The Fight Within (4 page)

Myself.

And Love.

‡

S
ean’s fatigued eyes
fluttered suddenly open from the sound of the band Muse blasting the pounding beat of ‘Madness’. The tune came through crystal clear from his trusty iPad hooked up to a small set of dusky black cube shaped speakers he’d plucked from a half off bin in the twenty-four hour Walgreens one late evening. He stretched out, sprawled in the small living room of his dimly lit apartment. His contorted, half nude body jerked in an awkward, uncomfortable way, causing the dark, tawny split leather of his couch to moan and protest under his weight. Almost sucking and swallowing his own damn tongue, thick with the remnants of beer tang, he ran taut fingers along his stubble-covered jaw and peered at the red numerals on the rectangular digital clock setting atop the clear end table. They read 2:43 A.M.

“Shit…” he cursed in a whisper while he stood from the floor, unsteady, keeping quiet as if he were inside of a church and needed to watch his volume. His feet covered only in socks, he almost tripped over the things. One was partially pulled down, flopping, barely hanging on as he stomped about on his heel. He paused and stretched again, trying to make his damn muscles come alive, work and do their damn mission. Reaching up to his popcorn ceiling and yawning wide, he lifted an inch or two more from the tips of his toes, causing his calf muscles to pleasingly stretch and burn. Huffing, he trudged down the mud colored carpeted hallway, smashed from years of his hard, flat-footed steps. Short as an ass hair, the trek seemed to be five acres long as he toured his cramped apartment, barely keeping up until he’d reached the plywood door of his bedroom. Flinging the thing open, he clumsily flicked on the light, exposing the partially made bed, mostly covered with soiled workout clothing from the day before.

Smack dab in the middle of the faded emerald sheets sat his laptop, the apple icon on the back glowing like some beacon of hope to the tired and digitally hopeless. Pausing by the side of the bed, he grabbed the elastic of his black jogging pants, flung them down his aching legs and kicked the grimy garments across the room, causing the articles to land atop a heap of hardbound text books that threatened to topple over. He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair and carried his weary bones the rest of the way across the room, bunching a cheap muted orange throw rug from a yard sale with his choppy stride.

“Ahhhh,” he sighed as he fell atop the flattened pillow. He savored the promise of possible relief from the kiss of a good night’s sleep as Muse now serenaded him the cheeky, ‘Knights of Cydonia’. As he began to doze, his computer dinged with a sound like a microwave’s, as if a meal now awaited his pending consumption. He let his eyes flicker like a half dead bulb, hanging on to wakefulness, and flirted with the notion to ignore the email notification and go on about his sleepy way. Yet, it proved simply too tempting. Besides, he’d been waiting on the free tickets Kyle, his best friend, had promised him to the Yankees game. He had been checking his phone all damn night to no avail. On an aggravated huff, he sat up and ran his sluggish fingers along the keyboard, hoping for the guarantee of a white baseball flying midair, caught in his grip on live television. It sure would give him a reason to rejoice and not worry before wandering down Slumber Lane.

They play the Twins… Tickets can’t be that damn hard for him to get.

Yet, instead of his deepest athletic desires being granted, he was greeted with a pop-up window from a gorgeous blonde connecting on one of the many dating website profiles he’d created. His lips twisted and settled into an impish smirk as he sat back against his headboard and leisurely crossed his ankles, flexing his toes a time or two. Clicking on her photo, he read the beauty’s profile:

28, Single, and into the Nightlife. Just moved to New York from Maine. Wish to meet new people, especially tall men with big smiles and even bigger assets.

He shook his head in incredulity as he clicked through the stranger’s montage of salacious photos, growing instantly attached to one of her showcasing herself in a baseball snapback and lacey dark pink shirt. Before he could save the photo and add it to his desktop collection of ‘Hotties that wanna party’, the pretty little thing noticed he was online…

Hello…

The popup window caught him by surprise, making his heart jump a bit as his computer rang out, alerting him that the lady caller in question was on the typing prowl.

He lightly laughed and tapped his fingers against the keys.

Hello back…

What are you up to tonight?
she asked, her icon picture featuring her in a heart shaped computer generated frame. The woman’s photo image stared back at him, drenched in flirtation as she sported a come hither look on her sultry face.

I was trying to get some sleep actually.

Oh, am I keeping you up?

Yeah, but maybe you’re worth my while, so don’t worry about it.

He decided to bypass the open segue into a sexual innuendo about her keeping him ‘up’ alright…

I’m a night owl. LOL
, she added.

That reminds me of a good joke.

Really? What is it?

There was an atheist, night owl and dyslexic that stayed up all night arguing that there is no DOG.

…I don’t get it.

Natural blonde?
he asked.

What?

Never mind…

Sean turned briefly away from his computer, gripped his forehead and sighed, resigned to the fact his budding hard-on was going to be challenged sooner rather than later.

I love your photos, and what you wrote on your profile. You’re really attractive, too. So what do you do for a living?
she asked.

I work.

LOL. That’s good, but what do you do?

What does it matter?

He crossed his arms and sucked his teeth, needing a moment to pretend he was still interested in this damn conversation.

I don’t like bums.

He glared at the screen, uncrossed his arms and typed:

I don’t like gold diggers.

He was met with silence.

“I fucking hate online dating!” he swore aloud, scowling up at the ceiling. “Why do I keep doing this to myself?”

The woman didn’t close the chat box, and the silent netting continued to build and grow between them as if constructed by Charlotte’s web. This had been the story of his damn life as of late. Cute girl initiates contact. Cute girl thinks her face and pussy buy her a ticket into his pockets. Cute girl gets put on alert that Sean doesn’t shell out money to get laid. Cute girl gets her motherfucking feelings hurt.

End of discussion.

Good night.
He gladly typed the two little words, wishing to not drag out the inevitable.

While she fished around for a response and definitely chatted with many men all at once to find her highest bidder, he’d decided to pull the plug on the whole sinking Titanic-like encounter. At this point, it felt like the ‘Ground Hog’ movie. The shit was redundant, and he’d had it up to here.

He slammed the lid to his computer closed, pushed the damn thing aside, and curled up into the fetal position, hands wedged between his thighs as he gave a farewell to his state of alertness and said ‘hello’ to a land full of irresistible Zzzzssss…

*

The following morning…

“And you bet
your fucking ass I did!” Sean cackled as he moved around his miniscule, cluttered kitchen, preparing to take care of his morning routines. The off white sink was chock full of filthy glasses with remnants of milk and chipped, spaghetti–sauce-stained ceramic plates donated from dear ol’ mom when he’d moved out all those years ago. “I told you that was my only damn day off, Kyle! Come on, man!” He wanted to beg, but he simply couldn’t stoop to that level, at least not today. The fucker knew how he felt about this game, which surely should’ve been enough to put some fire under the guy’s dragging feet.

“I got ’em, Mr. Mahoney!” Kyle teased, a carefree, easygoing flair in his tone—as if not a damn thing mattered in the whole world. “It’s a done deal. “Relaaaaxxxx! Just hold your horses!” His best friend snorted. “You’re becoming a real pain in the ass, ya know that, Sean? Hell, ya didn’t even ask me how my deal went!”

“How’d your deal go?” He reached for the green Palmolive soap and dabbed a bit along the thin cloth.

“Yeah, like you really care. That didn’t sound sincere.”

“Kyle, are you on your goddamn period? You wanna cuddle?” he teased, met with steely silence. “Sincere?” Sean scoffed. “You must be sitting over there with a tissue in your hand dabbing at tears while you watch Lifetime. Bitchified!” He cackled. “Gotta call the police. My boy Kyle here has been robbed of his X chromosome and his goddamn nuts!”

“Well, you didn’t even ask me about it. You knew it was important to me. All you wanted to talk about was the damn tickets.”

“I asked ya! Want to hear it again? I’ll send over a box of tampons to ya, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny, man. Look, on a serious note, Sean, don’t you ever think about anyone else other than yourself anymore?”

“Of course I do. Don’t try to sidetrack this conversation; we were talking about baseball tickets
first.
And what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway? Yeah, I think about others!” He gulped, feeling a bit defensive once he realized Kyle was serious. This wasn’t some show. The discussion had turned down a dead end street, and he wanted out before it was too late.

“Sean, seriously! Let’s have a man to man, heart to heart, alright?”

“It’s too early for this shit…don’t have the time.” He turned on the kitchen faucet and rinsed the soap residue off his favorite Superman decorated cereal bowl. The cartoon etched along the thing had faded with time. Superman was slowly disappearing. What to do? What to do?

“You call me all the fucking time asking me to do this and that, just like with these damn tickets. You know I can get my mitts on them, man, but you never offer anything in return, Sean. You weren’t like this when we were kids. Maybe you’ve turned into an unappreciative, kick boxing fuckhead in your old age.” He laughed.