by Shey Stahl
“Did they argue a lot?”
“Yep. And I sorta felt, even as young as I was, it was my responsibility to keep them from killing each other. I remember when my dad put his fist through a wall over her, and the fear in her eyes.” Maybe he wanted to, when lit, but he was a good man and my mother pushed his buttons regularly. I used to get so mad at her and think to myself, leave him alone and he won’t get mad.
But then I remembered he was unfaithful and she only wanted him to love her in ways a man should love his wife. She wasn’t to blame for that. As a child, I couldn’t see it.
“Did he hit her?”
“No, never. At least I don’t think he did. He was never physical with anyone unless he was in the ring. He was gentle and caring. If you met him on the street, you would have never expected he beat the shit out of grown men for a living.”
Tallan sighed. “I don’t understand how she could leave you.”
For the first few weeks after she left, I remember thinking that too. I was her only son. Did she not love me enough to stay? “I think she knew if she tried to force me to leave him, I would have resented her for it. There was no way I could have ever left him alone.”
In the parking lot of the assisted living center, I looked over at Tallan. “I’m gonna run in and get him real quick.”
Tallan nodded. “I’ll wait here so it doesn’t confuse him.”
Though I’d taken Tallan on a date already, it was a hell of a lot different having my father there. I wondered if he would remember her, and not me. But then again, his memory of the years leading up to his stroke had been erased, and he could remember present day.
Aside from me. I would never understand why.
“Is he ready?” I asked Kathy at the front desk, signing my dad out for the night.
She smiled and tipped her head to the right. “He’s waiting for the boy.”
The boy.
Why can’t I be Destry?
Or even D-man. His nickname for me when I was younger. Now I was the boy. I guess it was better than asshole, which was what he called Uncle Danny.
Dad was in his wheel chair, staring out the window with a vacant look on his face, resting his head in his large hand. Walking up to him, I placed my hand lightly on his back. “Hey, Pops, you ready for dinner?”
His hand dropped at the sound of my voice and he looked up at me. Though the blue was familiar, everything about him seemed so distant these days. I couldn’t even explain it. It was like looking at a photograph of him that had aged drastically in the years since his stroke.
“Boy, what are you doing here?”
His words ripped at my chest, tearing open wounds that would never heal. Tears stung my eyes. “I’m springing you from the joint for the evening. We’re going to dinner.”
“Ah, that’s sounds great.” His eyes lit up with a happiness I hadn’t seen in a long fucking time. “The food in here is fucking awful on Wednesday’s.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Well, it’s Monday, but that’s okay.”
He blinked with confusion. “Oh, hmmm. Must’ve got my days messed up again.”
“No worries.” I gave a nod to the door. “Ready to go?”
“Do we have to take the bus?”
I reached for his hand to help him from the chair. He could still walk but with his hip bothering him lately, they wheeled him around. “We can take my car.”
“What kind of car do you have?”
I laughed as he stood, seeming fragile and twenty years older than he was. It killed me to remember the man with stone hands who held the world championship for ten consecutive years, who knocked out sixty-three men in the ring, most before the fifth round.
“I have a 67 Ford Fairlane GT. My dad and I restored it when I was in high school. I’ve kept it all these years.”
“A Ford man, huh. I think I’d like your dad. You should invite him out with us.”
Reaching for the door, sad eyes he didn’t understand met his. “Maybe some other time.”
The sun was beginning to set over the city, breaks of light peeking through clouds. If only those same clouds could provide clarity to my dad. Only I knew it never would.
We walked slowly, him dragging his left leg with a limp, and me holding his arm. “Look at that beauty,” he said, whistling at the car, or Tallan, who was standing beside the car now, chewing on her lip and twirling a piece of her hair.
“The car’s nice.”
“Boy.” He glared over at me, shaking his head. It reminded me of the look he gave me when I told him I didn’t want to finish school because I decided school wasn’t for me. I had no real reason back then. I didn’t want to go anymore. “I’m talking about the girl.”
Laughing, I nervously buried my hands in my pockets, wondering if he’d remember Tallan now from when she came to visit him. “Pops, this is Tallan.” Swallowing, I winked at Tallan. “My girlfriend.”
Dad slapped my shoulder. “Damn, boy,”
Tallan grinned, her eyes bright as if being accepted by my father meant something. In ways she’d never fully understand, it did. Dad’s stare made a sweep over the car. Watching carefully, pain hit my chest when I realized he didn’t remember anything about the car, or me, still. “Nice car. I think I had one of these at one time.”
I wanted to fuss over every detail, ask him if he remembered the four years it took us to restore it or the fact that I lost my virginity in this car, to which he inadvertently witnessed when he walked by the car in the garage and saw Stella and I in the backseat. Hopefully he didn’t remember that part.
Shivering from the cool night, Tallan wrapped her arms around herself and leaned into the side of my body when I draped my arm over her.
“So where are you taking me to dinner? I’m starving,” Dad noted, shuffling from foot to foot.
“I was thinking about the Novilhos Brazilian Steakhouse.”
His eyes lit up. “I haven’t had steak in years.”
That wasn’t entirely true. I took him out for steak on his birthday every year.
Tallan reached for the backdoor of the car and Dad frowned. “Oh, honey, you sit in the front with the boy. I’m more than happy to sit in the back.”
“There’s more leg room in the front,” Tallan assured him reaching for the handle of the door. “I don’t mind sitting in the back at all.”
I smiled at the two of them. “You go ahead and sit in the front, Pops. She’s right. There’s more leg room up there.”
I never wanted to make Tallan feel like she had to sit in the back, but it was a tad cramped back there and Dad was 6’ 3. He’d need the room.
The drive there was quiet as Dad spent most of the time taking in the city he was never in anymore. “Where are we?” he asked once, confusion clear in his wandering eyes.
“Bellevue.” My eyes drifted to Tallan’s in the mirror. She looked sympathetic, a tender smile and soft eyes.
At the restaurant, they seated us next to the window, our view the parking lot of the mall. I liked the steakhouse in Seattle better since it was on the water, but I didn’t want to take Dad that far tonight.
“Tallan, honey, what do you do?” Dad asked when drinks arrived.
Tallan, mid-drink, spilled drips of ice tea on her chin. It was cute and turned me on because though I didn’t want to, I thought of her the other night in the shower with my cum spilling from her lips.
Fuck, stop thinking about it. You’re only torturing yourself.
It seemed I was a glutton for punishment when it came to any thoughts surrounding Tallan.
Turning away from Tallan and to my dad, across from me, I tried to focus on anything but her.
Attempting to relax me, Tallan touched my thigh under the table. Stupid move. I had to actually remove it and I think she found some entertainment in it.
“I’m actually a journalist,” she replied, winking at me. “I write for blogs and newspapers, but I’d like to write a book someday.”
A fain
t grin crept over my face when I thought about Tallan writing her book, and what made her finally decided to do it. Me. I had enough of an impact on someone they wanted to write a book about me. Crazy to even entertain the idea.
“That’s a tough field to be in these days, isn’t it?” Dad asked.
Tallan took her napkin from her lap, wiping her chin once again, her other hand toying with the coin they give you for your food. “It’s certainly cutthroat. You either make it or you don’t, as with any profession.”
Gazing down at his water glass, Dad frowned. “I thought I could have beer when I was out of the prison.”
I knew Dad hated being there but I couldn’t care for him the way he needed. It killed me to have to put him in a home, but it was really best for him, and me.
Nodding to the waiter, I ordered a beer for him.
“You’re not having one, boy?” His brow raised and it reminded me of the time he caught me out late with Wes drinking shots of whiskey straight from the bottle when I was fourteen.
“No, I’m in training for a fight.”
Dad smiled and my heart sped. Would he remember? “Oh yeah? I used to box for years. Not sure I do anymore. My son is the heavyweight champion of the world. You’d probably know him.”
Tension rolled from me, and Tallan placed her hand on my thigh. I wanted to reassure her I was fine and this didn’t feel like a thousand knifes through my chest, but I couldn’t.
“I bet he’s good,” Tallan noted, her smile tugging at the corners of her mouth like a dirty secret.
The waiter returned and gave us the speech on how a Brazilian steakhouse worked. They gave you these coins on your table. One side was green, the other red. When you were ready for the waiters to come by with food, you turned it to green.
When finished, you flipped it over to red. They brought by prime choices of meat, anything from pork to chicken and some of the finest steak you’d ever taste.
Along with that were sides, mashed potatoes, green beans, basically anything you could imagine. I always left this place painfully full and ready to be rolled out. I didn’t imagine that evening would be any different. Despite being in training, I still ate what I wanted in order to maintain weight. I always struggled to compete in the heavyweight class, barely hovering over two hundred most of the time.
Tallan’s eyes widened at the meat they carved away and placed on her plate, a fine cut of ribeye steak. “I’m going to start working out with you again.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Laughing, I picked up my knife and fork. “You’d be able to get some good material for your book that way.”
She looked as if she was going to cry. I guess I’d never given her my final answer on whether she could write it, or not; I just thought she knew. Right then, I was telling her I would.
“Really? You’re actually going to let me write it?”
I nodded. “If anyone is going to tell my story, I want it to be you.”
I hoped she understood the meaning behind that. By the look in her eyes, full, wide, tears in the corner, she knew.
“Boy.” Dad kicked my shin. “Don’t make the girl cry.”
“He didn’t.” Tallan waved at him. “I’m always emotional. And he makes me happy.”
“That’s good. It’s hard to keep a woman happy.” The sadness in his eyes was like a punch to the stomach.
Tallan and I both noticed. Thankfully, she was quicker and twisted the conversation. “So James, tell me about your son Destry.”
She did that on purpose. In more ways than one.
“He’s the heavyweight champion of the world right now. A southpaw, but he’s still the heavyweight.” Dad gleamed, drinking his beer they set down in front of him.
“What’s wrong with southpaws?” Tallan asked, looking at the two of us.
“Pops here thinks southpaws should be drowned at birth.” I looked at my dad with a half-smile, watching his frown. “Or at least that’s the saying, right?”
“They should be,” Dad went on to say, leaning into the table. “Try fighting one when you’re an orthodox fighter. You never have a clean opening. But that’s what made Destry great.”
What made him great? I focused on the words made him.
No, Dad, what made me great was you and my desire to be great.
A stabbing feeling hit my chest with his words.
My dad went on for an hour about his son. The entire time I listened, I wondered if he ever knew me as a person. He spoke so highly of me, yet I never remembered him talking to me like that. I guessed I only saw the fatherly side, not the proud bragging dad.
I wanted to tell Tallan not to listen to a word this crazy bastard said, but everything he spoke of was true. My accomplishments, my need to be the best, I’d never witnessed it from his point of view.
If I had to give an example of what that felt like, I would describe it as going to a Super Bowl game. For the fans, you saw one side of that game, the spectator’s game. You watched the players from a distance and read the plays the way you saw them, high above the field with a different advantage point.
For the players, everything happened so much faster and your view wasn’t nearly as perspective. They saw what was right in their face, not twenty feet away.
TALLAN AND I said little on the drive back to Seattle after dropping my dad off. “Stay with me tonight?”
Her smile ignited my own. “Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?”
“I can’t make any promises.”
“Then yes.”
My heart beat speeded up when I thought about dinner tonight. “I think he likes you more than me.”
She smiled, holding my hand as we exited my car in the parking garage. “He probably does.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t even remember that I’m his son.” The truth burned in my lungs, words I wished I’d never said.
Tallan leaned in, knowing what I said stung and squeezed my hand. “I wouldn’t be sad by that, Destry. He remembers what’s important. You. Maybe not right now, but he still remembers you.”
She was right. But it didn’t matter to me what everyone said, the doctors, Tallan, nobody. There would always be a part of me that would never accept I’d lost him mentally. For so long after the stroke, I focused on how mean I was to him as a kid, as if that was what he remembered.
He didn’t, but I did. I became fixated on an argument we had over Stella when I was seventeen, smart-mouthed and headstrong.
“Where were you?”
It was the same shit every night. Always. Where were you? Who were you with?
Pops hated Stella, thought she was bad news for me.
I didn’t tell him I’d been with her tonight, not that I beat the shit out of some guy I found kissing her at a party he told me to stay away from.
James Stone knew everything. He never needed to ask. He was testing me. He’d always say, “Tell the truth and you’ll never have to remember what you said.”
Sure, that worked if you remembered the fucking truth in the first place. I didn’t remember the truth or the lie anymore. Did he?
“Don’t come crying to me when you end up in jail over pussy, Destry. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, don’t fight outside of the ring! Don’t end up like me and have nothing. I’m trying to teach you a damn lesson. You have so much potential and you’re fucking up.”
He was fucking preaching to me and I didn’t want to hear any of that bullshit. Not tonight or any other night for that matter. What I wanted to hear was my girl loved me and was thrilled with me defending her honor over some piece-of-shit kid looking to get his ass beat for kissing her.
“I hate you,” I seethed, my head in my hands, aggression and adrenaline shaking my breath and body. I still hadn’t come down from the high of the fight when he caught me outside the house, bloody-knuckled and barely standing. “I’ll never be like you. I’ll be better!”
As I dropped to the cold hard ground, gravel digging into my knees, he stared d
own at me like he was ten feet tall and bulletproof to my words. His smile was forced, weak around the edges as sadness masked his stony blue eyes. “That may be so, son, but you will respect me and my rules as long as you live here.”
The harshness of my words had never felt as bad as they did when I remembered his face that night and the defeat he wore so proudly, as though nothing I said would hurt as much as me making the same mistakes he did. Maybe the reason I held onto that memory was because of the fear. I feared that night because it was the only time I’d told him I hated him, and I could never take back those words.
A split occurs when one judge favors one boxer, the other judge favors the opposite boxer and the third judge scores the fight even. The fight is recorded as a draw on both boxers’ records.
I laced up my running shoes that morning as Tallan slowly came into the living room, sleepy-eyed and rubbing her face. For a moment, she stared at me like I’d lost my damn mind getting up so early to run. “Jesus, it’s like four in the morning.”
Looking up at her, I chuckled, dragging my hand down my jaw. Her hair was stuck to the side of her cheek where her drool had secured it in place. “Why are you up, honey?”
She wiped at her cheek, untangling the locks. “Can I come with you?”
I stood and walked over to her, leaving about a foot of space between us. “You look a little tired.”
She yawned, reaching forward to touch my bare stomach. “No, I’m good.”
Grasping her hands firmly before they went any further, I had to create some distance between us when my dick twitched, waking up and making my needs known. I wanted to take her back to bed and show her how good I could be to her. “I’m going for a five-mile run. Sure you can handle that?”
“On second thought… only farmers get up this early.”
“And fighters… people who commute, mothers… sometimes bakers.”
She looked at me blank faced and seemed prepared to smack me. “What?”
Smirking, I playfully swatted at her ass as I walked by to grab my shirt off the back of the couch. “I’m just sayin’ that some people do get up at four in the morning.”