The Housekeeper: Love, Death, and Prizefighting

by Josh Samman

  He gave up the armbar on impact, just as he had the choke, but in a split second, he turned the fight in his favor again. He swept me and landed on top, landing heavy punches and elbows. For all of his grappling pedigree and athleticism, I knew that there was no way he was more conditioned than I was. I sat, and waited, and took his punches and elbows. He began breathing heavily, huffing and puffing with every labored inhalation.

  I returned to the fight once I felt him try to take a rest while on top, and dragged him into the position that I’d finished so many of my fights before. I forced my hands behind his head, and pummeled my knees into his body, sucking the energy from him with each strike. Every now and then I’d sneak one to the face. I knew if I didn’t finish him in this round, that the end would come in round two.

  I came back into the second, and his body language reinforced the notion that he was defeated. I put him immediately back into the same position and attacked with a barrage of knees to the body and head. Finally, he collapsed.

  Herb Dean pulled me off, and I grabbed my own head with both hands, in disbelief at what had just happened. I’d finally gotten a win in the UFC, six years and 364 days after my very first fight. An excited Jon Anik rushed into the cage, microphone in hand, ready for a post-fight interview. The crowd roared.

  Afterwards, I was escorted to the press area, passing all my friends who’d gotten floor seats. I gave Mitchell and Matt a giant hug and made my way to dozens of flashing cameras and reporters. I did a lengthy interview and finally returned to my locker room.

  “You scared us! You motherfucker!” My coaches were waiting. Daniel and Cesar were yelling, grinning ecstatically. I was happy to have made them proud. “Just finish it fast next time,” Joey said, accustomed to getting in and out quickly over the years.

  “I had to make it exciting,” I joked, as if I‘d planned to be nearly choked unconscious for the sake of entertainment. We relived the fight several times over and congratulated each other on a job well done.

  I showered, changed clothes, and headed back upstairs. 10,000 fans screamed as another fight raged in the background. It was all kind of background at this point, still high from the thrill of a stage that large.

  I saw my mom, with Jeff and my grandmother, all glowing, sitting in the place I could hear her screaming from in between rounds. There were a few empty seats next to them, but I couldn’t relax and enjoy the moment yet.

  “Where’s Isabel?” I asked my mom.

  “Looking for you!” She replied.

  I entered the hallway by the concessions, thick with friends and new fans who’d just watched me win my UFC debut. They were all asking for pictures, and offering congratulations. It was overwhelming. I tried to tune out the chatter and quiet the calls so I could text and make my way to her.

  I looked up from my phone to see what I’d been looking for; her standing there, hair in curls as she’d promised, in one of the outfits she’d sent me pictures of her modeling, a sexy white blouse tucked into short black shorts. I felt hypnotized as I always did when I looked at her, the same knees I’d just won with buckling as she ran towards me. We embraced for what seemed like ages. Friends snapped photos behind us to capture the moment. The rest of the world was secondary. None of them knew what it took for both of us to get there, what we’d went through, all the way from the beginning.

  We found our seats with my mom, Jeff, and Grandma. I sat there in the exact same position as I was in the night before; Isabel on my right, my mom on my left, the rest of my friends and family closeby, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever had a better moment in my life. I held their hands tightly, riding a wave of euphoria, reflecting on the reality of the situation. Isabel was clutching my hand a little tighter than usual and leaned over to whisper in my ear.

  “I’m so proud of you.”

  There was always something about her whispering to me that gave me chills. Maybe it was her saying things that only I could hear, that were meant only for me. I wanted to tell her it was her that I was thinking about in there, that it was her who inspired me to keep going. I thought it trite, and just gave her a kiss instead. I decided that of the 9,155 days I’d spent on Earth, this was the greatest.

  This is it. This is what it’s all about.

  64.

  March 1st, 2008

  After my house had burned to the ground, I was hungry for more destruction. I signed up for my third professional fight, and was across the ring from Miguel Shoffner, in my home state of Florida.

  Miguel wore a luchador mask during all of weigh-ins and press duties. It was the most bizarre thing I’d seen in the sport. I didn’t even know what his face looked like until I stepped into the ring, moments before the fight. I used the same double fisted attack on that face as I did in my last fight, breaking his jaw and orbital bones in a little over a minute.

  It didn’t make me feel better like I thought it would. I’d lost nearly everything I owned in the fire. Furniture, flat screens, computers, personal belongings; all burnt to a crisp or soaked and short-circuited by the fire hoses. My hand wraps made it out with some water damage, but beyond that, I had to start all the way over.

  The cause of the fire was an animal nest in the chimney sweep, they said. We hadn’t cleaned it from the year before. I’d never owned a fireplace before. I didn’t know, and our landlord had never told us to.

  The house was supposed to only be a six-month arrangement. We’d lived there for two years as the commercial construction got delayed quarter after quarter. Due the informal nature of the lease, we had no renters insurance. The owner of the house looked like he saw a ghost when he showed up. He didn’t care about the house being gone, he was worried about me suing him. I never did. He collected a nice insurance check from it and sold it to a hotel developer. In a cruel twist of fate, the name of the resort that went up in the place of my charred home was called Candlewood Suites, with a giant flame as the logo.

  My roommates and I moved into another home closer in town, but it wasn’t the same as Lakeshore. I didn’t own all the things in the house. I didn’t control the lease, and everything was smaller. I realized how territorial I was over Lakeshore, how much of my identity it had become.

  I lost friends that I thought were friends, as the social dynamic changed. I tried to have parties on the same scale, to keep the train going. The house we moved to was not suitable for that. There were neighbors everywhere. One of them was a cop. His name was Cleveland, and he was actually one of the only neighbors that didn’t mind the noise. He was a nice guy, reminded me of the dad from Family Matters.

  We had a party one night while Cleveland was on duty. The cops had already been by once, weeks prior, and told us to keep it down. This time, they were not so polite.

  They knocked first, and as soon Chris opened the door, they barged in. Everyone bolted out different exits. I was in my room downstairs, and could see the front door from my bed. I grabbed my weed and tried to hide it, as one cop ran towards me. There was no stopping it.

  They cleared the party, then tore my bedroom apart. I had a big bag of weed, and some Adderall that I didn’t even know was in a drawer. They cuffed me, and told me I was being charged with possession of marijuana with intent to sell, and possession of a controlled substance.

  As they were marching me out to the car, Cleveland came home and rushed over.

  “Hold on, hold on. Let’s go back inside.” They sat me on the porch with my hands behind my back, and went in the front yard to talk. The arresting officer came back and took the cuffs off.

  “Cleveland says you’re a good kid, that we should give you a break.” Relief washed over me like it never had before. It was short lived.

  “Although, you’re gonna have to do something for us.”

  65.

  “I just want one person I can rescue and I want one person who needs me. Who can't live without me. I want to be a hero, but not just one time.”

  -Chuck Palahniuk

  “I
didn’t want this weekend to end.” Isabel was on the phone, on the other side of the state. She was still housekeeping in Tallahassee but growing frustrated with her restaurant job. I was ready for her to drop everything and pack her stuff anyway. I had the feeling that one of her visits would end up being for good.

  She came back down and left her car at my house while we traveled. My truck had 190,000 miles on it but was still running strong. “I want to be there when it turns to 200,000,” she said. She liked things like that, made a wish whenever it was 11:11.

  We had a Combat Night in Tallahassee, and Isabel’s cousin was getting married the same weekend. On the way, we planned to stop and see my mom and Jeff, to stay with them in their humble RV in the woods. They had a small couch that pulled out and slept one comfortably, or two if one person acted like a blanket, as Isabel did.

  “You better put your phone down,” she said as I answered a text, driving north. “My mom would not be happy with you texting and driving. You have precious cargo in here, you know.”

  “I know. This shit is going to kill me one day.”

  “Don’t joke like that. Why the fuck would you say that? Give me your phone, I’ll text back whoever you’re talking to.”

  It was indicative of my past relationships maybe, my first inclination to say no. I’d never had a girlfriend I was comfortable giving my phone, should they see something they may not like. I thought about it for a second and realized it was a knee jerk reaction, that for once in my life I had someone that I hid nothing from. I handed her my phone and kept driving towards our destination, Ginnie Springs.

  She always handled radio duties. I’d never found a girl with such good taste in music. It was another thing I loved most about her. Old school R&B, soul, classic rock, hip hop, I felt like she was reading my mind at times. She liked everything I liked, and everything I disliked she changed before I got the chance to even ask her to.

  We arrived at the springs to an excited mom, and sick stepfather. My mom was chatty in, between adjusting Jeff’s drip line. He was accompanied by a big metal stand and IV bag that followed him around all day.

  I wasn’t sure of my mom’s condition. She never wanted to worry anyone. If she was in pain, she was doing a good job of hiding it. When we got there, her enthusiasm was welcoming. She had a whole list of activities for us to choose from. We could go eat lunch, or ride the 4-wheeler around the camp grounds, or go in a canoe on the springs, or just hang out and drink.

  Isabel’s doctor had recommended that we start to curb her drinking in anticipation of quitting entirely for the year that she’d be in treatment. Alcohol sparingly and in small doses was not harmful, although with each additional drink, her liver would suffer, and her chances of success lowered. The possibility that the treatment would fail terrified her only slightly more than the idea of having to be sober for a year. Neither of us enjoyed complete sobriety, and being with her was the only thing besides fight camps that had ever kept me clean.

  We decided to forego drinking that day, and take the canoe out on the springs. My mom and Jeff were working part time jobs as hosts of the park, so they were able to reserve and use the facilities’ amenities as they pleased.

  Mom and Jeff stayed behind as Isabel and I went out on the water. The springs were crystal clear, the weather beautiful. She paddled from the front the best she could while I did work from the back. There were a few mosquitos out, but as long as Isabel was around they bit her and not me. She was too sweet, I told her.

  “Being out here reminds me of my brothers,” she said of being outdoors, in the woods, on the water. At the time, Owen was in Tallahassee working as a vet tech for their dad’s office, still with Stephanie. Landon was a veterinarian, also in Tallahassee, priming to take over the family business. Wyatt, the middle brother, was the one I took to the most. It was because we were both Pisces, she’d tell me. He was finishing his final semesters at a large chiropractic school in Atlanta. Before all of that, they grew up in the woods, playing cowboys and Indians.

  “What do they think of me? Of us?” I asked her. They always made everyone feel liked, and it was hard to tell what their true feelings were. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had a full conversation with Landon in my life.

  “They know that you love me, and that you make me happy, and I think that’s all they care about.” I wasn’t sure if she was just saying that, or if she even knew how they felt, but I suppose that’s all they could’ve asked for anyway. It was a nice thought, whether it was true or not, that after all these years that I’d finally redeemed myself.

  “Things were a lot different not too long ago, remember,” she said. I did remember, and I knew many of her family members associated me with her recovery.

  “We’re going to see them in a few days anyway,” she told me. I had no idea that she’d wanted me to be included at her cousin’s wedding. The idea of her whole family at once was intimidating. She made fun of me for being nervous, never realizing what a daunting task it was to make a good impression.

  “I love your mom,” she said, changing the subject. “And Jeff. And them together. They are cute.” I didn’t know if “cute” was the word I would’ve chosen to describe their situation. I was scared for her, thinking he was going to drop dead at any moment.

  “He’s going to be fine,” she said, optimistic as always. “Your mom takes good care of him.” She did, and I knew she found purpose in it.

  “I want us to take care of each other like they do,” she said. “I want us to be old one day, and have lived through everything that we already have, and more. Can we..?”

  66.

  Spring, 2008

  The officer that had raided my room sat me down in the kitchen. He’d called another cop, the head of the vice unit, who was sitting across from me at my own table.

  “My name is Detective Pender.”

  He explained he ran a squad that used confidential informants to arrest drug suppliers in Tallahassee. He knew I wasn’t a large dealer, and he wanted to use me to get to people that were. He asked where I got all the weed from. I didn’t give him an answer. He acted as if he was going to re-cuff me, and the other officer came to the rescue.

  “Let’s give him a week.”

  I don’t know if that was a tactic they used, or if I was really on the verge of being taken to jail. They knew I’d been drinking, they told me, and couldn’t make a good decision right now. Detective Pender agreed to give me a week. He left me with his number and said that if I hadn’t called by next Saturday with a name I was willing to implicate with a wire, that they’d arrest me, and I’d become a felon.

  I avoided the concrete bed that night but woke up the next day with an uncertain future. The first thing I did was call the guy I’d gotten the bud from, and told him what happened. I’d cycled through several dealers by this point, some friends, some not so friendly. This one was somewhere in the middle. I owed him a couple thousand dollars, and he wouldn’t be getting it for a while. I wasn’t close with him, but I didn’t have it in me to set him up.

  He called the next day to tell me he thought I was lying. He said he had a friend in the department, who told him that there was no pending case on me. He made vague threats. I gave him Detective Pender’s number and told him he could call and ask if he’d like. I didn’t hear much after that.

  I got him off my back but didn’t know what to do about the police. I thought about trying to somehow give them the thug who’d robbed me at gunpoint. I hadn’t seen him since and didn’t know where to start.

  The days passed, and the deadline grew near. I prepared myself for life behind bars. I’d been through it before. I wasn’t afraid.

  On Wednesday, May 7th, 2008, a terrible thing happened. FSU student Rachel Morningstar Hoffman was killed in a drug sting gone wrong. The dealers targeted in the bust found the wire in Rachel’s purse, and shot and killed her.

  The tragedy was the talk of the town. The city was outraged, and TPD came under scrutiny for the operatio
n. Detective Pender was fired, and the vice unit disbanded. I never heard from any of them again.

  Rachel and I had a number of mutual friends, and I‘d never been in such a moral dilemma over how to feel about something. I was spared from a jail sentence, at the cost of someone’s life. I’d have rather gone to jail.

  Izzi and my roommates were the only ones that I told. The event rattled her. “That could’ve been you,” she reminded me, more than once. I tried not to think about it, to pretend it never happened.

  Around the same time, Izzi had her own run-in with the police. She was driving home from a party, and gotten a DUI. I remember the relief I felt that it wasn’t my place she was driving to, or from. That was one of my biggest fears, something happening to someone coming from my house.

  Whether it was coming from my party or another was irrelevant for her. She was still a senior in high school, months away from graduating. She got her license revoked, and had to rely on friends for rides everywhere.

  It wasn’t just a matter of convenience that was our undoing. After her DUI, things changed. Just like I had done several times in my life, she cut out the people that she thought were the source of her problems. For years, she used me as a way to rebel against the things that were expected of her, and she didn’t want to rebel anymore.

  67.

  “Heaven isn’t some place you go to when you die, it’s that moment in your life when you actually feel alive.”

  -Eyedea

  Back in Tallahassee with Isabel, I woke to a text from my old roommate, Chris. He echoed the sentiment that many others who had known me for years expressed. “Proud of you man. It is crazy, how you said you were going to do all this stuff years ago, marry that girl and fight in the UFC.”