so long. Then what? Stupid girlie boy.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 17 years ago
very nice

I loved it!

quietpolyquietpolyover 19 years ago
You're Good

You keep it real. Nicely done.

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