FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME

by Scott Hildreth

  “This little motherfucker’s become a problem. I know you talk to people on it. I know you do. Talk to people and read that fuckin’ filth,” he tossed it onto the asphalt beside his feet.

  “Josh, no. Please,” I begged.

  “What, afraid you ain’t gonna be able to reach your fuckin’ boyfriend? You little whore,” he snapped as he raised his boot over the Kindle.

  I covered my eyes as he held his boot over the Kindle. I couldn’t stand to watch whatever he was going to do.

  “Josh, no. I don’t have a boyfriend. And I don’t talk to people with it. It’s a Kindle. I just use it to read. It’s my only way to escape,” I sobbed as I moved my hands from my eyes.

  “Escape? What the fuck you gotta escape from? See? You always dig a hole,” he held his boot over the Kindle, raised his eyebrows, and spit again.

  “It’s that mouth Kace. It’s always getting’ you in trouble. See? Now I gotta do this, and it’s your fault. You did it, not me,” he said as he stomped the screen of the Kindle with his boot.

  As he twisted his heel into the shattered screen he shook his head.

  “I was gonna scare ya and give it back. But hell no, you had to pop off and get lippy. Hell, I’d have liked to had a good night and a fuckin’ movie together. You just don’t seem to give a fuck about my feelings, Kace,” he said as he bent down to pick up the smashed Kindle.

  I looked down and wiped the tears from my face.

  “Everything alright?” an unfamiliar voice asked from my right side.

  I wiped my face and looked up through the opened truck door.

  Ohmygod.

  And there he stood.

  In faded jeans, black boots, dark hair, sunglasses, and a black hoodie he stood outside the truck door. He had his hands in his hoodie pockets and the hood half over his head. He quickly alternated glances between Josh and I. Slowly he pulled his hand from his pockets and removed his sunglasses. As he turned my direction his steel grey eyes met mine and he paused. I wanted him to help me. Save me from Josh and take me away.

  But.

  I said nothing. I only stared.

  His face was covered in a few days growth of beard. He was absolutely gorgeous. His jaw was tight and his facial features distinct. And. Those. Eyes.

  “Ain’t nobody talkin’ to you, slick,” Josh said.

  Slowly and methodically, the stranger turned from facing me to face Josh.

  “Well, I was addressing both of you, asshole. But I suppose now I’m speaking to her. Are you alright?” his tone changed from stern to pleasant and soft as he turned from Josh to face me again.

  He studied my face. Although his mouth didn’t form one, his eyes smiled. The temperature in the truck rose a hundred degrees. I melted into my seat. He was absolutely gorgeous, just like I imagined my book boyfriends.

  Take me with you, please. Save me.

  I nodded.

  “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

  “Kace,” Josh said flatly.

  Quickly, he turned and looked at Josh. As he stood and stared, waiting for Josh to speak, Josh looked down at the ground and remained quiet. The stranger slowly turned back toward me.

  I nodded.

  The stranger turned to Josh, who was holding the smashed Kindle in his hand.

  “Ain’t your business, slick,” Josh said as he slowly looked up from the ground.

  “Well, as I was getting off my bike, I heard the word whore. I looked up and watched you stomping on that,” the stranger said as he pointed to my smashed Kindle.

  “I don’t let men abuse women in my presence. So, it is kind of my business. And my name isn’t slick, asshole,” the stranger said angrily.

  “We just had a disagreement. Ain’t nobody getting’ abused here,” Josh said softly as he looked down at the surface of the parking lot.

  “Well, I suppose as long as you’re done being an asshole, and she’s okay,” the stranger paused and looked into the truck.

  “It’s no longer my business,” the stranger said as he walked around Josh slowly. His stride was unique. He had a certain way of walking that made him very intriguing.

  His steel grey eyes never left Josh.

  “Well, she was bein’ disrespectful. We got in a pissin’ match. Like I said, ain’t nothin’ to do with you,” Josh said to the stranger as he slowly walked around the truck.

  As Josh opened the door to the truck, the stranger leaned onto the edge of the Red Box and focused on me. As he waited for us to back up, he put his sunglasses back on. His right hand had tattooed knuckles.

  Squeeeeee!

  Josh tossed the crushed Kindle at me as he got in the truck.

  “What the fuck you lookin’ at? And why the fuck is he starin’ at you?” Josh asked as he started the truck.

  As I admired the stranger, I was speechless. I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Fuckin’asshole. I shoulda punched his ass,” Josh snarled as he began to back the truck out of the parking spot.

  I would have loved to see you try that.

  As he put the truck in gear and started pulling forward, I looked out the window at the stranger and silently mouthed the words…

  Help me.

  Chapter 2

  SHANE. Two weeks. That’s all it took. Two fucking weeks.

  Come on, shut your mouth. Don’t go there. Please, mister, don’t do it. Not now, I’m trying to eat. Just be cool.

  I pressed the hoodie to the sides of my face.

  Just shut your mouth dude.

  “If you don’t learn how to act in public, I’ll teach you. You ain’t gonna like it, though,” he said as he took another drink of his beer.

  I sliced my chicken and took another bite. Chicken and turkey seemed to keep me in good health, and I made it a point to find the best places to eat both. In the two weeks that I’d been in Austin, this restaurant had proven to have some of the best grilled chicken I had ever eaten. I had a sinking feeling, however, they wouldn’t allowed me to return after tonight. At least not without being questioned.

  “I try and act the best I know how to. You’re never satisfied,” she responded from the other side of the table.

  “Never satisfied? You dumb cunt. Never satisfied? I’m gonna slap some sense into you when we get home,” he said as he pushed his plate to the center of the table.

  Well, that could be a figure of speech. Not one I like. But this isn’t my business.

  “Paul. Please. I’m sorry, don’t hit me again,” she whispered.

  Well, fuck. It just became my business.

  I stood up, popped my neck, and pulled out my wallet. I removed a fifty dollar bill and placed it on the table. It was the least I could do for the ten dollar piece of chicken. This could get ugly real quick, and I didn’t want to take advantage of the waitress.

  Forgive me Lord for what I am about to do.

  I walked across the floor to the table where the couple was sitting. I wiped my hands on my jeans and cracked my knuckles.

  “Paul, I really need to talk to you,” I said softly.

  “How the fuck you know my name?” he asked as he looked up from his beer.

  Well, she just said your name, you idiot. The entire restaurant knows.

  “You don’t remember me?” I lied.

  He narrowed his gaze and shook his head, “Nope.”

  “Well, we need to talk,” I said quietly, “Let’s take a quick walk, this shouldn’t take long.”

  “Paul, what’s this about,” she asked.

  “Shut up, bitch. I have no idea who this weirdo is,” he responded as he looked across the table toward her.

  I really hoped this could have gone easier.

  Maybe I should have left a hundred bucks.

  Oh well...

  I reached for his shoulder. As soon as my hand touched him, he came up with the beer bottle in his right hand. With the bottle cupped in his hand, he swung toward my face as he stood. I blocked his swing with my left arm, and immediately punched him wit
h two short right jabs. As he stumbled, I hit him once in the stomach with a surprise left hook. As he began to cough and sputter, I took the beer bottle from his hand and set it on the table.

  Gasping for air and trying to catch his breath, he placed his hands on his knees.

  “He may or may not be back in a minute,” I said as I grabbed the man by his hair.

  “Don’t ever let this man beat you again, ma’am,” I said to the woman as I began to pull him by his shirt and hair toward the door.

  I figured I had ten minutes before the cops would show up. For me to make my point should take three.

  As I drug him toward the door, he began to kick his feet and scream.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are? You miserable son-of-a-bitch! Let me go,” he yelled as I drug him through the front door and out to the concrete sidewalk beside the entrance to the restaurant.

  Quickly, I reached for his back pocket and removed his wallet. As I searched for his driver’s license, I held onto his hair tightly with my free hand. After finding it, I shoved his wallet in his shirt pocket and waved license in front of his face.

  “What the…” he began to say.

  “Shut up,” I interrupted.

  I stuck his driver’s license in the front pocket of my jeans.

  “I’m on a time crunch so I’ll make this quick. I overheard you telling your lady friend you were going to slap her when you got home. You’re not going to slap her again, ever. I have your driver’s license, so I know who you are and I know where you live. Here in about a week I’m going to come check on her, and if I find out you’ve touched her, I’m going to beat you worse than the beating you get tonight,” I explained as I unzipped my hoodie.

  As I pulled my hoodie over my shoulders, he took a swing.

  As I leaned back, his punch went by my face. I dropped my hoodie to the side and grabbed the hair on either side of his head. Immediately and with tremendous force, I thrust the top of my head into his face. I felt his nose crush under the impact.

  As I released his hair from my grasp, I swung a fairly strong uppercut toward his chin. The punch connected to his jaw, knocked his teeth together, and lifted him from his feet. Unconscious, he immediately fell into a pile on the sidewalk.

  You should hold your jaw tighter when you’re in a fight, Paul.

  Boxing 101.

  I looked down at his motionless body and shook my head. I reached down and got my hoodie from the sidewalk, pulled it over my shoulders, and zipped it up. I stood over him as people watched and waited for him to become conscious.

  As soon as he began to moan, I walked to my bike and fired it up.

  Well, Paul, see you in a few weeks.

  Chapter 3

  SHANE. If it is worth doing, it is worth doing right. Be the best you can be at whatever it is you choose to do. Sweeping the floor or washing the car. Nothing should ever be done half assed. I strived to be the best at anything and everything I ever decide to conquer.

  Ever.

  If I had attempting it and I did not succeed, you could believe I gave it my best effort, regardless of the outcome.

  I choose to do very little, and be exceptional at what it is I decide to do. I would much rather be perceived as being great at a few things than be a failure at many. I have always been honest with myself and conscious of who I am, but that doesn’t always help me understand why I am the way I am.

  On the outside, I am always kind, polite, and considerate of others. On the inside, a beast resides. I don’t know why or what fuels the demons inside of me, but I am very aware of their existence. My consciousness of their need, necessity, and deep desire to be fed is what has caused me to choose boxing as my main outlet.

  I keep the demons fed, and they allow me to live an otherwise peaceful life. Fulfilling their hunger allows my desire to live a life of tranquility outside the boxing ring. As long as I continue to fight, they’re fed. When they are fed, I am allowed.

  Allowed to live.

  I have been training in one way, shape or form since I was eleven. From what my trainers have always told me, I have tremendous stamina. I can train, fight, or work out for hours on end without becoming exhausted. For this I am grateful.

  I have never been in a fight that I didn’t feel was necessary. In the ring, people agree to fight me, knowing of my ability and my undefeated record. Boxing is a sport, and nothing more than a contest between two men – a contest of strength, stamina, willingness, and raw talent.

  I have been in more street fights than I can count. Each time, I gave my opponent the ability to walk away. If they chose not to, I did what I had to do. In the ring or out, I have always stood the victor. The majority of my street fights were a result of me attempting to stand up for what I believed to be morally right.

  I have never been afraid to fight for someone who can’t stand up on their own, and there’s not a shortage of people who act in a manner contrary to what I believe to be moral. Line every one of them up – every single one who abuses a woman, child, or the elderly and I’ll beat them senseless one person at a time.

  “So, what did you decide? Did you buy them?” Mike asked.

  “No. I’m going to wait until the price goes down to something more affordable,” I answered as I set my sandwich back onto the plate.

  I wiped some mayonnaise from my mouth with my napkin and looked down at my boots.

  “Dude, those fuckers are raggedy. Shit, I can see your socks through the bottom of the sole,” he laughed.

  “Yeah, but a hundred thirty bucks is a hundred thirty bucks,” I shrugged my shoulders as I picked the sandwich up.

  “You’re one weird motherfucker, Dekkar. One weird motherfucker,” he shook his head and laughed.

  Mike was my first fight when I arrived in Austin two years ago. Even though I knocked him out for the first time in his career, we had become the best of friends, and never discussed that particular fight with others. I had no desire to be disrespectful to him or to his talent as a boxer.

  Any man, on any given day, can be beaten by any other man. When the time comes, I will be beaten. Until then, I will remain grateful for my successes.

  “Why do you have to go and say that, Ripp?” I mumbled, my mouth half full of sandwich.

  “Well there are maybe a handful of people here that know you, because you’re a fucking hermit. But I do, remember? Your father, no disrespect, died in Afghanistan. Your grandfather died two years ago – right before you came here. You inherited everything from both of them. I don’t have any idea how much it was, but your father was a year from military retirement. Your grandfather was retired. I’m just going to guess you have a hundred and thirty bucks for a new pair of boots,” he said over the top of his beer bottle as he drank the remaining portion in the bottle.

  “Well, I hate to pay a hundred thirty if they’re gonna go on sale for a hundred - or maybe ninety. Shit, that’d buy me a lot of turkey sandwiches,” I responded, smiling.

  “I’ll have one more Ultra,” Mike said to the waitress as he held his index finger in the air.

  “You need anything, Dekk?” he asked, tilting his head back slightly.

  “Water, please. Thank you, ma’am,” I responded.

  From the perspective of an outsider, Mike looked rather intimidating. He was a little taller than six feet, and weighed two hundred ten pounds. His head was shaved and he had tattoos on his upper arms, back and chest. His body was constructed entirely of muscle. Maintaining a perfect body and having an actual life outside of training is almost impossible. Some fighters have flab or fat on certain places. Mike wasn’t one of those fighters. He trained and he trained hard. It was one reason we had become such close friends. He had my level of desire to maintain a healthy body and mind.

  “Water, please. Thank you, ma’am,” Mike joked as the waitress walked away.

  “You’re so fucking proper and polite to women - and men - as long as they’re old men. But you clench your jaw and look like a mean prick t
o everyone else. You crack me up, dude,” he shook his head.

  “Well, you look like a mean prick all the time,” I smiled as I picked up the pickle from my plate.

  Mike smiled an exaggerated smile, exposing his single gold tooth.

  “That tooth is ridiculous. I’ll never understand that,” I said as I slid my plate to the side of the table.

  “I told you already,” he responded, still smiling.

  “Yeah, I know. But it’s horrid. Who wants to draw attention to the fact that they lost a tooth?” I said as I pulled my hood over my head.

  “Well, I have a gold tooth, and you wear a fucking black hoodie everywhere you go. And in hot as hell Austin, Texas of all places. So, tell me more about this girl,” he said as he picked at his teeth with a toothpick.

  “There’s nothing more to tell. I think she was a receptionist. I saw her sitting at a desk when I went to pay my insurance on the bike. That was the second time. I know I saw her two years ago at a drug store. This time, she didn’t see me, I noticed her as I walked past her office. I got a bad feeling about the day in the parking lot of the drug store. I remember it specifically now. I’d kind of forgot about it,” I pulled my hood tight around my head and peered through the hole.

  “You know you do that, right?” he said as he pointed at my head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You hide in your hood. When there’s something you don’t like talking about or doing,” he answered.

  I pulled the hood off of my head and ran my fingers through my hair as he started to speak again.

  “Well, you quit talking when the waitress brought our food. What didn’t you like? No, start by reminding me what bothered you about the first time you met her? You were talkin’ and stopped, sorry,” he said as he leaned onto the table.

  Short of my grandfather, Mike was the best friend I have ever had. He truly cared about me as a person, and wasn’t afraid to admit it. Since my first week here we had become extremely close and almost inseparable.

  “She was sitting at a desk. Up the hallway at the building my insurance company is in. It might have been a law office, hell I don’t know,” I responded as I pulled my hood onto my head again.