by Claire Adams
Ash hands me my duffel bag when we get up to the fence and I toss it, trying to get it over the fence, but the bottom catches a couple of barbs and just kind of dangles there. I can worry about that once I’m on the other side, though.
We get through and I climb up the fence a little to get a good angle on my duffle bag, but still end up tearing a long line out of the bottom of it.
I don’t care. Today, I am calm, clear.
Finding that kind of peace was a little difficult earlier when I got Dr. Sadler to tell me exactly how she knew so many specifics about my life. Honestly, I was expecting her to say something about her years of training and how she can spot pain a mile away. I didn’t expect her to tell me that she likes to keep a private investigator on the payroll to look into new clients.
Her explanation was that those who drop out of therapy early are usually in the first few weeks. If they can get past that point in the first session, everyone’s happy. That’s what she said. “Everyone’s happy.”
What a loon.
Still, that loon does give advice I’m actually willing to take and she’s bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, so I left her office without calling the cops.
As we approach the building, I’m starting to get a little nervous that we haven’t seen anyone. Usually, there are a couple of guys standing outside with a cigarette, but I’m not even seeing a bouncer at the only door on this side of the building.
As we get a little closer, I can start to hear voices coming from inside the building and the adrenaline starts.
If I can beat Furyk, I have a chance to win this whole thing. I don’t know who I’d be going up against in the final, but from everything I’ve heard, Furyk’s really the only guy on the scene that might be able to take me down.
We get to the door and Ash tries the knob, as I’m now cradling my duffel bag, trying to make sure nothing falls out of it.
It’s locked.
“What do we do?” she asks. “Should we try the front?”
“I don’t think they’d go through all this trouble only to have the entrance facing the road,” I tell her.
“What should we do then?” she asks again.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we could knock,” I tell her.
Ash tilts her head a little to one side, peering at me before turning back toward the door. She knocks.
The door opens a crack and a voice says, “What’s the password?”
Ash turns toward me, mouthing, “Password?”
“There is no password, dickhead,” I respond. “Are you going to let us in or what?”
Believe it or not, that’s the password.
The door opens the rest of the way and Big D comes into view.
“Oh hey, Ellis, glad you could make it,” he says.
“I didn’t know they tapped you for this,” I tell him. “Couldn’t find anyone better, huh?”
“That hasn’t stopped them from trying,” D says, extending a fist for a bump.
My hands are full, but Ash is kind enough to reciprocate the gesture for me. Big D just smiles and moves to one side.
“I’d watch that Furyk guy,” D says. “I’ve never seen him fight before, but I’ve heard the stories.”
“Is he here?” I ask as Ash and I make our way through the doorway and into the large, empty space that is the inside of the building.
“Yeah,” D says. “At least I think he was the one surrounded by people wearing shirts with his last name on the back of them.”
“How tacky,” Ash says.
D smiles big, saying, “Now I remember you. How’ve you been, girl?”
“Logan here yet?” I ask.
D’s not listening, though. He’s taken Ash’s hand and now he’s kissing the back of it like he’s James Bond or something.
“Flirt with someone else for a minute,” I tell him. “Where’s Logan?”
“He’s here somewhere,” D answers, not even acting like he’s going to look at me while he says it. “He’s pretty pissed at you, bro.”
“What?” I ask. “Why?”
“Ellis!” that booming voice comes, making my question redundant. “What the hell man? I haven’t seen you all week. I thought you weren’t going to show.”
Logan’s coming toward me. He’s not smiling.
“Seriously,” he says. “You think you can just come in here after sitting on your ass all week and take on someone like Furyk? Are you trying to throw this match?”
“Do you have any actual advice or did you just want to bitch at me for a while before the fight?” I ask.
“You’re right,” Logan says, lowering his head. He adds mystically, “The fight comes first.”
Logan tells me what he can about Furyk, though it’s not much. The thing the guy’s most well-known for is his stamina, something I’m sure I’m lacking after taking so much time away from training this last week.
Ash and I hold hands as we make our way through the crowd. I’m occasionally stopped by random guys from my pit, who each has a different, often contradictory, opinion of how I should go into the fight.
After a while, we head toward the back of the crowd and I quickly change from my street clothes to my trunks.
“I’ll never understand how guys can be so comfortable quite literally changing in front of a crowd of people,” Ash says.
“Just one of those things, I guess,” I answer.
“All right, all right, all right!” some guy with an annoying voice bellows from the center of the now massive group. “We’re here for the semi-finals. First up, we’ve got the strawweights. Chelsea! Johnson! You’re up!”
“You’re a featherweight, right?” Ash asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Do you want to know the weight classes?”
She looks back at me with a smirk, and I take it that’s a “no.”
Two guys who are nothing but rib, muscle and scar tissue make their way to the middle and we’re off and running. The fight goes on for quite a while, and by the end of it, I’m not entirely sure who won because hands are coming to rest on my shoulders.
I’m up next.
The hands belong to Logan and a couple other guys from my pit, though Ash joins in when she deciphers what’s going on.
“Come on now,” Logan says behind me. “Nothing but clear thoughts, hard punches and kicks that’ll make what’s-his-name think he’s being beaten with an aluminum bat. Keep moving in there. Don’t let him get you pinned down. You’re a striker. Keep him on his feet.”
The next voice, surprisingly, is Tom’s. “You know I don’t know as much about fighting as I do about patching you guys up afterward, but stay out of your head,” the medic says. “You’ve got this thing.”
“Chelsea gets beat down in the fourth and you know that’s gotta hurt!” whoever they touched to be the announcer says from the middle of the crowd. “Next up, we’ve got featherweights, Furyk and Ellis. Let’s do this!”
The hands on my shoulders patting me and shaking me, and I look over to Ash, asking, “Do you have any advice before I get in there?”
She shrugs and shakes her head. “Keep your guard up,” she says. It might have been a bit more helpful if she didn’t tack the words, “Whatever that means,” onto the end.
I give her a quick kiss and make my way through the crowd. By the time I get to the circle in the middle, Furyk’s already there waiting for me. It looks like he brought some friends, too, because there are six or seven guys around the front of the crowd wearing “Mitch’s Bitches” t-shirts.
It bodes well for me that he’s the cocky type. It bodes less well for me that he can back it up.
He’s not much to look at; if anything, he looks a little doughy, but I’m not going to let that lead me into underestimating him. Hearing about anyone in the underground scene who’s not in your pit is rare. It only happens if someone’s either really humiliated themselves, or built up such a reputation that even the usual codes of secrecy can’t keep people from talkin
g about it.
“All right, you guys know the rules,” the unofficial official starts. “I tell you to stop, you stop; now let’s do this!”
He claps his hands and we touch gloves.
The match starts and Furyk hits me with a quick jab to the chest. It’s a psychological move than a blow meant to cause damage. He’s telling me I can’t stop him.
I counter with a shin kick to his thigh and he backs off a bit. We circle each other.
He comes back in with a left hook, but I deflect it with my forearm, countering again with the same shin kick to his thigh.
Now he knows he can’t stop me, either.
His first real punch catches me just below the rib cage, and it’s a lot more than I was expecting. I wince and push him just far enough away from me to throw a counter punch, but he ducks it easily.
He comes at me with a knee, glancing against my left side, but I counter before he’s returned the leg, my shin going hard into his stationary calf.
His foot comes down and he takes a small step back before regaining his balance. He looks totally unfazed.
We’re still feeling each other out when the first round comes to a close.
So far, I’m still feeling pretty good, though I’m a bit more tired than I should be after that kind of round. I’m expecting Logan to come over and tell me all the things he thinks I’m doing wrong, but he just hands me a water bottle and says, “Keep it up. Don’t let him fool you, he’s not as comfortable on his feet as you are.”
I nod and hand the water back to him after taking a few quick sips from it.
Round two starts.
He hits me with a hard kick to the head and I’m staggered a moment, not quite sure which way is up and which is the other one. I forget its name.
Furyk moves in, trying to get close enough for a grapple and possible takedown, but I throw a quick left to back him up. I didn’t expect the blow to land, but it does and with a sick cracking sound as his head snaps back and he falls stiff to the ground.
For a moment, I feel about as stunned as Furyk is, but a second later, I’m on top of him with my ground-and-pound game until the official stops the fight a moment later to a loud, almost even mix of cheers and booing.
I can’t believe that just happened.
The way he clocked me to begin the round, I thought I was on my way out, but it looks like “Mitch’s Bitches” are going to have to help the guy out of the building.
Still, I’m unsteady on my feet as I walk to the edge of the crowd and wrap my sweaty, though surprisingly unbloodied, self around her. It doesn’t take her long to realize it’s not just an affectionate gesture. I’m having trouble staying up.
“Let’s get you out of here,” she says. “Logan!” she calls out loudly, though he’s standing right behind her.
“You need Tom?” Logan asks.
“I’m fine,” I answer. “I just need to walk it off.”
“I’ll be honest, man,” Logan says. “When that kick landed, I thought you were done.”
“You and me both,” I tell him and release my grip on Ash, immediately stumbling.
Ash and Logan both reach out and grab me. Putting one of my arms around each of their shoulders, they walk me to the door of the building.
“I’ve got to stay,” Logan says. “Do you think you two can make it to your car all right?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Ash says, though a couple of guys from the pit happen upon the scene and offer their assistance.
The way back to the car is more than a little embarrassing as these guys I barely know go on about how awesome they think I am. I appreciate being appreciated, but this is just awkward.
Finally, we get to the car and I convince the two guys that acted as my crutches on the walk that we can take it from here. They’re still standing there as we pull onto the road.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” she says. “I never should have let you walk that whole way. I should have had you wait at the building, and I could have picked you up out front.”
“I don’t think the guys would have appreciated the unsolicited advertisement,” I tell her. “I’m fine, really. I just got a little rocked, that’s all.”
“Still,” she says, “I think we should get you checked out just to be on the safe side. Your pupils are round and responsive, but you didn’t see the kick from where I was standing. I’m surprised you still had a head when he dropped the leg.”
“I probably should have changed first,” I tell her as my sweaty back sticks to her faux-leather seats.
“Put on a shirt when we get to the hospital,” she says. “Other than that, don’t worry about it. How are you feeling? Are you nauseated at all? Is there any lightheadedness or confusion?”
“Ash,” I tell her, “I’m fine.”
“What’s your birthday?” she asks.
“April twelfth of ninety-five,” I tell her.
“What’s my birthday?” she asks.
Uh-oh.
“Mason?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Uh, it’s in the summer, I know that,” I start.
“Nope,” she says. “We’re going to the hospital.”
I protest a little further, but it’s no use. Her mind is made up and it’s not like I have anything else planned for tonight.
When we get to the hospital, I’m still trying to remember whether Ash ever actually told me her birthday, or if she just brought it up because she knew it would get me to go to the hospital.
I’m not going to ask. I may have just gotten kicked in the head with enough force to scramble a watermelon, but I’m not stupid.
We walk into the emergency room to find it packed, though there is a single empty seat between a clearly drunk man with a sandwich bag full of ice against his forehead and an elderly woman who’s at least as involved in her cellphone as any teenager I’ve ever seen.
We get checked in and then we wait. Ash and I chat and joke, but mostly we wait.
Ash insists I keep the seat between vodka-breath and the aging social-network-butterfly.
While she’s standing there with crossed arms talking to me, a doctor walks up to her, saying, “Ashley Butcher?”
Ash turns, and I’m expecting some kind of row, but when she finds the source of the voice, she smiles.
“Dr. Templeton,” Ash says and then turns to me. “Mason, this is one of my professors, Dr. Templeton.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say. “I would get up, but I’ve been informed that doing so would be bad for my health.”
I extend a hand. The doctor just looks down at it and gives a face like she just caught a whiff of rotten eggs before she turns back to Ash.
“What brings you to the ER?” the doctor asks.
“I’m here with my boyfriend,” Ash answers. “He got a little knocked around and I just want to make sure he’s all right before I take him home.”
“Did you call the police?” the doctor asks.
Ash and I chuckle. “No,” Ash says, explaining, “it was a competition thing.”
“Ah,” the doctor says, glancing at my trunks. “A person must be pretty stupid to want to go out and get beat up for a living,” Dr. Templeton says.
My eyes go wide, but I don’t say anything. Ash, on the other hand…
“Excuse me?” she asks. “He’s not stupid. The whole thing used to kind of freak me out, too, but a lot of work and skill go into it.”
This seems like one of those times when I should just not say anything. If the doc says something rude about Ash, I’ll join the conversation, but I’d rather not jump on the grenade if I don’t have to.
“Skill?” the very annoying doctor I hope is nowhere near my treatment asks. “How much skill does it take to beat the life out of someone? It’s barbarism and nothing more.”
“It was nice to see you,” Ash says with a sneer. “I’ll be sure to take someone else’s class next semester.”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” the doctor
says. “I’m sure you didn’t decide to go out with him for his brains.”
“Start walking,” Ash says and my eyes are wide again. I know that stance. I know the look in Ash’s eyes. I even recognize the breathing pattern as her chest rises and falls.
She’s ready to throw down. If that doctor has any brains in her own head, she’ll take Ash’s advice and start walking.
The doctor opens her mouth, but closes it just as fast. She turns on her heel and walks off.
Ash paces a little in front of me, and I’m chuckling. “That was pretty hot,” I tell her, “just sayin’.”
“Can you believe that?” she asks. “I get that she thinks we can be a little casual because I took her stupid class, but can you believe she’d act that way?”
“Don’t let it ruin your day,” I tell her. “I get that sort of stuff pretty often when I go to hospitals.”
“It just makes me so mad!” Ash announces, still pacing.
The drunk guy next to me is trying to look in as different a direction as possible.
“Hey,” I tell her. “If you ever want to start getting into MMA yourself, I know a lot of good people that’ll help you get on the right track.”
“You’re funny,” Ash says without smiling.
“Ellis!” a nurse calls out from across the room. “Mason Ellis?”
“Right here,” Ash answers for me and we follow the nurse into the little room to take my vitals.
The nurse doesn’t ask anything, she just gives commands. “Tell me what brings you in,” she says. “Get on the scale.”
I’m her dancing bear for a few minutes and we get through the intake process. The nurse leads me back to a room and I lie down on the bed, patting the mattress next to me as I look up at Ash.
To my surprise, she actually climbs onto the bed next to me and lies down.
“You know something?” she asks.
“What’s that?” I return.
“Never mind,” she says.
I look at her. “What’s on your mind?” I ask.
“Oh, now’s not the right time,” she says.
I want to press her more, but the curtain opens in front of me and a middle-aged doctor in blue scrubs comes to the side of the bed.
“Mason, what’s seems to be the trouble today?” the doctor asks looking at his clipboard.