by Josh Samman
It was her health struggles that were the reason for them leaving in the first place. They had a grand scheme, both of them leaving their comfortable jobs to sell their house to buy an RV and travel the nation. They had dozens of national parks planned for their voyage across the US, to set up shop at and enjoy the wilderness.
It was a lovely plan, one that I was excited for them for, until it all began to unhinge. When they left their jobs, it cancelled their health insurance, and not even a week later, days before they were set to embark, Jeff fell ill. He’d been a habitual smoker for 40 years, and his body had waited until the final hour to punish him for it. He developed a severe cough one morning, and decided to have it checked out before they departed. Within days, he was diagnosed with a rare respiratory infection, Mycobacterium Abscessus. There was little-known cure.
In an instant their plans were thwarted, reducing Jeff to a hospital bed at Shands in Gainesville. He was released shortly after, but relegated to outpatient care, with intravenous antibiotics for several months.
There were multiple factors at play, none of them good. Besides him being sick, neither of them had jobs, neither of them had health care, and they had no home except the RV they’d bought. Worst of all, Jeff did not quit smoking. He tried several times, but failed. It made me angry. What he decided to do with his lungs was his own decision, but I was relying on him to take care of my mom.
Their plans were impeded, but I refused to bail on mine. Miami bound I was, whether or not Isabel or my mother were happy about it. Isabel was not, I knew. Isabel wasn’t without a temper when she didn’t get things she wanted sometimes, and when she cancelled on a lunch date one day, I chalked it up to her throwing a fit. We were supposed to go to Hopkins, our favorite sandwich spot. She texted me minutes before we were to meet.
“Can we do this later?” she texted.
“Do what later?”
“Lunch. Or hanging out. Or whatever it is we’re doing.”
Whatever it is we’re doing stung.
“Okay..?”
“I’ll come by later.”
She did come by later. The first thing I noticed was a band-aid with a cotton ball on the inside of her forearm.
“What is all that about?” I said, pointing at her arm.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She’d left it on for a reason, but bailed at the last minute when it came to telling me why.
“Anything I need to know?”
“Yeah, but just not now please.”
“Yes there’s something I need to know, but you’re not going to tell me?”
“Can we just.. Later. Please.” I was usually one to badger. Something in her voice told me to stand down.
“Why do you love me?” She asked, suddenly. She didn’t sound like she was fishing for compliments, she sounded desperate for answers.
“What? Where is this coming from?”
“I wanted to know if you knew why you love me.”
I pondered for a moment to give her a thoughtful answer. A good explanation escaped me, and I made a mental note to work on it.
“I’ve always loved you. Why do you love me?”
“I’ve always loved you, too.” She said that because it was the kind thing to say. I didn’t know how true it was.
“Well, why now?”
“Because you saw value in me when I didn’t feel valuable.” She’d thought about her answer. She and I had an understanding of what was going on. We both knew that me sticking with her through her bullshit was a personal investment, and it was present on her mind. She didn’t want the whole thing to be in vain, for her to turn out to be fool’s gold. It was as if I was only one that had remembered the old Isabel. That was my best asset, it seemed.
The conversation was out of left field, and I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. I was leaving in a week for Miami and figured she was just unsure of everything.
“I’m sorry. I just worry about things,” she said when I pressed further. She was worried, and couldn’t hide it. “None of that matters, because you’re leaving soon anyway.”
“Well that’s being short sighted isn’t it? I’ll still see you for my birthday, right?” I was moving the first week of March, and we‘d planned to meet in Orlando on the 14th to go skydiving. My mom and I shared a birthday, and Isabel was joining us.
“Of course I still want to come,” she said. “I’m sorry for being negative.”
It wasn’t the send-off I expected, but I let it be. I tried to put the thought out of my mind, although intuition told me something was wrong.
50.
Winter, 2006
“It is a frightening thought, that in one fraction of a moment you can fall in the kind of love that takes a lifetime to get over.”
-Beau Taplin
After my first fight, I came back and celebrated for weeks. I'm not sure if it was the culture of a college town bleeding into younger ages in Tallahassee, or if every place in America was like that, but everyone my age partied, a lot.
By this point, I’d moved out of the first house with the two bus stop kids, and had a falling out with both. I’d deemed it better to put them in the past. Between training and partying, I’d lost Beth as well. I wasn’t good to her, and she moved on.
I moved into a better home, on a road called Lakeshore. The place was huge, and beautiful; 2,700 sq ft, on seven acres, with no neighbors in sight. I lived with a nerdy kid named Chris, and a revolving door of other roommates, one of whom’s uncle owned the house, and agreed to rent it to us temporarily until they demolished it for a commercial building. The kid moved out early, and I took over. The uncle charged me $500 a month, for the entire house.
It was an incredible thing to have at 18 years old. I’d paid rent in the last house with child support that my dad had been sending my mom. She didn’t want to tell him I’d moved out, and felt bad keeping it, so she gave it to me to help pay bills. Between that and financial aid, it wasn’t hard to support myself.
At Lakeshore, I charged my roommates a fair $300 a month, collected the bit off the top, and paid for anything else I needed with my new hustle; throwing house parties. I’d always coordinated our spring break trips, collecting money and making reservations for hotels. I had a knack for getting people together in one place. I enjoyed entertaining, and being the reason everyone was having fun.
My graduating class was still in high school. We used to have to wait for a friend’s parents to go out of town to throw parties, and we now had a spot all our own. It was more than just mine, it was something all of us in town shared. I was just the one to collect the money from it.
I invested in keg shells and taps. I bought ice luges, speakers, and outlandish party accessories. I bought a hot tub, a throwback to the above ground pool I’d wanted all those years ago.
I charged $5 a head to get in, and it became a thing. Because of the size of the land, and room for parking, it allowed us to have parties on a bigger scale than anyone had ever had. Halloween, New Years, any and every special occasion was brought in at Lakeshore.
Fighting, throwing parties, and hooking up with girls, that’s what I thought life was about at 18. We all did. Being the house where everyone went to hang out helped that. It was always the same cycle. I’d take a girl out for dates, lose interest in her, but continue sleeping with her.
I’d fought again and won. When I trained, I split my time between the MMA gym, Tallahassee Fight Club, and the local Gold’s Gym. I was sitting at the Gold’s smoothie bar with my friend Chris, when one day when two girls walked up. Chris was friends with both. I knew only one. The other girl I’d never seen, but couldn’t take my eyes off. I’d never had someone catch my attention so strongly. I got choked up trying to introduce myself.
“Hey, uh. I’m Josh.” I stuck my hand out and squeezed too tightly.
Smooth, dufus.
“I know who you are. My friends come to your parties, and my brother goes to your fights.” She fluttered her eyelas
hes a bit, breaking me down. I was nervous and did the first thing I could think of, inviting her over.
“Yeah? We were thinking of having people over tonight if you wanna come.” I hadn’t even asked her name yet.
“I’m not sure I can tonight. Maybe this weekend?”
I pulled out my cellphone and handed it to her. She cocked her head to the side, then finally shrugged her shoulders and began to type. She put her number in my phone, saved her contact, and handed it back to me. I looked down to see her name.
Izzi Monroe <3. The heart was a cute touch. I wondered who was putting the moves on who.
51.
I could smell the ocean as we got closer. I loved it. When we got off the interstate, white sand lined the sides of the roads, and I knew we were close. It had been a rollercoaster of a 24 hours, packing our whole house into the U-Haul, taking turns driving it in one fell swoop, all the way to South Florida.
I had emptied my bank account to get us somewhere to live. The whole $10,000 I had earned on The Ultimate Fighter was what I gave the real estate agent, to find us a house and pay for several months of rent in advance. It was the only way anyone would rent to three young kids from North Florida with no credit.
Our home was in Hollywood, Florida, a small beach town a few minutes from the coast, nestled between the more urban communities of Miami and Ft. Lauderdale. When we got there with the truck, it was the first time we’d actually been inside. We’d packed all of our stuff into the U-Haul quickly and unorganized, and things poured out the back when we opened the door.
Isabel had been calling the whole day, asking if I was there yet, and making me promise to send her pictures. I opened the front door with my phone out, camera rolling, documenting the first look at my new home.
Juice wagged his tail as he led the way. Brian and his dog, Athena, followed close behind. There was tile floor everywhere, all the way through the living room, into the kitchen, and eventually to a fenced-in backyard with a humble pool. I backtracked towards the bedrooms and found the master with an office leading into it. We’d decided before moving that I’d pay more for the bigger room and private bathroom.
The whole day was exciting. All three of us had lived in Tallahassee forever, and we were charged up about our unknown futures. I signed the paperwork with the landlord and began to get settled in. Part of my new life, as well as Matt’s, was training at a new gym, MMA Masters. Fighting in the UFC meant a rise in the level of competition, and a need to improve my skills if I wanted to remain successful. I had done well on the show, but I could not be having any more slip-ups like I did against Kelvin.
The new gym was a big adjustment from the roles Matt and I had been used to. For the last several years I’d been the coach, the leader, the one instructing others on techniques and training methods. In our new gym, I had equals and higher ups. I didn’t mind the change in dynamic. It was nice to have coaches teaching me new things, and training partners that challenged me.
After a long day of unpacking, rearranging, and sending pictures, I finally sat down to call Isabel.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“I love it. It’s perfect.”
“I can’t wait to see it. When can I come?”
She knew she could come anytime she wanted, although I wouldn’t end up seeing her again until Orlando. It would be a life changing event, as many of my junctions with her were. Until then, ignorance was bliss.
52.
Late Winter, 2006
“You alright dude?”
“I think I’m in love.”
“You know that’s Wyatt and Owen’s sister, right?”
Fuck.
“How would I know that?”
“She just told you her brother goes to your fights. And they have the same last name, dummy.”
“There’s a million Monroes in this town.”
“Yeah, and they’re all related.”
The family had a strong presence in Tallahassee, a captivating thing that people wanted to be a part of. Of all the positive traits, they were defined most by thick moral fiber, and strength of character. They were the kind of folks that never said a bad thing about anyone, wouldn't join in if someone was getting trashed on. They'd stick up for people, and give everyone the benefit of the doubt.
Owen and I had hung out a few times while young, although I never realized he had a little sister. We’d since went to high school together before I’d dropped out. I hung out more with their middle brother Wyatt, and while I wasn’t particularly close to either, I looked up to them, and their oldest brother Landon. Everyone that knew them did.
She was the girliest girl to have ever had three brothers. I was enamored by her beauty but hated the fact that she was their sister. She wasn’t someone I wanted to lust over. I didn’t call. She waltzed into the house a few days later with her friends.
“Dick move, getting a girl’s number and not calling,” she said. She’d later tell me that it got under her skin, the first in a long game of push and pull.
Izzi was flawless, the dreamiest girl I’d ever met. She radiated warmth and depth with her presence, and southern charm that could work a room with grace like I’d never seen. There might as well not have been anyone else there. Anybody that grew up in Tallahassee could attest to it. I was smitten.
She came around often. She helped us throw parties, stopping by beforehand to clean the house, and drink with us before everyone else got there. She called herself my sidekick. Izzi was amazing at cleaning, even then. Her first stepmom used to drag her around and force Izzi do the brunt of her housekeeping duties, and her experience showed.
She’d invite all the kids from her class, I’d invite mine, and between the two of us, we knew everyone in town. I took her on dates when we weren’t partying. Our first was to a sushi restaurant. Early in our relationship, I would never try to hook up with her. I’d finally found somebody that I wanted to treat right. I knew that she was different than other girls.
She’d heard my reputation before I met her. Like not calling, she’d later tell me not trying to be sexual with her made her wonder what was wrong, as if the others I’d been with were more adequate. It’s hard now to look back and comprehend what a disconnect we had on how we felt about each other.
There were other prominent families in town. There were the Antonellies, up to their Italian noses with money and privilege. There were the Braffords, a tribe of folks who’d had nothing but daughters. There were the Hosfords and Hunts, who the Monroes were closest with, and spent all their weekends at the beach.
The youngest of all the family’s siblings were around Izzi’s age. She wasn’t just the youngest of the siblings, she was the youngest of cousins too. She did what we’d all done our whole lives; take after the habits of the kids we looked up to. We were all trying to act older than we really were, and she was the best at it.
Wyatt had once told me he was nine years old when he first smoked weed, and Izzi hadn’t been much older. She partied, hard, in a way that made Izzi her mother’s daughter. She had a lifetime of keeping up with the boys. Substance consumption became her biggest conflict early in life.
Just one more. It was what we had in common most.
53.
"Isn't that what being young is about? Being the one person in history who lives forever?"
-Vanilla Sky
We were in the hotel room, minutes before my 25th birthday. We’d both gotten to Orlando late in the evening. She sat there, fiddling with a hair tie, not making eye contact. A tear ran down one side of her face as she stared at the floor, not sure where to begin.
I had no idea what was going on. I had so many other things happening that I’d forgotten about her odd behavior that day weeks before. Her single tear grew to a steady stream, and she stumbled...
“I’m not sure how to tell you this.”
I had never gotten a girl pregnant before. This was kind of how I’d imagined it going. I wish that would’ve been the news.
“I have Hepatitis.” She uttered, no longer able to contain it. I sat in silence, stunned. My jaw felt like it dropped to the floor. She filled the silence. “Hepatitis C.” I was frozen in disbelief. I blew up.
“What the fuck Isabel?! How long have you known?”
“Only a few weeks. That day. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
The emotions were creating a crescendo as I thought about what I was hearing. Not only was Hepatitis a life-threatening illness, it was also a career suicide for me. Some of the only requirements for me to fight professionally were clean piss and clean blood, meaning no communicable illnesses.
“You know I could never fight again if you got me sick? You know that don’t you?”
I had worked my whole career towards one goal: fighting in the UFC, trying to build a legacy in the sport to be proud of. I had other ways of making a living, but competing was my passion, and one I’d invested an awful lot of my life towards. I thought of the countless hours of sacrifice I’d put into it, and it made me upset that she’d been careless with that, even if she didn’t know.
She cried harder. She explained to me the best she could between drying her cheeks and catching her breath. No, she didn’t know, she pleaded. She didn’t want to hurt anyone else, she said. She asked if I wanted her to leave. Her bags were still packed.
Before that day, it had crossed my mind before, the chance that she’d been infected sharing needles. I knew that when she began to prefer her drugs intravenously, the risk for diseases skyrocketed. I knew she’d been through these things, and I’d tried to hush them in my mind for months, only to have them finally bubble to the surface.
She sat there bawling, her face in her hands. I didn’t know what to do. I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen Isabel cry without restraint. Seven years, and through everything, I couldn’t remember her ever shedding more than a tear. There she was, sobbing on a hotel bed.