by Raen Smith
Legs. Long, lean, and never-ending legs. Legs have always been a weakness of mine. There’s so many ways that legs can wrap…
“She’s off limits. Olivia is Jax’s girlfriend,” Piper says, grabbing my arm as if this information is enlightening enough to change my mind. If anything, it makes me more interested and less focused. Jax doesn’t deserve a girl like Olivia. He’s the epitome of fighters in this ring: brainless steroid pumpers with shrunken balls, missing teeth and scars so rampant that they’d make one helluva connect the dots. Plus, his name is ‘No Crier’ Beyer, which taunts me to achieve the antithesis of his calling card.
This makes for a perfect kind of pummeling. I’ve successfully objectified my victim (that’s another one of Dr. Denise’s phrases).
There’s a crowd of guys, mostly UW students, smashed into the small space behind me. They’re all vying to get a closer spot to the ring, packed like a herd of cattle off to slaughter. They’re jostling and making noises, pushing forward. Mick suddenly appears in front of the crowd and hops over the fence. His presence silences the room.
Mick, the Jersey transplant who’s the head of the fight club and fraternity, runs through the rules of the cage. Mick is the second leader of this club that started three years ago; the torch was passed from his older brother who is now rumored to be involved with some professional rings in Vegas. Mick’s black Mercedes parked outside tells me that the Henley brothers are doing alright. Mick’s mouth moves, but I don’t hear any of his words until he lifts up my arm and calls my name.
“Kelly ‘THE DUDE’ Black!” Mick yells. The crowd hollers in my favor before Mick drops my arm and walks to the other side of the cage.
“Jax “The Crier” Beyer!” Mick holds up Beyer’s arm. Beyer gets a mix of whistles and boos. The crowd finally settles in and is going nowhere for, what they hope, is a solid fight lasting longer than the minute I have planned. See, I plan to knock ‘No Crier’ out with one punch.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good brawl every once in a while. The sweat pouring down my body and the burn in my muscles makes me feel real. The pain that shoots through my body when I’m hit only solidifies my existence in a spinning world that chews up and spits out the weakest links. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m Kelly “The Dude” Black.
But tonight I’m not in the mood for the reality check. I’m going to knock him out and go home. I’ve got a big time trial to run tomorrow at BioSystems that involves a thousand test tubes and way-too-expensive pharmaceuticals.
Piper whispers her usual good luck through the metal links, “Don’t get killed,” and takes a step back. It’s worked the last ten times so I take it in stride, put up my fists, and look at the rage-filled eyes of Beyer who is jaunting back and forth, throwing practice punches in the air. It only makes me want to hit him harder.
The crowd taunts us, urging us to get closer. Beyer puts his arms out and pumps them in the air, rallying the crowd. I didn’t want him to go down like this; after all, it seems too easy and formulaic. But I decide to call him out as the jackass he is and close the gap between us with two quick movements. I raise my left fist and explode it into his face.
‘No Crier’ Beyer is on his back seeing stars before anyone can blink.
The crowd is silent for a few seconds and in this moment, I see the look that is going to change the rest of my life. I stare past Beyer’s blank face to see Olivia smiling at me from the other side of the fence.
Mick rushes toward me and raises my hand amid the noise from the crowd. It’s like a swirl around me as I keep my eyes focused on Olivia and her lips that have clamped together. I can tell that she’s holding her smile in. She suddenly averts her eyes and begins to look concerned as the guy next to her climbs over the fence and huddles near Beyer with a small vial. I see Beyer’s small movements out of my peripheral vision, still maintaining my attention on Olivia. She’s acting concerned, but I think it’s just that. It’s an act, and that’s when I think Olivia and I could get along pretty well.
The sound of Piper Sullivan’s voice finally pulls me out of the haze. “Way to not get yourself killed.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I take a few steps back toward her. Olivia’s head disappears as she is jostled into the crowd.
“You know you could have made it last a little longer,” Mick says as he pulls a wad of bills from his back pocket. He knows I don’t like staying longer after a fight than I need to. “You pissed off a few people who came here tonight for a good fight. We can usually expect a brawl from you. Some showmanship at least.”
“I wasn’t in the mood,” I reply as he shoves the trust fund bills into my unharmed hand.
“Not in the mood, eh?” Mick asks. “You know some fighters would kill to be able to turn it off and on like that. You’re something else, Kelly. You sure you don’t want to take my brother’s offer? They make some real good money out in Vegas. The kind of money that you’ll never see as some nerd in a lab coat.”
“I’ll pass,” I say, clenching my hands around the bills. What Mick and the majority of capitalist America don’t understand is that it’s not about the money. I do this because I have to satiate the need to buff the dullness every once in a while.
“Nice try, Mick,” Piper says through the fence. “Just consider yourself lucky that he even keeps coming back here.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you next Tuesday?” Mick asks.
I think for a fleeting second, trying to get Olivia’s smile out of my head, before I reply. “If you’re feeling lucky.”