by Ora Wilde
Did he have something similar in mind?
With a happy smile, I started my car once more to continue my drive home.
Then it happened.
Just as I was steering left, a speeding vehicle crashed into my side mirror, shattering it to pieces that quickly scattered all over my hood.
I began to palpitate. I checked my head, my arms, my legs... trying to see if they were still there.... trying to determine if I was alright.
The vehicle - a black SUV - abruptly pulled up in front of me and out came a man, lean and well-built. He was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt and denims, revealing his muscular form and parts of his skin that were covered with tattoos. Thankfully, he didn’t look injured or anything. He walked towards my car. He wanted to know if I was alright.
As soon as he was beside my car, I rolled down the window to greet him.
To my shock, an exchange of pleasantries was far from his mind.
“What the fuck lady?!” he screamed at me. “Didn’t you look at the road before turning?”
“I... I beg your pardon?” I asked him, still in disbelief at his aggressively hostile reaction.
“That’s right, you should be begging for my forgiveness,” he rudely said, still with a loud, condescending voice. “You fucking know what right of way means?”
“I... I... I wasn’t even gonna mention that,” I told him. “I actually wanted to know if you were alright.”
“Obviously I am, no thanks to you,” he retorted sardonically. “My SUV’s new and you damaged it! You will have to... you will have to....”
In a scene that was both creepy and awkward, he started to struggle with his words. He began to pull his hair, which was previously snapped back into a neat style quite unexpected from an undershave cut. He paced around hastily, circling the small area in front of my door, mumbling some words that sounded like control and patience and title shot. Then he stroked his beard. It wasn’t a ZZ Top kind of beard. It was shorter, well groomed yet rugged-looking, and admittedly, very, very manly. His eyes squinted as he continued to walk in a circular pattern. There was a certain gleam in his eyes... but there was something mysterious there too... like a kind of terror that was just waiting to explode.
He was, by all indications, a good-looking man.
But he was rude and foul-mouthed. Even if he looked like David Beckham - which wasn’t the case though this guy certainly had his own distinct charm - his attitude was a huge turnoff.
He stopped walking around like a stray cat preparing for a dump. He approached me a different man... less agitated and less vicious than he was before, though he couldn’t even force himself to smile.
“Listen, lady... are... are... are you okay?” he strived to say with hesitant serenity. “Are you... hurt?”
“I’m okay,” I told him with the coldest tone I could muster.
“It... it was an... an accident,” he continued. “No one... no one wants an... an... an accident to happen.”
He sounded so robotic that I had a hard time stifling my laugh.
I wondered, though... what made him change his demeanor?
“Yes it was,” I answered. “So... are you alright?”
He looked at his body, rubbed his hands all over his torso, before delivering his reply.
“I am... okay,” he said with his head bowed down. He didn’t want to look at me. “Thank... Thank you for asking.”
What was the matter with him?
A few seconds ago, he was yelling profanities every chance he got. Now, he was being contritely polite.
“Uhm...” he began to speak once again as he drew his wallet from his back pocket. “Here’s my... my... my card. I will... uhm... be ha... ha... ha... happy to pay for the... the cost of your... your repairs.”
Hesitantly, I received the business card he extended.
“Okay, thank you,” I told him. “The damage isn’t that big. If it’s less than a fifty... no... seventy-five bucks, I won’t bother you anymore. I’m just glad we’re both safe and unscathed.”
“O-Okay,” he responded, still with his head bowed down. He turned around and proceeded to his SUV. I watched him get inside his vehicle until he drove off.
What a weird, weird guy!
Susanville was a very small town with a population of less than two thousand residents. Though I didn’t know everybody by name, I was most certainly sure that I haven’t seen him before...
Or have I?
Something about him was vaguely familiar, but I can’t tell exactly what.
I dismissed such ridiculous thoughts as I started my engine. I wanted to get home as soon as possible. I wanted to know how my folks... Uncle Benny most especially... were faring.
But somehow, something compelled me to look at the business card the stranger gave.
A name. Maybe his name would ring a bell. A family name would suffice. I’d immediately know if he was the town barber’s son, or the baker’s cousin, or the sheriff’s long lost brother.
I surveyed the contents of the card.
My eyes widened at what I saw.
Last name... McXavier.
Same as Uncle Benny’s.
First name... Conner.
Oh shit!
Chapter Five
CONNER
Fuck!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
That was the most embarrassing thing that I ever had to do! Fuck!
Don’t make matters worse, Danny said. Show us that you can control your anger. We need to show the world your heart. Do that and maybe - just maybe - we can forego those anger management sessions so that you can focus on your training.
That accident wasn’t even my damn fault. The girl driver wasn’t looking when she left the roadside. And I had to apologize to her?
I hated myself for that.
But what could I do?
The least I needed was another incident that the pussies from the press would be quick to gobble up... especially an incident that happened as soon as I arrived at Susanville... my fucking “hometown.”
It wasn’t even my hometown. I didn’t grow up here. I haven’t been here my entire life. If it weren’t for the GPS on my phone, I would’ve ended up in Los Angeles.
I grew up in Philly, and Philly is a far better place than this fucking hellhole. The buildings here... they all look like they were plucked out of the sixties. What a backward town! What do people do here aside from screwing their cousins?
But it’s something that I was asked to do.
No.
It’s something I was forced to do.
Danny told me that from hereon in, especially during the shoot, Susanville would be my hometown. I knew no other place while growing up other than Susanville. It will make you more relatable, he said, more... human.
From Highway 6, I took a right at Haven Avenue, then another right at Yorkshire Road, just as my GPS instructed. No. 26... I was supposed to look for a house with the number 26.
I didn’t have to look that hard.
Just around twenty meters from the bend, I saw a couple of vans, camera men, and other staff members converging at the driveway of a nice-looking residential house. There was a silver BMW Z4 Roadster parked there, as well. I was very familiar with the car, and the fact that it was in front of the house only meant that he was there as well.
True enough, he approached me with a wide grin as soon as I alighted from my vehicle.
“Conner!” Danny greeted as he opened up his arms to give me a hug.
I walked straight past the pussy-faced assmonkey.
“Wow! What a way to begin our new venture, don’t you think?” he sarcastically remarked.
“Why? Are the cameras rolling already?” I asked with the same level of derision.
“Well... no,” he answered, dumbfounded as he wasn’t prepared for my rebuttal.
“Then, there is no need to play nice,” I reminded him.
“Okay then,” he replied with a tone of resignation. “But the ca
meras will start filming as soon as you enter that house.”
“What?!” I asked in disbelief.
They weren’t going to waste any time. They wanted to record my encounter with my father and his second family as quickly as possible. They wouldn’t even afford me the chance to reacquaint myself with someone I haven’t seen nor talked to in years.
“You heard me, Conner,” Danny said with obvious scorn. “Now, be a good boy, get inside that house... your house... and give your sweet daddy a kiss.”
I wanted to break his nose, but I couldn’t. He may be a dickmonger, but he owned the promotion that had me locked in a contract. And he was the only one who could make that title fight with Johnny Jones a reality.
I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, hoping that all the anger that has been building up inside me would be extinguished in the process.
I started to walk towards my father’s house.
“He’s here,” one of the crewmen screamed. “Start rolling! Start rolling now!”
On cue, two cameramen went near me. One followed me from behind, while the other went in front of me as he walked backwards to keep in step.
I shook my head in disdain. I didn’t like anything that was happening. I abhorred the feeling of being told what to do, more so being instructed on how to act.
But again, I had no choice.
I needed my license. I needed to get that title shot. I needed redemption.
With heavy feet, I approached the front door. Both of the cameramen positioned themselves behind me, ready to capture whatever would happen next.
There was a red button right beside the door. I didn’t press it. Instead I knocked. Twice. Thrice. A couple of seconds passed by and I grew impatient. So I knocked repeatedly, with each tap louder than the one the preceded it.
The door opened.
A woman greeted me. Medium length hair. Warm, green eyes. A gentle smile. I could tell that she was quite a beauty in her youth.
“Hi!” she greeted. “How can I help y...”
She paused as she realized who I was.
“Oh my God...” she uttered in shock. “Conner... is that you? Is that really you?”
“In the fuc....” I stopped myself from speaking what I was about to say. No profanities. Not with this family reunion. Not with the cameras rolling. Not with the whole world watching. “In the flesh,” I succinctly restated.
“Conner... I’m so glad to see you,” she pleasantly said as she slid open the wire mesh divider. Then she saw the film crew that was gathered behind me. “Oh... you have... company?”
“Long story,” I replied.
“Well, come on in and you can tell me about it,” she continued with a smile that, I must concede, was actually nice. “I’m sure your father would be happy to see you.”
Your father?
I was paralyzed with dread when she mentioned those words.
He was there? Inside? And I was about to meet him after several years of being apart? With fucking cameras capturing our every gesture and recording every word we would speak?
What was I supposed to tell him? Long time no see? Thank you for my fucked up childhood? Thank you for showing me how cruel the world can be? Thank you for preparing me for a life of hardship and pain at such a young age?
“Conner?” she tried to yank me out of my perturbed state. “Come on in. I’ll prepare coffee for you and your friends.”
“They’re not my friends,” I attempted to reason out, but she went ahead, away from my sight. She expected me... us... to follow her.
I did follow her, and the production staff of around six people - including Danny Might - went in with me. The damn cameramen were still filming, aiming their fucking lenses on anything that moved.
Even before I could sit on the couch, I heard her voice once again. It was coming from the kitchen.
“You won’t believe who’s here?” she spoke.
“Who’s here?” a male voice asked. “Your Zumba buddies?”
She went out of the kitchen first, but her hands were holding on to something... someone... who remained hidden behind the wall divider.
And when she managed to pull him to the living room, I saw the face of a familiar stranger and my heart stopped beating. A fleeting moment that seemed like an eternity. A short period of breathlessness that summed up what I have tried to forget for so long.
Looking at him, I knew that he was just as surprised - or just as terrified - to see me.
“It’s Conner,” she happily proclaimed, as if it wasn’t even obvious. “He’s here. He’s home.”
Home?
That was a funny word, one which I would’ve openly denied were it not for the cameras that were rolling and the fact that I was too preoccupied with hatred... hatred for being forced to stay where I don’t want to be.
“H-Hello Conner,” he greeted me nervously. I saw him clear the lump that formed on his throat.
I just nodded in response.
“Who are these people?” he asked, as his gaze turned towards the crew that were standing a few inches behind me. “Why are there cameras?”
I banged my head with my palm in disdain and dismay. I didn’t know how to answer his question.
“Mr. McXavier!” Danny interjected as he squeezed his way past me. “Hi! It’s an astute pleasure to meet you.”
He extended his hand and, with a bewildered look on his face, my father shook it.
“My name is Danny Might...”
“I know who you are,” my father cut him off. “But I don’t know why you... and them... are here.”
“Ha! Just as perceptive as your son, I see!” Danny tried to flatter his way to my father’s good side. “We’re making a documentary, Sir.”
“A documentary?” my father asked, even more puzzled than before.
“Yessir! It’s about your son’s road to redemption which, I have aptly entitled, Road to Redemption!” Danny thought that he said something witty as he followed his sentence with proud laughter.
“I... I don’t get it,” my father doubted as he shook his head. “Redemption from what? From a loss? He’s undefeated...”
I was surprised that he was actually following my career.
“Sadly, Sir, he is no longer undefeated,” Danny corrected him. “That match with Bruce Donner... well... the committee awarded it to Conner’s opponent.”
“What? Why?” My father couldn’t believe what he just heard. The reversal of the outcome was never mentioned during the telecast, and media was so engrossed with the... chaos... of that night that they failed to report it.
“Conner, as you may very well know, pummeled the poor guy senseless, even after the referee stopped the fight.”
“I understand that he may have been excessively savage during that match,” my father expressed. “But it’s a savage sport. What can you expect?”
“Oh trust me, Sir, if it were up to me, the victor will always be the last man standing,” Danny reasoned out. “But the decision wasn’t mine to make. The fight committee, the members of which represented the Nevada Athletic Commission, made the call.”
“I still don’t get it,” my father shook his head. “So, he lost. But that shouldn’t merit a... how did you call it? A road to redemption? What is he? A recovering junkie?”
His comment almost made me chuckle. The old man always had a weird sense of humor, one of his very few extenuating qualities.
“The documentary is actually about Conner’s road to recover from his anger management issues,” Danny explained, his voice turning serious all of a sudden.
“Conner doesn’t have anger management issues!” my father sternly stated. He was actually standing up for me.
“That’s not how the rest of the world sees it, Sir,” Danny argued glumly. “His endorsers have threatened to back out. The Commission wants to strip him of his fight license. And the crowd during that fight... bloodthirsty as they may be... they were booing him.”
And for the first time
since our reunion, my father didn’t have a ready answer.
“Mr. McXavier, your son... he wants a title fight against Johnny Jones...” Danny continued to say.