The Fight Within

by Laveen, Tiana

What?

  Never mind…

  Sean turned briefly away from his computer, gripped his forehead and sighed, resigned to the fact his budding hard-on was going to be challenged sooner rather than later.

  I love your photos, and what you wrote on your profile. You’re really attractive, too. So what do you do for a living? she asked.

  I work.

  LOL. That’s good, but what do you do?

  What does it matter?

  He crossed his arms and sucked his teeth, needing a moment to pretend he was still interested in this damn conversation.

  I don’t like bums.

  He glared at the screen, uncrossed his arms and typed:

  I don’t like gold diggers.

  He was met with silence.

  “I fucking hate online dating!” he swore aloud, scowling up at the ceiling. “Why do I keep doing this to myself?”

  The woman didn’t close the chat box, and the silent netting continued to build and grow between them as if constructed by Charlotte’s web. This had been the story of his damn life as of late. Cute girl initiates contact. Cute girl thinks her face and pussy buy her a ticket into his pockets. Cute girl gets put on alert that Sean doesn’t shell out money to get laid. Cute girl gets her motherfucking feelings hurt.

  End of discussion.

  Good night. He gladly typed the two little words, wishing to not drag out the inevitable.

  While she fished around for a response and definitely chatted with many men all at once to find her highest bidder, he’d decided to pull the plug on the whole sinking Titanic-like encounter. At this point, it felt like the ‘Ground Hog’ movie. The shit was redundant, and he’d had it up to here.

  He slammed the lid to his computer closed, pushed the damn thing aside, and curled up into the fetal position, hands wedged between his thighs as he gave a farewell to his state of alertness and said ‘hello’ to a land full of irresistible Zzzzssss…

  *

  The following morning…

  “And you bet your fucking ass I did!” Sean cackled as he moved around his miniscule, cluttered kitchen, preparing to take care of his morning routines. The off white sink was chock full of filthy glasses with remnants of milk and chipped, spaghetti–sauce-stained ceramic plates donated from dear ol’ mom when he’d moved out all those years ago. “I told you that was my only damn day off, Kyle! Come on, man!” He wanted to beg, but he simply couldn’t stoop to that level, at least not today. The fucker knew how he felt about this game, which surely should’ve been enough to put some fire under the guy’s dragging feet.

  “I got ’em, Mr. Mahoney!” Kyle teased, a carefree, easygoing flair in his tone—as if not a damn thing mattered in the whole world. “It’s a done deal. “Relaaaaxxxx! Just hold your horses!” His best friend snorted. “You’re becoming a real pain in the ass, ya know that, Sean? Hell, ya didn’t even ask me how my deal went!”

  “How’d your deal go?” He reached for the green Palmolive soap and dabbed a bit along the thin cloth.

  “Yeah, like you really care. That didn’t sound sincere.”

  “Kyle, are you on your goddamn period? You wanna cuddle?” he teased, met with steely silence. “Sincere?” Sean scoffed. “You must be sitting over there with a tissue in your hand dabbing at tears while you watch Lifetime. Bitchified!” He cackled. “Gotta call the police. My boy Kyle here has been robbed of his X chromosome and his goddamn nuts!”

  “Well, you didn’t even ask me about it. You knew it was important to me. All you wanted to talk about was the damn tickets.”

  “I asked ya! Want to hear it again? I’ll send over a box of tampons to ya, too.”

  “Yeah, yeah, very funny, man. Look, on a serious note, Sean, don’t you ever think about anyone else other than yourself anymore?”

  “Of course I do. Don’t try to sidetrack this conversation; we were talking about baseball tickets first. And what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway? Yeah, I think about others!” He gulped, feeling a bit defensive once he realized Kyle was serious. This wasn’t some show. The discussion had turned down a dead end street, and he wanted out before it was too late.

  “Sean, seriously! Let’s have a man to man, heart to heart, alright?”

  “It’s too early for this shit…don’t have the time.” He turned on the kitchen faucet and rinsed the soap residue off his favorite Superman decorated cereal bowl. The cartoon etched along the thing had faded with time. Superman was slowly disappearing. What to do? What to do?

  “You call me all the fucking time asking me to do this and that, just like with these damn tickets. You know I can get my mitts on them, man, but you never offer anything in return, Sean. You weren’t like this when we were kids. Maybe you’ve turned into an unappreciative, kick boxing fuckhead in your old age.” He laughed.

  “Fuck you, man,” Sean chuckled as he sifted through his wooden rack of seasonings, looking for the black pepper he’d purchased a few days ago. “I do shit for you all the time. Like what about that discount gym membership I talked Tony into givin’ to you, huh? And what about those coupons I got from joining that cost-saver group, huh? I gotta pay dues; it’s a membership…like you need fuckin’ coupons you rich bastard… I’m the one that needs fuckin’ coupons!” he quipped.

  “Yeah, but I gotta ask. It would be nice for a change to see you just give to someone without wanting anything in return like you used to is all.”

  “You make me sound like a real selfish son of a bitch!”

  “You are, just a nice son of a bitch.” Kyle laughed.

  “Look, I got a big heart but I won’t be taken for a ride. People knock you around, mistake kindness for weakness ’nd shit. I gotta do what I gotta do.”

  “Excuses…”

  “Fine, I tell ya what, Mr. Humanity, the next person that asks me for somethin’, I will give it to them and just focus on what they want, no questions asked.”

  “Oh, what complete bullshit!” The guy chortled.

  “No, I’m serious. I won’t ask them for anything. I won’t even discuss myself and what I need back, none of that. My entire time talkin’ to them will be all about them. Good ol’ Sean won’t even enter the picture.”

  “I bet you can’t do it,” Kyle blurted, catching his words on the toe of an urgent dare.

  “I bet you I can!”

  “Honor system? No bullshittin’?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah! I wouldn’t have offered if I was going to lie about it, man!”

  “Hey, that old collection of baseball cards you found that you gave me wasn’t worth shit. I only got like ten bucks for all of ’em.”

  “I already told you that and there is even more proof right there that I do give you shit without you askin’!”

  “That doesn’t count. You got it free and it’s from the fuckin’ trash.”

  “I don’t give a shit if it’s from the inside of an alien’s pussy. It counts!”

  “An alien’s pussy? Where the hell do you come up with this stuff, man?”

  “From your mother. Anyway, the price of the stuff has hit the shitter. Number one, baseball cards aren’t worth what they used to be, and there was nobody in that collection anyone gave a damn about nowadays, and the condition was poor on the grade. Don’t you watch Pawn Stars?” Sean teased. “You think ya know everything though…probably wasn’t even worth the cost in gas!”

  “It wasn’t.” His pal laughed. “I have you covered on the game though. Did you get finished with your training last night?”

  Sean popped the refrigerator door open, exposing two freshly purchased cartons of eggs, a half emptied jug of Manta brand orange juice, an unopened package of maple cured bacon and three heads of lettuce, one of which was wilted. Cradling the phone under his chin, he reached inside with one hand, kicked the damn thing shut and placed a carton of eggs on the crowded counter space, shoving junk mail out of his way.

  “Fell asleep on the damn couch, man. I’ve been exhausted. Between school, both jobs, trainin�
� for this match at both gyms and other shit, I just barely got my paper finished. Oh, and check this out.” He snorted as he reached above his head, removed a small white bowl from an overhead cabinet, and cracked three eggs, tossing the shells inside of his trashcan over his shoulder like he was a damn Globetrotter. “I got this notice from this hot piece of ass online, right? Like two or three in the fuckin’ morning.” He grinned as he recalled her face, then poured the eggs into a hot pan over a thin layer of melted butter.

  “Tell me more.” His friend said in a silly singsong voice fit for an infomercial. The lively traffic outside of the partially opened window almost covered the sounds of the morning news as the resident reporters on WABC-TV New York declared the high temperature for the day. On the ticker popped up headlines of the local Manhattan crimes and a ‘feel good’ story no one gave two toxic pigeon shits about.

  “So, she gives me like a compliment or two, right? I knew she was a bobble head though, man.” He grinned as he took the handle of the pan and forced the eggs to run from side to hot side, coating them just so before he fried them to his liking. “And then, she did the shovel move, Kyle!”

  “DUN! DUN! DUUUUUN! GOOOOOLD DIIIIIGGGGGUUUHHHH!”

  They both yelled out at the same time, putting on a star performance of synchronized laughter.

  “Gold digger I do deeee-clare!” he said in a high-pitched Southern style voice. “Her shovel wasn’t pulled out late in the game, so she must’ve been a novice. She did her digging early on, before I’d even gotten to like ’er.”

  “On a scale from one to ten, what was she?”

  “Ahhh, man,” Sean smirked as he cracked a few more eggs in a different skillet, whisked them hard and fast with his fork like he was mad at those jokers, making them fluff like buttery clouds and spin about in swirls of deep yellow amongst the clear, gloppy streaks. “About a seven I guess, maybe seven and a half… She was nice looking, but kinda young, too…not really my thing.”

  “Not my thing? Who says a young, hot seven and a half isn’t their thing?”

  “Me.”

  “Yeah, cause you’re a fuckin’ cougar chaser, man! Who does that?!” Kyle teased. “You’ve always been this way. A damn wrinkle wrangler!”

  “Screw you, man,” Sean laughed. “Look, I just like older women, alright? You should give it a try.”

  “You must have mommy issues.” Kyle guffawed. “Nah, I’ll pass. Older women gotta lotta baggage.”

  “Who the fuck doesn’t?” Sean shrugged, his brows dipped as he plugged his toaster in and removed the second hot pan from the electric heat, then turned off both eyes. “Shit, as crazy as the world is, it’s a damn surprise any of us leave it half sane. Seriously, you’re battin’ a thousand. You outta test out my theory.”

  “I’ll just take your word for it.” His friend cackled. “I mean, yeah, I’ve seen some good lookin’ forty-year old ladies, some MILFs, if ya will. I’ve had sex with some too, wuddn’t too shabby… but a relationship? Ahhhh, I dunno about all of that…”

  “I stopped taking your advice about the direction of my love life the night we double dated last year and your ex hooked me up with that damn psycho. Girlfriend rated, best friend approved. Fuck you a million times over for that shit, okay?”

  “Huh? What psycho chick?”

  “You really don’t remember?!” Sean paused, not willing to believe his damn ears. “You know! The vegan girl you hooked me up with who wanted me to sign a petition for the some shit called, ‘Goldfish have feelings, too’. Damn freak! Where do you find these fuckin’ people?!”

  “Oh shit!” Kyle roared. “I forgot all about that!”

  “I sure as hell didn’t,” he huffed. “She’s still calling me every now and again, too, even after I told her I was in an exclusive group called the Caveman Society.”

  “The Caveman Society?”

  “Yeah, I made the shit up…told ’er in this elite group we only eat raw meat straight off the bone, pulled with our bare hands.”

  “You didn’t!” Kyle was no doubt turning red as he crowed on the other end while Sean relayed the story.

  “Yeah, and I didn’t stop there, either. I told her that we wear fur and leather coats and get hard from the scent of animal flesh frying in hot grease with peppers and onions. Then, after a night of hunting stray cats with sling shots and BB guns, we jack off to National Geographic… the mating beavers are my favorite… like lesbian porn. She didn’t get it.”

  “You fuckin’ sicko!” Kyle roared. “You need to be committed to Bellevue, man!”

  “I’m done with online dating for real this time, man. I just can’t do this shit anymore.”

  “Give me that girl’s profile name. Once she finds out I’m a broker, I bet I can make her dreams come true.”

  “Yeah, until you walk away and she discovers you owe the national debt in student loans.” Sean goaded. “Damn it! My toast is burnt!”

  “Enjoy your torched breakfast…gotta go, man.”

  “Tha fuckin’ tickets, Kyle!”

  “I got ya covered!” And the call ended.

  Placing his cell phone on the top of the dust covered refrigerator, he made a mental note of where he’d laid the damn thing, knowing his tendency to lose track of his phone. As of late, he’d have to hop on his computer and send himself a text message so he could find the son of a bitch as he raced about in a damn panic, cursing and yelling along the way. He poured a tall glass of orange juice, took a quick sip, then set it down. Grabbing a white paper plate, he scooted his perfectly prepared eggs, two fried and two scrambled, onto it along with the blackened piece of toast. He set the plate on his uneven dining room table in a delicate way, as if it were a sight to behold. Making himself comfortable, he chugged away at his cool beverage while glaring at the television screen set against the far wall in his living room. On the news, they were broadcasting an item about some local marathon runners. He felt his eyes hooding, already tired, and the damn day had just begun.

  Am I really that self-absorbed?

  He took a bite of his toast, wincing from the burnt flavor as he moved the over-cooked bread around in his mouth, and forced the swallow.

  I do crap for other people all the time, like this little league shit. Someone needed me, and I came through. Kyle is full of shit! He’s just tryna get me all riled up.

  He scooped up a spoonful of eggs and slid it between his lips, worked it around then gulped, his thoughts still prisoner to his friend’s accusatory words.

  Well, that’s for pay, though… It sure as hell isn’t free. Fuck. Maybe he’s right…

  He shrugged.

  Maybe I’ve been so busy with everything I’ve been tryna get done lately, I haven’t been considering other people.

  Hmmmm…

  He picked up his juice glass and took a sip, then set it down, contemplations filling the voids in his brain with something worthy of a promise, embarking on turning a new leaf.

  Okay, I’ll keep my word. Yeah, the next time someone needs me, I’ll be there for ’em… I can do that. That’s the right thing to do. Yeah, of course it is… I’ll show that son of a bitch. I still give a damn about other people. I should wager a bet on this. Ahhh no, I can’t do that, that would defeat the whole point. Okay, I can do it. The next time someone needs me I’ll be there, no expectations, no compensation. Jesus, what if it’s Mom, though?! Oh, please God, I know we don’t talk often, but don’t have my mother call me and ask for anything, please. It’ll be about her wanting me to settle down and get married… I just won’t be able to do that! So if anyone but Ma calls, then I’m cool with it. God, I hate to put that sort of provision in there but I’m sure ya understand!

  *

  Jasper Owens’ miniature little reddish brown mustache twitched like it was infested with bedbugs every time he opened his tiny tulip shaped lips. The eccentric millionaire made Treasure’s skin crawl, but she couldn’t help but be amused by his naturally shrill voice and the way he repeated what she said i
n his highfalutin’ British accent, as if she were somehow unclear and her words stated in a language she’d just invented on the spur of the moment.

  “So you see, Ms. Chambers, although I do not cook, all of the equipment must be state of the art.” He lifted his chin high as his beady, dark brown eyes grew even darker, somehow shrouding his point in forbidden mystery of the utmost importance.

  “Why of course, Mr. Owens.” She smiled pleasantly and nodded as she led him over to a gray and ebony granite display. “Here I have put together five different samples for your countertops. I would like to direct your attention to the Rustic River exotic stone sample,” She pointed to a rare and beautiful slab with swirls of bluish gray along a pale yellow backdrop. “And here we have Blue Eyes material, out of the Arctic Plains. It is the type of granite which I am certain would not only meet your discriminatory tastes and criteria, but be a focal point of conversation for your house guests, for months on end.” He nodded in agreement as he slicked his slender index finger along the shiny surface, giving it the once over. Just then, her cell phone rang. She leered down at the thing, trying her damnedest to keep a smile on her face, when all she truly wanted to do was scream a series of colorful expletives.

  “Mr. Owens, please take a look at the other mockups, and share your thoughts. I need to take this call but will only be a minute.”

  “Fine, but please hurry. I don’t have much time.” He huffed as he averted eye contact, keeping his sights upon the majestic and obscenely expensive prototypes. She turned her back, her heels clicking noisily along the floor as she carted herself away, out of earshot of any wandering eavesdroppers in the vast warehouse.

  “I’ve asked you to not call me during working hours unless it is an emergency,” she began, not wasting a second with the unceremonious greeting. She’d had about enough of Jackson, and had made that clear without a shadow of a doubt; however, he still pushed against her clearly defined boundaries as if they were designed to be overthrown, stomped on, and pulverized.

  “Look, I need you to keep the kids this weekend,” he panted, as if his mere call was a favor. She could envision the man twirling about in his oversized leather chair behind his desk, the big window to his back, showcasing all of Manhattan as if he were some urban God. “Something has come up.”