by Wesley Banks
The hallway split to the left and Dr. Hasara was standing near the nurse’s desk with a clipboard in his hand. Candy kept walking straight in the other direction. Without stopping, she said, “You don’t got anything on you. I just wanted you to see the look in your eyes when you talk about that boy.”
Before Casey could respond, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She looked down at the screen; it was Nikki.
She didn’t want to answer right now, but ever since Emma’s surgery she had developed this terrible habit where she believed every phone call might be an emergency. “Nikki,” she said, “is everything okay? I can’t really talk right now.”
“Everything will be fine if you come out with me tonight,” Nikki said.
Casey didn’t have any plans, and Emma was staying over at a friend’s house. She was about halfway through with Ugly Love by Colleen Hoover and suddenly had a craving for cookie dough frozen yogurt, with chunks of brownie covered in chocolate syrup. That was all starting to sound like a good plan, so she gave the same response she always did, “I can’t tonight.”
Nikki didn’t respond. “Nikki?” Casey said. Again no response, but this time Casey heard a sound that had become too familiar lately: crying.
“Did Trevor do something again?” Casey asked, already knowing the answer. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Nikki managed between sobs. “I don’t know.”
“And how is going out tonight going to help?”
Nikki calmed down a bit. “I just…I just need to get my mind off him.”
This time Casey didn’t respond. To be honest she didn’t really want to go out tonight, or most nights for that matter. Nikki had always been there for her though. During high school a lot of Casey’s friends didn’t want much to do with her after they found out she was pregnant. But Nikki was by her side through everything. That’s why Casey said, “I’ll meet you there around ten if you promise me one thing.”
“Anything, Casey.”
“Promise me it’s over between you and Trevor.”
“It’s so over,” Nikki said. “I don’t want to even think about him again.”
Casey looked back at Dr. Hasara who was done talking with the nurse and walking in her direction. “I really gotta go though. I’ll call you when I’m off work.”
8
Dude
April 3, 2015
Ben sat there for a few more minutes, thinking for some reason she might come running back out of the hospital. But she didn’t. Apparently asking a girl out wasn’t as easy as it used to be.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked down at the screen. It was Parker.
“Hello?”
“Dude,” Parker said. “Where are you? I got something awesome for us to do tonight and you can’t say no.”
This scenario happened about twice a week. It was kind of like Groundhog’s Day, except Ben never got to do anything cool like rob an armored car, or learn ice sculpting. Still, he said the same thing he always said, “No.”
And then Parker said the same thing he always said.
“I figured you might say that, but I also figured you still owe me.”
“You still there?” Parker asked. Parker didn’t wait for a response and instead kept talking. “Okay, I’ll meet you back at the dorms around eight. We gotta leave by at least nine. Don’t be late.
“Okay,” Ben said.
“Dude. For real?”
“Yes, I owe you one. But if you say ‘dude’ one more time I’m going to reach through the phone and slap that word out of you. What is it with you guys from California and the word ‘dude’ anyways?”
“Dude, I don’t know. Sorry, it’s a habit. I’ll see you back at the dorm.”
9
Fight Night
April 3, 2015
After class Ben went to heaven.
At least that’s what all the football players called the Bill Heavener Athletic Complex.
The perimeter of the room was lined with offices for all the strength and conditioning coaches and nutrition specialists. While the center of the room contained just about every machine and free weight combination possible. And of course they were all specially monogrammed with the UF logo. Just in case the weights get lost. Or possibly the football players.
They didn’t like it when other athletes used their facility, which is pretty much the only reason Ben worked out here: he didn’t like the football players. It was late Friday afternoon though. There wasn’t an athlete in the whole building that he recognized. Most of the guys in there were probably a bunch of walk-ons still trying to prove themselves, something Ben could actually relate to.
Ben put a little more into his workout than he originally planned, trying to shake his mind from the incessant thoughts about Casey Taylor.
About an hour into his workout Ashley Brannick, a six foot five, three hundred pound lineman walked into the training room. “Let’s go fresh!” he yelled, referring to some of the younger guys working out.
Ben finished his last three reps on the incline bench at 225 pounds. “Holy shit,” Ashley said as he walked over to Ben. “If it isn’t Benson “Record Setting” Wilder. I never thought I’d see the day when one of you puny little runners would be in my gym puttin’ up some real weight.”
Ben stood up as a few of the other guys were making their way towards Ashley’s beckon. He tapped Ashley on the belly as he walked by. “Some of us put up the weight,” he looked back and pointed at Ashley, “and others put it on.”
Ben saw a few of the guys start laughing as he walked out.
* * *
By the time he got to the dorm it was a little after seven and of course the first words he heard when he walked in were…
“Dude, where the crap have you been?”
Ben tossed his backpack on his desk chair and his keys and wallet on his shelf in the closet.
“There’s this thing called practice. You should ask Allen Iverson about it,” Ben said.
“It was an optional Friday night workout. My guess is you and a couple student managers had some nice alone time.”
Parker was right, Ben was the only runner who bothered to show up.
“Relax, it’s like,” Ben looked down at his watch, “It’s 7:08 p.m. I don’t even go out that much and even I know people aren’t going out this early.”
“No man, this is different. It’s Fight Night,” Parker said.
“What the heck is fight night?”
“I know you’re only a freshman, but how the heck do you not know what fight night is. It’s like the biggest night of the year. They convert the dance floor at 8 Seconds into a cage and several local MMA guys go buck wild.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Sounds amazing. Shocked I didn’t know about it.”
“That’s not even the best part. You have to see the girls that show up at these things.”
“I thought we were meeting some girls there or something.”
“No, they kind of bailed…” Parker said. “It’s all good, though, Brad and Jimmy’s gonna meet us there.”
“Brad’s alright, but Jimmy?”
“Why don’t we call some of your friends then? Oh that’s right—everyone else on the team hates you because you’re an ass.”
“I’m not an ass. I’m just honest.”
“So, go get ready, I want to get there early and grab a table up front.”
Ben walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. “You know these girls likely come out for the ripped fighters and not the skinny runners.”
“That hurts, man,” Parker said.
“Maybe next time you won’t skip those optional workouts.”
10
Nikki
April 3, 2015
Casey stood in front of her bathroom mirror, adjusting the straps on her red and white polka dot chiffon blouse. Nikki walked in as she tapped the face of the black Fitbit on her left wrist. It was 8:37 p.m.
“You’re not wearing that are yo
u?”
Casey looked down at her shirt. “What’s wrong with this shirt?”
“No. That.” Nikki said, pointing at her Fitbit.
“Umm, yes. I love my Fitbit.” Casey double tapped the tiny horizontal screen. “Plus I still need another three thousand steps tonight,” she said with a smile.
Nikki laughed and leaned forward to dab on some lipgloss with her pinky. She pursed her lips in the mirror, the soft peach matte complimenting her white strapless peplum top and black skinny jeans.
“Remind me why we’re going to this thing again tonight,” Casey said.
“Because there are going to be really cute guys there. And because I never get to hang out with my best friend because she always comes up with lame excuses not to go out. Did I mention the really cute guys part?”
Casey turned around and looked at her jeans in the mirror.
Nikki did the same. “I wish my butt looked that good.”
Casey pointed at her Fitbit and joked, “Maybe you should consider one of these.”
11
Bad Idea
April 3, 2015
Ben looked around at the usually country-themed nightclub. The dance floor had been replaced by The Octagon: an eight sided fighting cage. It was about six feet tall with eight steel posts wrapped in thick plastic covered foam that held up vinyl coated chain-link fence panels. It looked exactly like the cage he’d seen on television, except probably ordered on Amazon and assembled by a few half-drunk college students.
Two fighters were already in the ring, and the referee was speaking to both of them about something. Instead of waitresses, there were Octagon Girls. They were wearing black, boy style, low-cut bathing suit bottoms and a matching bikini top.
It was a little past ten, which meant the first fight was slightly behind schedule. The crowd was already getting impatient and rowdy. Two fights had broken out and quickly ended by three white guys the size of John Cena. They were dragged out of the bar and their spots quickly filled by the line of students outside.
“This has got to be the worst idea ever,” Ben said to himself.
“What?” Parker yelled between hundreds of shouting college students.
Ben just shook his head, “Nothing.”
“This is going to be incredible!” Parker yelled. He put his arm around the girl next to him, and whispered something into her ear that made her laugh.
Her name was Nikki, short for Nicole, unless people actually name their kids Nikki. He’d met her at the bar about twenty minutes ago. She was a cute girl, and seemed nice enough, Ben thought. She also kind of seemed like every other girl though.
Ben looked across the table at one of the only empty seats left in the bar. They were apparently saving a seat for Nikki’s “friend,” who had been in the “bathroom” ever since Parker came back to the table with Nikki.
She leaned forward resting her elbows on the table and looked right at Ben. “You look so familiar.”
Parker put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You mean Mr. Benson Wilder?” Parker corrected himself. “The Mr. Benson Wilder, I mean.”
“You’re that runner,” Nikki said.
Brad and Jimmy laughed from across the table.
“What’s so funny?” Nikki asked.
“We’re all runners,” Jimmy said.
He leaned towards Parker. “I’m gonna grab some fresh air.”
“Dude, the fight’s about to start!”
Ben didn’t respond. He just stood up, pushed in his chair and headed towards the front door.
“Okay man, we’ll be here,” Parker added. Nikki made eye contact with Ben as he stood up, said something to Parker and then looked back at him. Ben smiled trying to be friendly and headed back towards the entrance, feeling her eyes still locked on him.
The front of the club was even more packed than the area around the cage. As Ben looked to his right, he understood why. There was a full bar and two unbelievably hot girls behind the counter spilling more alcohol than serving it. Every guy at the bar probably thought they had a chance. Maybe somehow they’d use the right line that would end up with one of the girls writing their number down on a napkin and sliding it across the bar to them.
That was what happened in the movies, anyways. This was real life though, where the girls behind the bar were being paid to dress and act exactly how they were. Stick-on tattoos and all. Ben would bet money they’d probably rather be at home in their pajamas curled up on the couch with a good book and some ice cream. Cookie dough probably. Or maybe mint chocolate chip.
Ben looked over to the front door; the bottom line was exiting the club was starting to seem like a bad idea. There were just too many damn people standing around and the chance of him getting back in were slim to none—which actually sounded like a half-decent plan, maybe the guy version of “going to the bathroom,” is “getting some fresh air.”
He looked back across the room where Parker was sitting with his new girl. I can’t just leave him, though.
Ben felt a somewhat sweaty arm wrap around his shoulders, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Track & Field himself gracing us with his presence.” It was the left fielder for the baseball team, Mike Mitchel.
“So what brings Mr. Clean out tonight?” Mike said.
Mr. Clean was another nickname a lot of guys called him. It made absolutely zero sense, but whatever. For some reason athletes go around giving each other nicknames until one sticks. Hopefully this one doesn’t.
“Just out with some friends tonight, man. What about you?”
Mike tilted his head towards the bar and smiled.
Figures.
Forced into a few minutes of small talk, Ben sighed relief when some other guy Ben didn’t recognize started talking to Mike. Well, talking would be an understatement. This guy was yelling. Not in an “I want to kick your ass” way, but in an “I’ve already had too many drinks to realize I’m shouting at you” way.
Ben put his hand on Mike’s shoulder, “I’ll catch you later, man.”
Mike gave him the obligatory head nod.
The commentator spoke up and the room quieted a bit, and then erupted. The fight was about to start. The two guys standing in front of him moved past him towards their seats, and Ben saw a stairwell about fifteen feet ahead of him.
A guy and a girl walked down the stairs and towards the bar. There must be roof access, he thought.
He passed three more people hurrying down the stairs as the fight bell rang. The roof was mostly empty when he reached the top of the staircase. To his right a few guys were facing the parking lot towards the back, smoking what smelled like weed. And with the intelligence level of the people in this bar, it was probably laced with something that was going to send them to the hospital shortly. About fifty feet in front of him a girl in a red shirt, jeans, and sandals was standing on the far end, looking over the railing towards the street. A guy to his left flicked a cigarette over the edge and headed towards the doorway Ben was still standing in.
Ben walked to his left and looked over the railing towards the sidewalk below. He could still see several lines of smoke puffing from the cigarette, until a passerby unknowingly stepped on it. From the roof the noises from the club were muffled, and other than the voices below on the street, it was a quiet night.
The Pepsi Invitational was tomorrow. The Tom Jones Memorial two weeks after that, and then the LSU Invitational. After that it was the SEC Championships. They were all pieces to the puzzle that once finished, were supposed to lead to the NCAA Championships. Yet as he looked out towards the streets of downtown Gainesville littered with students just trying to make tonight the best night possible, all he could think about was a girl named Casey Taylor.
12
Casablanca
April 3, 2015
When Casey Taylor saw Ben walk up the stairs to the roof, she immediately turned around to face the street. You’ve got to be kidding me.
Yet she smiled, the lines from Casablanca ringing in her head:
Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you had to walk into mine…. She was a sucker for old movies. Probably because several years ago she found out when you’re pregnant, hungry, and wide awake at two in the morning, there isn’t much else to do.
Moving as little as possible, she held up her phone and reversed the camera like she was taking a selfie. It was dark, and at first she couldn’t see anything. She angled it up towards the light to refocus and then to the right where a group of guys were still passing around a joint and laughing. She angled it the other way, but again nothing. She panned back to the stairwell that was almost directly behind her and nearly dropped the phone. He was walking directly towards her.
Casey clicked the lock screen button and dropped her phone back into her purse. She was suddenly glad she wore jeans. She felt almost exposed as he approached her. At the last minute she turned around, not sure what else to do. She thought maybe she should apologize about lying earlier. Although, it really was true, she didn’t have a lot of time for anything outside the hospital.
As she turned around there was only one problem. The guy walking towards her, who was now about five feet from her, wasn’t Ben. She didn’t recognize the guy. Just some random guy from the bar.
From the corner of her eye, Casey saw something move. She looked to her right and Ben turned around, leaning his back against the fence. When their eyes met, he grinned. It was an annoying grin. It was a when-you’re-done-with-that-loser-you-can-come-talk-to-me-but-for-now-I’ll-just-watch grin.
If he wants to play that way, then maybe I will talk to this loser.
“I think it’s time I tell you what people are saying behind your back,” the guy said.
“What?” Casey said, confused.
“Nice ass.”