A Fighter's Desire

by L. P. Dover

  It was never an issue for my dad. In fact, his family had come from the other side of the tracks, as they used to say, and my mom was from money. Moderate money, but in a small town moderate money was considered well off. We never had to go without, but we were certainly taught the value of things and the hand-me-downs filled my closet. If my sisters wore it, then I got it and, honestly, I loved it. I still thrift to this day and prefer to shop this way. I guess I just like things with character and a history. The only thing I did not enjoy were the dresses, ironically enough I tend to wear them more now than I ever did as a child. I find it funny how we change as we age.

  Like I said before, we had two of most of everything. I really did appreciate the second treehouse that my dad had built in the backyard. I used that one and my sisters used the other. It was a private refuge for me. Funny thing was my dad never visited theirs. It had handmade curtains in it made by my mom, a table my dad constructed, small chairs and so on. I think it even had a rug on the wood floor, pictures on the walls, very homey. Mine was practical and built for survival. Before you wonder why, just know that I went through a Zombie Apocalypse stage and that my treehouse became ground zero for me. I had maps on the walls, canned food and so on. My dad loved it and I remember he told me how proud he was of me that I seemed to be able to think ahead, even for “unlikely” scenarios. I did not take that as rude in any way, I was just glad he loved it. He would often visit me there, a place I felt more at home than in the house itself sometimes. My sisters were constantly up for drama, not necessarily bad drama, but drama just the same, and I avoided it. All I wanted was to be ready for the proverbial shit to hit the fan, which by the age of thirteen, I was certain would happen.

  My dream continued on as I walked towards the house and then I could hear it. The squeaking of one of the tire swings out back. I walked around the side of the house and saw someone in the swing. As I walked towards them, I realized it was a boy, he had on jeans, a white t-shirt and dark hair. I looked down and felt my palms become sweaty. I wiped them on the sides of my jeans, slowly approaching him with uncertainty. I stepped up behind him, about eight feet out; he stopped swinging and spoke to me. I listened closely, as his voice sounded so familiar and yet I could not place it.

  He stopped moving, his tennis shoes digging into the dirt under the swing as mine had so many times when I was a child.

  “Hello, Jazzy,” he said in a calm tone.

  I started to blink as I heard a knocking...then another and another, until I opened my eyes and the vision of the beautiful boy disintegrated in my mind, but his voice lingered. It merged with the one calling outside of my room. “Room service.”

  I sat straight up and I realized I had drool coming from my mouth, I wiped it away as I grimaced. Drooling was old for me, I used to do it when I slept at home, but not as an adult. I stood up and swayed as the train rocked a little and then settled down. I stepped up to the door and slid it open and there he stood, my new, attractive friend who had helped me onto the train. I blinked a couple of times and he reached up and took a pencil from the side of my hair. I had just enough left to ball it on the side and I had a habit of shoving pencils into it. It was something I had done my whole life without thinking about it. If you draw on enough maps you end up with pencils and pens in pockets and shoved in your hair. I smiled as he pulled it down in between us and stared at it.

  His eyes looked mischievous and I enjoyed it. “Writer?” he asked me. His lip curling up on the edge and only making him cuter.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Part-time poet…. amateur at best.”

  He grinned. “Mmmm. Interesting, I took you for more of a baker.”

  I tilted my head and then he extended his hand once again and I found myself shaking his. It was another habit I had. Something my dad always did. Even if he knew someone for over a decade, the handshake was a necessary greeting in his mind.

  He glanced down as I shook his hand with some force. His expression told me he was surprised I did it. “I am Cody, Cody Baker.”

  “I am….” Then I stopped and stared into his eyes with curiosity. “Wait, why a baker?” I asked him and he smiled.

  “It’s my family’s name, I really had no say in it.”

  I laughed. “No, you said I looked like a Baker.”

  “Oh, you have…” he reached up and touched his cheek as he stared at mine. I reached up and wiped cream from my face and shook my head. I must look insane.

  “It’s moisturizer. I was in a hurry and I didn’t even rub it in, has it been there the whole time?”

  He nodded yes and tried not to laugh at me. “You have issues with time, I can appreciate that. I have some myself.”

  I rubbed the rest of the moisturizer from my cheek as he stared past me and into my room.

  “You got a nice, big room here, bigger than mine.”

  I looked behind me and he stepped in before I could say anything to him about it.

  He walked up to the window and stared out, as the gorgeous landscape passed us by. The sky was blue and the leaves were changing. Fall was coming and along with it, my favorite time of the entire year. I honestly could go without summer, spring or winter. But Fall…oh, I loved it more than anything else in the world.

  I watched him closely, as I realized how attractive he was. I mean, I had been taken back with him as we stood chest to chest, but I brushed it off as a symptom of the situation and nothing more. He had dark hair, almost black, but with flecks of dark brown in it. I could see them as his bangs fell into his face and the sun from the window danced across them. His jaw was firm, his lips full and he had a light-olive complexion. He looked like the type of man who would have a girlfriend, maybe even a fiancé. I mean, he was too cute to not have someone interested in him. He looked back at me with his blue eyes and I smiled, a little embarrassed that I had been staring at him so hard. He grinned and asked me the logical question.

  “So, what is your name?”

  “Oh yeah, man. I am sorry, it is Jasmine, but people just call me Jazz for short.”

  He glanced down at my clothing, of which would probably seem a bit outrageous for some, but I love color and being different.

  “Like a jazz club, I like that,” he said as he walked past me and to the door. He stopped and turned back to me. “Well, Jazz, I am going to go get a drink and a smoke. Do you want to come with me?”

  I shook my head ‘no’ before I realized it might seem rude.

  “Oh, okay,” he said as he disappeared through my door and I ran to it and leaned out as the train's movement made me sway on my feet.

  “I don’t smoke!” I called out to him, he turned around and walked backwards as he grinned at me. He seemed to have no trouble with his balance at all.

  “Good thing, it is a nasty habit.” He turned and kept walking away from me.

  I bit my lip and then spoke up. If it was the grief guiding me, I didn’t care. I felt compelled to not allow him to simply slip away from me. “I could use a drink.” I called out to him. He stopped and turned back. I knew from his expression that it made him happy and it felt good, I will not lie.

  He looked me over. “I would be happy to buy you one.”

  “I have money, I can buy my own.” I said as I relaxed against my doorframe.

  He laughed. “Oh good, because I don’t have any money, at all. I was banking on you saying no, you seem to be pretty feisty.”

  I laughed and narrowed my eyes. I slipped back into my room and ran to my suitcase. I opened it up and pulled out a fresh shirt and jeans. I slid my dress off and slipped the t-shirt over my head. The jeans followed as I ran to the bed and lay down on my back, buttoning them up and tapping my fingers on my stomach. I glanced over at the picture of my dad and smiled at him.

  “Did you send him here, Dad?” I asked him as he grinned back at me from the black and white photo. I sat up and walked back over to my open suitcase and grabbed a hot pink scarf with white birds all over it. I wrapped loosely it aroun
d my neck. I ran to the bathroom and shook my head, as my hair looked ridiculous. I quickly fingered through it and watched it stick up every which way but the right one. I grabbed some gel and messed with it until it looked presentable and stopped. I stepped back and shook my head, suddenly weirded out by caring so much about how I looked. I shook it and let it get messy again and grinned. This was me now, a bit messy and wild. I hesitated as I stared myself down.

  “Why? Just go and have a drink damn it,” I whispered. I ran back to the door and slid it open, only to stop dead as Cody stood there, waiting for me. I bumped into his chest and he smiled down at me. I rubbed my nose and laughed.

  He looked down into my eyes, his bright with anticipation. “I don’t think I have ever been on a date so fast in my life.”

  I held my hand up to him. “This is not a date.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, what do we call it then?”

  “A chance encounter.”

  He laughed and I stepped back from him. “What?” as my right eyebrow rose. Another common trait in my family.

  He rubbed his neck. “Are you sure you are not a writer?”

  I swallowed and placed my hands into my pockets. “Well, maybe a little.”

  “Novelist?” he asked me and I shook my head.

  “No, newspaper. I write articles that no one gives a shit about, in the back…way back, like almost off the end of the paper itself.”

  He laughed and then parted his lips. I noticed his white teeth and his tongue behind them. I blinked and collected myself. Yeah he was cute, so what? I need a drink. I walked past him and out into the hallway as he followed me. The train rocked and I stumbled. His one hand going to my waist and the other under my arm. He steadied me as I once again felt him close to me. I sighed and he let me go.

  I turned to him and nodded. “Thank you, again. I am fine, really, I am. I just have crap balance.” He looked me over and I liked it. His expression soothed me. It was odd to meet someone that I immediately felt comfortable with. I had heard about it happening with people, I had just never experienced it for myself.

  He smiled, without saying a word. I followed along and then ended up next to him. I glanced over at him and felt grateful. I know it may seem simple, but he was helping me not think about what I needed to do when I got home.

  It was not going to be pleasant and I already knew that all of my sisters would be as annoying as ever. Asking me a million questions as to why I was not with anyone, when would I be getting married and be settling down. All things they did with ease. It was not easy to find someone who fit me like that. Marriage was important, it was a commitment to another human being that should be forever. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I am not naïve. I know people change and things happen, but finding the puzzle piece that slips easily into your own life is not something I take lightly. I also wasn’t even sure who that would be. Would it be a girl or a guy? I had no idea. I was not avoiding it, either. I mean, if I meet a girl and she is the one, then that is how it is and I guess telling my mom and sisters would have to happen then, but without it happening, there was no need to say it. Not yet. My dad was the only person I had ever told that I was bi. Well, him and the one girlfriend I had when I lived at home.

  We sat at the table and our drinks vibrated. The bumps beneath the train were causing ripples in the liquid as if something was coming. I looked up at him and his eyes looked even prettier in the light of the bar car. I leaned back and fingered at my drink and he took the initiative to talk to me. I needed him too. I need to just NOT think about my dad and the inevitable fact that I would be attending his funeral. I touched my chest as my heart fluttered and hoped like hell I was not going to have a panic attack. I had had them a few times in my life, normally when the stress of things became too heavy to bear…or, when my sisters would surround me and bombard me with their opinions. I fingered at the small space at the base of my throat and Cody noticed.

  “Drink,” he said to me and I looked up into his eyes. “It will help,” he added, as if he knew.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What? I am fine.”

  He nodded and leaned back in his seat. He glanced out the window and then began to speak in his calm tone. He was just one of those people who seemed to be completely relaxed and in turn, it would relax you too. I sighed and took a drink, thinking maybe he was right. I swallowed as he reached up and brushed his hair back, exposing his whole face.

  He cleared his throat. “I had panic attacks up until I was seventeen and then they stopped.” His eyes lingered on me as I tried to accept that he noticed. I sipped at my drink and didn’t say a word.

  He leaned up and interlocked his fingers on the table and I saw his hands, they looked soft, unlike my dad’s, which were dry and cracked from years of manual labor.

  “You got pale, sweaty. Rubbing at your chest and now you have a red spot. I am not psychic, I just know the signs,” he added.

  I glanced down and saw the redness on my skin. I adjusted my shirt and covered it up from him as I took the rest of my drink in one large gulp. He leaned back and watched me as if he cared, and maybe he did. Some people are able to care about anyone for any reason. Of course, then again, he could be a sociopath and simply takes on the traits of others and his empathy for plight is heightened. I need to stop over-analyzing it right out of the gate, did I mention I suck at relationships? I do, this is one of the reasons why.

  I took one deep breath and stared into his eyes. “Okay, I have them, but not that often,” I muttered as the alcohol started to relax me. I figure lying is futile at this point. He obviously notices details.

  His eyes remained soft, his tone even, and he sounded like an old friend. To be honest, it was a blessing. I needed comforting and someone to keep me from freaking out. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about, Jazz.”

  “I am not embarrassed,” I said as I looked out the window and he remained calm as he had the whole time.

  Then he spoke again as he fingered at his drink. “When I was five, I was in a car accident with my parents and my brother. My parents died, my brother and I lived.”

  “Oh my God…I am… I am so sorry.” I said as he shrugged his shoulder and looked towards the bar. He nodded to the bartender and the man started to make a new drink for him. I looked at the bar, too, and Cody spoke up.

  He held two fingers up to the man. “Make it two, please.”

  The bartender nodded and I sighed, looking at my empty glass as Cody finished off his.

  “I just can’t imagine going through that, I am so sorry.”

  “I can’t imagine it, either,” he said to me and I shook my head slightly and narrowed my eyes as it confused me.

  He then looked at the bartender as he brought two new drinks over to us and sat them down on the table. Cody handed him a credit card and told him to keep it on tab. I shook my head ‘no’ and Cody held up his hand to me.

  “Are you always this difficult?” he asked.

  I smiled and allowed the bartender to take his card.

  “I thought you said you had no money?” He laughed under his breath.

  “Credit cards only. It’s not real money, just borrowed.”

  “True,” I said as he looked back towards the window and took a drink.

  I studied his tight jawline. “So you said you cannot imagine it, what do you mean by that? I mean, a car accident is a horrible thing to live through and…well, how do you not know?”

  He kept his eyes on the scenery going by the window.

  “I don’t remember anything about that day, nothing at all.”

  I watched him very closely as he took yet another drink and then hissed as it burned his throat going down. I stared at mine and he looked at me.

  His eyes narrowed and his grin returned, “Don’t.”

  I leaned back and stared into his eyes, “Don’t what?”

  He grinned and placed his arm up on the back of his booth in a relaxed manner.

  “Pity me, I am totally fine. I can see
it on your face, you feel sorry for me and there is no need to. I am just telling you this so you can relax and understand that I am damaged too.”

  I shook my head ‘no’. “I did not pity you in any way. I just, I mean, I think it is probably best that you don’t remember it and I am not damaged, I mean, I may be a little bit, but I never meant for you to take it as I thought you are damaged in any way.”

  He turned his head and moved his hair and I saw the scar on his scalp. It was white and ran about two inches in length. “Look,” he said, completely ignoring my sudden defensive position.

  “Ouch.” I whispered.

  He looked back at me and spoke as if it was every day and nothing to be alarmed by. “Yeah, I slammed my head into the side window, busted the glass and was thrown from the car.”

  I fingered at the base of my neck as the thought of it disturbed me. To think of a child going through that was horrifying. “Oh my God.”

  He pointed at me. “See, it is that look, right there.” He stared at me and laughed.

  I stopped messing with my skin and lowered my hand to my lap. “What?”

  “The ‘Oh my God’ tone, I am fine, I am, Jazz. In fact, it was somewhat of a blessing to be shielded from it. I mean, who would want to remember something like that any way?”

  I shook my head and decided to explain myself. “Listen, I am just reacting like any normal human being would to something like that. It was a terrible accident; you got hurt and your parents…”

  He interrupted me and said what I did not want to. “Died.”

  I sighed and fingered at my glass on the table, “Yes, that. The dying thing.”