The Housekeeper: Love, Death, and Prizefighting

by Josh Samman

  85.

  “All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day. You had a bad day once. Am I right? I know I am. You had a bad day, and everything changed.”

  -Alan Moore

  “You’re staying at the Conrad Hotel in Indianapolis. If I keep this up I’m adding ‘Josh Samman’s secretary’ to my resume,” she texted as I got off the plane. She’d assumed full wifey duties, booking my flights and hotel for a quick weekend to Indianapolis. Because we hadn’t gone to Boston, I was able to trade one flight for another. The UFC was holding tryouts for season 19 of The Ultimate Fighter, and I was accompanying two of my teammates to the tryouts, as I had Matt. Since he’d lost his bout to get on the previous season, Matt had accepted a regional fight, and stayed home to get ready for it.

  The three of us sat down and made the schedule for the following week. I was going to drive to Tallahassee on Monday and fly from there to Indianapolis. Isabel was going to ride with Matt to Tallahassee on Friday, to help Stephanie with work for a week before the big doctor’s appointment. We were going to share a car when Isabel got there, and she’d wanted to stay in South Florida while I was away. It would be her first time staying in our Hollywood home, alone. I asked her if she was sure that she didn’t want to come to Tallahassee with me, before my flight to Indianapolis.

  “I haven’t felt good lately. I like it better here, and this is my home now too. I want to stay with Juice, and get used to having to be here when you’re gone.” She’d wanted to feel strong since the shower incident days ago. She lightened the mood. “Just don’t go to Hopkins without me.” I told her I wouldn’t visit the sandwich spot without her. I wanted Isabel with me, but she needed to do whatever made her feel best.

  Juice was getting old and slow, and every time Isabel and I left for a trip, we’d spend a good 20 minutes coddling him, wondering if this time would be our last. Instead of Isabel and I adorning him with kisses, it was me loving on the two of them. I gave them both a long embrace before leaving.

  When I got to town, the first place I went was to dinner with friends. Everyone greeted me with the same question. Where’s Isabel? I began to wonder if I shouldn’t have put up more of a fight when asking her to come.

  I got to Indianapolis the next day, and my suspicion of whether I should’ve brought her turned into certainty, as I tried to pleat my pants for the first time in longer than I could remember. I was failing miserably, and the hiss and hum of the iron as I tried to replicate her magic reminded me how much I’d grown to rely on her for everyday things.

  We went to tryouts the following morning, and neither of my teammates made it. One didn’t speak English well enough for American broadcast television. The other was Luis Palomino, the MMA Masters fighter from my Bellator locker room years ago. He was a natural featherweight, and was too small for the goliaths there.

  There was a UFC event that night in Indianapolis that I took them to. Palomino’s excitement at his first UFC was fun to watch and eased the disappointment of them not making it. I was anxious to get back to Tallahassee though, and for Isabel to be there.

  I sat in the airport and waited at the gate for my plane to board. Isabel called while I was waiting.

  “Hey! How were the fights?”

  “They were alright. Kelvin won.” The kid that beat me on TUF had fought the previous night. I always rooted for everyone from season 17 to win, especially Kelvin. It meant I didn’t just shit the bed that day.

  “Glory to God,” she said, teasing me. She knew I thought it was silly when folks thanked God after winning, thinking He’s up there, picking and choosing fist fights.

  “Yeah, yeah. What are you doing?”

  “Watching Ray. Sorry, I know I was supposed to wait for you. I got a little bored.” We’d bought the movie together weeks ago, at the little CD shop around the corner that she’d found.

  She loved Ray Charles and was captivated by his tale. She was drawn to anyone’s story whose conflicts included struggles with drugs, or needles. She liked Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse, and had a natural affinity for those that died young.

  I gave her a hard time for watching it without me. She promised she would bring it to Tallahassee. The flight attendant called for boarding, and I told her I had to go. As I was trying to explain, the phone cut out.

  “I gotta go babe.” No response on the other end. “Hello?”

  Finally, I heard her voice. “Hello?”

  “Hey, babe. I gotta go. I love you.”

  “Josh?”

  “I said I love you. I’m boarding now.”

  “Josh?” She said again.

  “I’ll text you in a second.”

  “I can barely hear you.”

  I hung up in frustration. I’ll never not regret hanging up.

  My flight got in late that night, and I tried to call her, but she was asleep. She called me back in the morning, but then it was me that was asleep. When I woke up, she’d texted as well.

  Isabel: 10:08 AM- Hey babe. I think I’m just gonna drive my car today. Matt says he wants to train and I don’t wanna wait til this afternoon to leave.

  Josh: 10:12 AM- You sure?

  Isabel: 10:36 AM- Yeah. Plus Mitchell wants me to grab some Combat Night stuff on the way.

  Josh: 10:42 AM- K. Lemme know when you leave.

  Isabel: 2:30 PM- Ugh finally leaving

  Josh: 2:32 PM- You waited on Matt?

  Isabel: 2:35 PM- I tried. He was taking too long so I left

  Josh: 2:36 PM- How you feeling?

  Isabel: 2:55 PM- Tired. Ready to be there already

  Josh: 2:56 PM- I’m sorry. Excited to see you.

  Isabel: 2:59 PM- You too

  Isabel: 4:50 PM- Fuck!

  Josh: 4:50 PM- What??

  Isabel: 4:51 PM- I just got a speeding ticket

  Josh: 4:53 PM- You’re supposed to be able to charm your way out of those things.

  Isabel: 4:55 PM- He was an asshole

  Josh: 4:57 PM- Shitty day, I’m sorry.

  Isabel: 4:59 PM- I don’t feel good at all

  Isabel: 5:41 PM- What are you doing?

  Josh: 6:38 PM- Laying around. How far are you?

  Isabel: 6:41 PM- Three hours

  Isabel: 6:41 PM- Are you going to meet me at Steph’s?

  Josh: 6:42 PM- Yeah of course

  Isabel: 6:43 PM- :)

  Isabel: 7:08 PM- [screenshot of Ray Charles Pandora station, song: “L-O-V-E” by Nat King Cole]

  Josh: 7:11 PM- Aww :) They were playing it in the Atlanta airport yesterday and I thought of you

  Isabel: 8:31 PM- Getting on I-10 now- meet me at 10 PM sharp!

  Josh: 8:32 PM- Lol

  Isabel: 8:36 PM- For real baby! I want you to be there when I get there

  Josh: 8:56 PM- It’s raining really hard here

  Josh: 9:09 PM- What exit are you at?

  Josh: 9:21 PM- Wtf

  Josh: 9: 22 PM- Babe you’re scaring me

  86.

  “Have you heard from Isabel?” I called Mitchell. He was the last person to have seen her.

  “Not since she left a few hours ago. Why, what’s up?”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  I got on the road, going east on I-10. I was panicking, nearing 100 MPH, as I headed towards I-75. I’d been driving for 20 minutes, calling her the whole time, before thinking to contact Florida Highway Patrol for crash reports.

  “Florida Highway Patrol, how can I help you?”

  “Hi, I’m looking to see if you have any reported crashes on I-10, specifically a black Honda Civic headed westbound on I-10.”

  A brief moment of silence, and the sound of typing on a keyboard.

  “No sir, we don’t currently have any accidents on I-10.” I breathed a sigh of relief, reassured it was my imagination getting the best of me.

  “Thank you.” I hung up and turned around, headed back to Tallahassee.

  I thought m
aybe she’d dropped her phone in a cup of water, or left it at a gas station. I was expecting to see her car in Stephanie’s driveway as I pulled in. It wasn’t.

  My heart raced as I opened the door and rushed inside. Stephanie and Owen were sitting on the couch watching TV.

  “What’s wrong?” Stephanie said.

  “Have you talked to Isabel?”

  “Not in a while, she said she would be here around 10.”

  “I can’t get ahold of her. I called FHP and they said there were no crashes, but she hasn’t answered in a while.”

  “You know Isabel, she probably got sidetracked or something,” Owen said, flipping through channels. I was the only one worried at the moment. Owen and Stephanie both tried calling. No answer. Worst case scenarios rushed through my mind. I did my best to quiet them. It was quarter til 10, and there wasn’t much else we could do, so the three of us sat, and waited.

  I was distraught by 10:30, and trudged outside to call Larry, our referee and local police officer. I wanted to see if he could contact any of the surrounding counties for accidents that may have happened off the interstate. He said he would get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, I called FHP again to see if any new reports had come in.

  “Florida Highway Patrol, how can I help you?”

  “Hi, I called about an hour ago. I still haven’t heard back from the driver of the black Honda Civic.”

  “What’s the driver’s name?”

  “Isabel Monroe.”

  “One moment sir.”

  I waited for what seemed like forever. There were muffled voices on the other end of the phone. Finally, the operator came back.

  “Nothing on I-10 sir.” Relief, again, though only momentarily. “I think you may want to try the other dispatch, for I-75.” Something in the way she said it gave me a sharp pain in my stomach. “Please hold for transfer.” Back inside I waited.

  When I walked in, it was only Stephanie on the couch.

  “What did they say?” She asked. I pointed at the phone, signaling I was on hold.

  Finally, dispatch came back, a different one this time.

  “What is your relationship to Ms. Monroe?”

  Those fucking words.

  The pain in my stomach grew worse, and I got dizzy.

  “What do you mean what is my relation? What the fuck happened?” Any calmness I had was gone. My heart sank more with every hint.

  “I don’t want to panic you, but I need to know your relationship to Ms. Monroe to give you any more information.”

  My senses were nearing full meltdown when Stephanie’s phone rang. She pointed at who was calling, and I dropped my phone in terror as she answered hers.

  Cathy Monroe, Isabel’s stepmom was the contact name on Stephanie’s screen. Their conversation was short, and Stephanie just kept nodding, saying “okay” several times. Her demeanor gave me the last bit of comfort that I’d receive that night. Clearly something had happened, but it didn’t seem catastrophic, or she would have reacted differently, I thought.

  “We need to wake Owen up,” she said.

  “Wake up? When did he go to sleep, and what the hell did Cathy just say?”

  “It’s not good. We need to wake up Owen.”

  She stood and walked up the stairs with an eerie calmness as I frantically grabbed Stephanie’s phone to call Cathy back. I had never had a conversation with this woman in my life. She answered, sobbing, and chills ran down my spine.

  “Cathy..” I uttered. She cried harder, trying to catch her breath.

  “Oh honey, oh my God.” The emotion in her voice made my life flash before my eyes. “I don’t think I’m the person to tell you this.”

  Please, no, please, no, please, no, please.

  “Something’s happened.” Please, God, please God, no. It was the only time I’d ever asked Him for anything with any conviction.

  “There’s been an accident,” she tried again, knowing she was on the verge of delivering the news that would sink me to the depths of hell. She was sputtering and sniffling with every word. “There was an accident,” she said for the last time. Her voice wailed as she got the final words out. “And Isabel didn’t make it.”

  I screamed, a blood-curdling scream that I didn’t know I had in me. I threw the phone across the room, as if separating myself from the device that gave the news would make it disappear. I ran across the room and picked it back up so she could tell me it was unreal.

  “Please, no, please.” My desperation verbalized as I begged for Cathy to tell me it was a misunderstanding.

  “I’m so sorry Josh.” She repeated herself. “I’m so sorry Josh.”

  I screamed again, harder than before. It was a sledgehammer to my senses. I collapsed to the floor. My ears rang sharply as if the words had driven a stake through my brain. Time slowed. I screamed so loudly and painfully I felt as if my vocal chords were going to burst. I screamed, and cried, and screamed more. It was involuntary. It was pure agony, immeasurable anguish, worse than any pain I’d ever imagined.

  I laid there, crying on the kitchen floor, as Owen and Stephanie finally came downstairs. I will never forget him stepping over me as I laid curled on the tile. He didn’t say a word, just walked to his car, opened the door, and sat in the driver seat with his face in his hands.

  Everything in my head was immersed in a deafening silence, a ringing that took me off Earth. Time slowed worse. I was waiting to wake up at any moment.

  It’s not real.

  I convinced myself it was another of the million Honda Civics on the road.

  Not her.

  I don’t know how long it was before I picked myself off the floor. I kept telling myself it was a mistake, that she would pull up in the driveway any second. Alas, a pair of headlights made its way to the house.

  They were accompanied by a set of sirens. I realized Larry had come to the address he had on file for Isabel. I knew why he was there. It became difficult to breathe. It was the final nail in the coffin.

  Right behind him arrived Matt, in the car that Isabel should have been riding in, had we all stuck with the plan. That fact wasn’t lost on anyone. I remained in the kitchen, planning on how I was going to talk Larry out of the pistol on his hip, to blow myself out of this nightmare. Owen sat outside, screaming at Matt that it wasn’t his fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. He kept saying it. Matt was crying, apologizing, crying.

  Anna was the last to arrive, speeding into the driveway, nearly hitting all the cars in the way. She screeched to a halt and ran straight towards me, inside.

  “What is he doing here?!” She screamed, pointing at Matt. She cried and wailed with the same desperation I had.

  “What is he doing here without her?” She screamed again and slapped me as hard as she could. I stood in brutal tears, just shaking my head. She kept repeating herself.

  “She was supposed to ride with him. Somebody fucking tell me why he’s here without her.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I tried to hug her. She slapped me again, and again. Finally she stilled, and we crumpled to the floor, together. The person I loved more than anything had just been taken from me, and hers too. We sat there on the cold kitchen tile, holding each other, broken, ripped apart.

  I don’t remember much else. Time was slow, then fast, ear piercingly loud, then quiet. It was sharp and painful, then dark and numb. Everything was not how it was supposed to be. I could write from now until the end of time and never be able to capture the despair.

  It was the axis on which my whole life changed, and I knew only that things would never be the same.

  87.

  I woke up clutching a cold pillow instead of the warm, soft body I’d grown accustomed to. Crushed, defeated, heartbroken, shattered, destroyed; no words could ever describe what I felt as I woke up in the next morning. I continued where I left off the night before, screaming in terror, at what it was I was waking into. More than the immediate trauma of the night before, it was waking
up Saturday morning that may have been the worst moment of my life. I have many of these moments from this point on, wondering which was truly the most painful.

  Matt slept on the recliner next to me throughout the night. He did for several nights, and saw things no person should have to watch a friend go through. I laid on that couch for days, in a constant cycle of waking up, expecting to roll over and see Isabel’s face, only to remember what had happened. I screamed and cried, and ate as many Xanax as I could swallow, before escaping back into my periodic coma away from reality. Rinse and repeat, until I lost count. I don’t remember where they came from. I just remember making sure to go to sleep with them in my pocket so no one could take them from me.

  Friends texted and came by. Strangers wrote letters of condolence. I wouldn’t remember a thing any of them said until going back to read them, months later. I don’t recall much from around this time. It was a dark and blurry whirlwind. I remember Owen and Stephanie coming in and out throughout the week to make sure I hadn't died on their couch. I vaguely remember my mom coming by, making me get off the couch for an inebriated trip to the grocery store, before forfeiting and letting me retire back to my resting place. I remember Lance bringing a bottle of Crown, with not a single word of comfort, because what could anyone really say?

  The first bit of coherent memory I have was talking to one of her family members, although I couldn’t say who. Wyatt, or Cathy maybe, telling me we’d all be meeting at her uncle’s house to discuss funeral plans. Beth would be directing the memorial, I was told, and what an awful assignment that must have been for her.

  I didn’t know if it was two days after she died, three days, maybe a week. When I got the call, I didn’t know the last time I’d eaten, or taken a shower, or what it was I was even sticking around for.

  I made sure that I got to her uncle’s house that day. It was the first place I’d taken the initiative to get up and drive to. He lived in a grand wooden cabin and had a circular group of chairs set up in the living room. I took the nearest seat that was open. Aunts, uncles, brothers, grandparents, they were all there, awaiting the details of how the dream queen had fallen.