by Claire Adams
“Well, that is true in some cases.”
“Hey!”
She laughed. “Well, enjoy your tea. I'm hitting the shower, so I will check on you in a bit. Happy writing!”
I smiled as she left. I loved Julie; she was such a great friend. I sipped slowly on the tea to avoid burning my lips. It was the perfect addition to my morning―a little bitterness with a touch of sweetness. I could never drink green tea without lemon, it just wasn't tasty enough. Okay, I needed to focus. I took another sip of tea, and set it down on the bedside table. I took pencil to paper, and started scrolling down some ideas that I thought would be solid starting points. Once I finished, I felt vaguely proud, and started reading over the ideas one by one. As I did that, I started crossing them off one by one. They were terrible ideas, and certainly not very original. Just like with my drawing assignment, I really wanted to open the eyes of my professors creatively. I wanted them to see I could make a mark on the world, that I wasn't just another artist who stumbled through the school hallways, never really going anywhere in life. No, I truly believed I was meant for greatness, and I did not want to be lazy on any assignment. This was my future, and I was determined to work hard for it.
I lay back on my bed, and nestled my head into the pillows. I thought long and hard about what I could do for my project. The last thing I wanted to do was wait until the last minute to write the bloody thing, or I would be in real trouble. I could just imagine myself with writer's block, the night before the assignment was due. That would certainly impress the professor. And writer's block was real, people, trust me. It had plagued my mind on more than one occasion. My eyes fluttered closed, and I tried to focus on the things that had occurred in my life up until that point. There had surely been plenty of highs and lows in my life. Good times, and also some very sad times. My professor was always giving us tips when it came to writing in general. She always said to us, “Write what you know!” I had always thought it was excellent writing advice. Many writers often struggled when they ventured outside the box and their stories lacked genuineness. Your true passion for writing often dripped through the crevices of your existence if you had a solid understanding of that passion.
My mind started drifting to my ex, and how we had originally met. He had stumbled upon me at the library one day and abruptly sat down at my table. He actually studied, unlike Jet. The thought made me smile. My ex had apologized for being rude, but had been looking unsuccessfully for a quiet place to read. He had been so handsome that it almost hurt for me to look at him. Although we had both been there for some quiet, we ended up talking for hours. When he left me his number, and the promise to see me again, I had actually felt an ache at his absence. Sounded like the perfect love story, didn't it? A lot of people would eat that right up, and for three years it had been just that―perfection.
What most people wouldn't expect, however, was the betrayal that came from the man I loved, and my own best friend. The story could be harsh enough for the movies, a real blockbuster. But the idea of recreating that story, and having to dig deep in order to portray the characters correctly would require me to open old wounds that I didn't want to open. When I thought about it, and all that it would require, it made me a little depressed, and I nixed the idea immediately. It could be a compelling drama, but it surely would be a humiliating one for the lead character. No, it was best to lay that one to rest.
So if I wasn't going to write about my ex, who would I write about? It wasn't long; maybe two to three seconds before Jet came to mind. He was one of those ruthless bad boys that girls (not me) seemed to swoon over. He was the classic breaker of hearts; eat ‘em up and then spit ‘em out. Could I write a convincing story about him? Sure, I could look at what had already transpired between us. It really was the perfect story, and I didn't need to worry about any festering wounds opening back up, because there were no wounds. I didn't care about him, and he didn't care about me. I could essentially write a story based off of true events that were happening in my life right now. It could almost be like a diary.
I started scribbling furiously on my pad of paper. I tried to remember facts, feelings, and situations that had occurred between us so far. I was writing so fast that my hand and wrist started to ache. But I didn't stop. I was on a roll, and I didn't want to lose momentum. I had an idea, and I was running with it before I lost it completely.
Julie peeked into my room with a towel wrapped around her; wet hair fell messily down her back. Noticing my furious writing, and my inability to look up at her, she came into the room and sat down on the edge of my bed to see what I was doing.
“I see you figured out your story. I told you that tea would do the trick.”
I laughed as I looked up at her. All I said to her was, “Jet,” as I continued writing in a frantic manner.
“Really? Why would you do that?”
“Why not?”
“Isn't it obvious?” She laughed nervously, not wanting to kill my writing buzz.
I stopped writing and sat up to talk to her. I set my pencil down beside my pad, and waited for her to continue.
“Are you falling for this guy?”
“No! Are you crazy? Of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”
“I don't know, Natalie, but for someone who doesn't want anything to do with the guy, you are really immersed in his life.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Oh really? He is your subject for a very important art project, he teaches you self-defense and now he's the subject of yet another important writing project. Do you see a theme here?”
I stared at her, not saying a word. I really didn't have a response, though I had to take note of the fact that she was incredibly perceptive.
“It's just convenient, Julie. That's all. He makes my art projects easy because of who he is, and he makes it easy for me to exploit his womanizing ways. Now, the self-defense? You were right there; I don't want to experience anything like that again. Had someone else offered to teach me, then I would be doing it with them. But it was Jet who offered, so that's all it is, convenience.”
Julie didn't appear to be buying anything I was selling to her at the moment.
“I don't think this story that you are writing is going to have a happy ending. I wish it would, I really do. But based on things that I have seen already, I don't see it happening.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you guys have officially slept together now; it's not just a rumor anymore. Now usually that's the crowning moment, when you finally get to see whether sex turns into something else. Either you move on together, or he never talks to you again. Oddly enough, neither has happened, and you two are stagnant together, just waiting for something to happen. It's very unusual. I just don't see it going happily ever after for you guys, and this weird dance that you are doing with each other.”
I was shocked by everything that she had said. I hadn't realized that Julie had put that much thought into what was going on between Jet and me. I didn't want to go into great detail with her at the moment; in fact, I didn't want to talk about Jet at all. I just wanted to get my story down as a rough draft, so I could peel away the layers of it another time.
I smiled at her. “Well, it's a good thing that I don't care about a future with Jet, then.”
“Really, you don't?”
“No, it is what it is.”
“You don't think it might be wise to write about something else? You have a great family life, write about that. Or if you need some drama in your life, write about our experience with the mugging; just make Jet's character look like Ryan Gosling.” She had a sparkle in her eye when she said Ryan's name. “I'm just saying I think it's a mistake to devote so much emotional and mental energy on Jet. He's not worth it. You have lots of good stories to tell, Jet's not the biggest thing that has happened in your life so far.”
“You're the one who tried to get me to talk to him that first time at the bar.”
“Yeah, I know.
He's hot, and I thought he would be a good way for you to get over that asshole, but I made a mistake. I think he's just going to hurt you, and I don't want you to get hurt by another guy. It's obvious it's not going anywhere, so just distance yourself from him.”
“No, I like this story, and this project has been driving me nuts all day. Now that I have a good idea, I don't want to go back to stressing about finding a new one. It will be fine.”
“I think you're making a mistake.”
“Julie, it's not like we are dating. I'm not going to write actual events. It will be more of a based-on-a-true-story sort of thing. I can change whatever I want. I can have whatever ending I want. It doesn't have to end badly. I could have the happiest ending I want, if I choose. If I don't feel like being happy, I can kill off Jet in the end,” I started laughing, and Julie just shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“Well, good luck with that.” She got up off the bed and wiped at the water drips that had found their way on her shoulder from her hair. “I have to go get ready for class, I'll see you later.”
I nodded, and watched her as she walked out my door, closing it behind her. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked down at my notes that I had already made for the story.
Everything was going to be okay.
Chapter Six
Jet
Fight night was tonight, and I was determined to keep focused, to make sure my head was in the game. Game only, this was not the time to think about Natalie, or worry about my grades. It was not the time to get angry over my father's lack of enthusiasm when it came to my career choice, or the fact that he was still determined to have me work for the company. It was also not the time to obsess over the pass Brian had made at Natalie, or the fact that there were a million other men out there who were far more deserving of her than I was. No, this day was only meant for me to focus on the fight ahead, and what the game plan was, in order to leave as a champion. Because if I didn't leave as a champion, then my father was going to start having a reason to tell me to give up what he calls my “pipe dreams.” So I had a lot riding on these fights; they were no joke, and I certainly didn't look at them as playtime. This was about the rest of my life, and I planned on going to war tonight, and sending my opponent home, thinking twice about getting in the ring with me again. Killa Killa, it was time to fight.
I started getting things ready to go. Coach always took care of things like Gatorade, first aid kits, ice, tape―all the things I needed in order to stay hydrated and safe. I always brought my lucky gloves, though no one used shin pads or headgear in professional MMA fights. I wouldn't need much else except my fighting outfit, which consisted of shorts and a T-shirt that had the school sponsorship logo on it. I put everything I needed in my gym bag, and set it by the door. Now it was “me” time. Kyle was hanging out with video games, and that wasn't the scene I wanted before heading out for my fight.
I headed back into my bedroom and closed the door. I put some meditation music on my iPod and lay down on my bed. I got in a comfortable position, and placed the earbuds in my ears. I turned on the iPod, and the music found its way into my head. I needed to zone out to experience my win in my head before I ever got into the ring. I needed to be a winner before I ever got out there. My goals would be realized before I even left my apartment; it was all part of how I won―not only in fighting, but in life, as well.
As the music took over, I imagined myself warming up with Coach, getting my head in the game, moving the way I was taught, throwing punches and kicks. Next, I imagined what it would be like to hear my opponent’s name called out in the ring. I imagined what it was like to know he had already lost, and was only going out to meet a good, old-fashioned beating. I then pictured my own name being called, the music that I had handpicked for my walkout playing through the speakers as I broke through the curtains, my team following close behind. I imagined my team, and how hard they, too, had worked to make sure I arrived that night prepared for the fight. To know that I was ready to knock out my opponent. They were there to support me, and would have my back no matter what.
I would walk down the aisle proudly, with my head held high, waiting to destroy. I would not have that natural fight or flight instinct that kicked in when I knew I was about to enter the cage with another man who looked to cause harm. I was now at the octagon door, my team placing Vaseline on my eyebrows, talking to me, preparing me for what lay ahead. I removed my shirt and walked into the ring. I envisioned the bell going off, and I struck my way into a knockout as I pummeled my opponent, never allowing him a chance to break my guard. I landed a sweet head kick that knocked him out, and he never got back up. It was my goal to get him done in the first round, because no one liked working overtime when they didn’t get paid more to do so. The crowd was going nuts around me, and I raised my hands high, knowing I was the victor before the judges called it.
I opened my eyes, and I was already smiling. I turned off the music, took the earbuds out of my ears, and set aside my iPod. I lay there for a few minutes, reveling in the feelings I was experiencing at that moment. I was king of the world, and no one could have taken anything away from me just then. I had never felt more alive, and I couldn't wait to unleash that feeling tonight when the fight was live.
I rolled out of bed and headed back out to the living area. Kyle was predictably, as always, still playing his video games. I hadn't realized I had been meditating for an hour; time flew when I was enjoying a victory.
“Hey, man, are you coming to the fights?”
Kyle looked up briefly from his game. “Not sure yet. I may have plans.”
I almost laughed out loud. Yeah, plans that consisted of drinking beer and playing video games all night.
“Okay, I will see ya later then; I'm heading to the gym.”
“Cool. Good luck tonight, Jet. Make us all proud.”
“Will do,” I waved as I picked up my gym bag and opened the door, heading out.
I grabbed my gym bag out of my car and headed into the gym arena. The fights were taking place at our gym this time, and they had transformed the area into a fighting arena. It looked amazing, and it got me jacked up in anticipation for the fights. I headed to the locker room, where I would find my coach, as well as the rest of my teammates. I was the main card for the evening, but I wasn't the only one of my teammates fighting on a card tonight. There were three other guys preparing for a fight as well.
I walked in, and everyone yelled out hi, or various forms of good wishes. I did the same, and went to go find my coach.
“Hey, Robbie, how's it going?”
“Great, buddy. How are you?”
“I feel great. I can't wait to get in there and destroy that guy.”
“That's just what I like to hear. Make sure you stay hydrated with some water throughout your warmup. Give me a minute, and we will wrap your hands.”
“Sounds good.”
I headed to the cooler, and at that moment wondered what Natalie was doing with her evening. She would probably be bored to tears at an event such as this. I got a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and brought them back to the locker room. I downed one immediately, and saved the other for later. There were a couple of girls hovering around the locker area, and I had to assume they were girlfriends of the other fighters. I wondered what it would be like having a girl standing in my corner, cheering me on. I had never had a long-term girlfriend before, and my conquests were never invited this close to my fights. On occasion, one would be in the audience at the fight, but they were never allowed near the corner, or in the locker room. They were only my prizes after I had won the fight, or my consolation prize, if I lost. The idea that someone would be there to kiss me good luck, and support me like a team member, was interesting. I walked back into the locker room and went to talk to the other two fighters.
“Hey, Craig, are you ready to go to war tonight, or what?”
“Hey, Jet, yeah, are you kidding me. I can't wait. I hope to accumulate the same rec
ord you have.”
“Oh, you will. It just takes time. You're a strong fighter, man, you will do just fine.”
“Thanks.”
Joshua was the other fighter going out tonight, and he joined our conversation when he noticed me talking to Craig. “Hey, man, I can't wait to see your fight tonight. I heard your opponent is brutal. He hasn't lost yet, at least.”
“Not yet he hasn't, but he will. I'm ending his clean record tonight.”
They laughed. “That's the spirit, man; it's gonna be a great fight, can't wait.”
“Well good luck, guys, and I will see you out there.”
Before I went to get my hands wrapped, I had to go do my weigh-in to make sure I was on par for the fight. They had a medical table set up around the octagon for the time being, so I headed over there. There weren't many people there, and I didn't see my opponent at all yet. It was my turn to head up, and I went on the scale to get weighed. They marked down that I met my weight for category. They took a picture of me, and I headed back toward the locker room.
When I went inside, Coach waved to me, and I headed over to the back area, where he had set up some chairs to wrap the fighters’ hands.
“So how did the opposing fighters feel about being located in the girls’ locker room?”
Robbie laughed out loud. “Well, hopefully, it fucked with their heads a bit.”
I chuckled along with him. I watched as he finished wrapping Craig’s hands and waved him off. He got up out of the chair, and Joshua sat down. They would be fighting first, so they needed to get ready before I did. I would be the last fight of the night.
“Things are starting to get busy out there. They are ready to go.”
“Good, you can help me start warming up the boys in about 20 minutes, and we will get them ready for their fights.”
“Sounds good.”
He finished wrapping Joshua, and the guy moved on. Robbie was a genius at wrapping; he could do a solid, protective job of wrapping knuckles quickly. He was the best coach I had ever had. I was lucky to have him.
