Unstoppable (7 page)

Startled looks from the neighbors and people passing by were greeted by my signature
hands on the hips
pose of pride I still use today. Reports to my mother from neighbors flooded in all day, testifying to my nakedness and free reign of the neighborhood.

I spent the day without food, naked, walking around the neighborhood. Things seemed so much clearer when I was naked. I felt clean, free of restriction, and able to face the neighborhood without any denial of who I was or what I was about.

Free will.

Oddly enough, I ended up in a profession where my work attire consisted of a pair of shorts. When not boxing, I typically wear my signature attire; a pair of cargo shorts, and a wife-beater. Getting dressed up for me might include a tee shirt. Topped off by a pair of Chuck’s with no socks, I am as close to naked as the law will allow me to be – at least in Texas.

In the comfort of my own home, I spent as much time as possible naked. If I had guests, I typically wore shorts and Chuck’s. If I had a house full of guests, some of which I didn’t know, I would complement my wardrobe with a wife-beater - out of respect.

I laughed at the thought of Brandee and her sister’s thoughts of my nakedness.

“Dude, she asked me if I was showing off. I fucking had to laugh. I said, ‘Listen, I would be naked if you were gone, and I sure as fuck ain’t getting dressed because you’re here’. She asked about the Chuck’s, and I told her I hated steppin’ on shit. Funny how a guy can get hit in the jaw by a two hundred and fifty pound goon, but stepping on a pebble will bring him to his knees,” I pulled my toothpick from my mouth and finished my beer.

“So what about Liv?” Dekk asked as he rolled his eyes again.

“What about Liv?” I sat up in my chair and rested my forearms on my knees.

“Well, what do you think she’ll feel like if she finds out?”

“Well, she ain’t gonna find out. Barbee sure as fuck ain’t gonna call her and tell her. And I already told her the same thing I told Barbee. You know how I roll,” I gave Dekk my best form of an evil stare.

“You tell these girls that you’re fucking them, and there’s to be no feelings involved,” Dekk paused and looked up at the ceiling.

“Yeah. I tell ‘em that up front. They agree. I ain’t never forced anyone to do anything,” I raised my hands from my knees and held them up as I waited on a response.

“I wasn’t done,” Dekk complained.

“Well fuckin’ finish, Dekk. What are you trying to say?” I rested my chin in my right hand and raised my eyebrows at his silence.

He squirmed in his chair for a minute and took a slow drink of his water. Without a doubt, Dekk was my best friend, and would remain so for life. He was a little bit of a romantic, and had some holier than thou frosting spread over the surface that sometimes made him a little bit hard to agree with when it came to my sex life.

He placed his glass of water on the table and rested his face in the palms of his hands. “Just because you tell them not to have feelings doesn’t mean they’re not going to. Women have sex with a man, and they
feel
. So these women, I guarantee you, all have feelings for you. If you don’t believe me, ask them. But telling them
not to feel
is no assurance they don’t or won’t. All women want a man to care for them, love them, and cherish them,” Dekk took a slow breath.

I was done trying to listen to Dekk’s preaching. I pulled my hand from my chin and slowly started clapping.

“Tell that shit to someone that will listen and believe you, dude. Jesus. You know me, and I ain’t trying to get preached to. This ain’t the first bitch I fucked, and it damn sure ain’t gonna be the last,” I stopped clapping and rubbed my hands on my shorts as I shook my head lightly.

I really wasn’t in the mood to argue about a woman’s ability to get fucked and enjoy it. Sometimes Dekk could be exhausting with his attempts to be mister nice guy. I was as nice as he was, all things considered. I just had more fun being nice. It didn’t make me inconsiderate or mean, it just made me different. As I exhaled a shallow breath and looked at my empty beer bottle, I noticed a person’s head glide by the top of the table beside us.

“Oh . Good God damn. What the fuckin’ fuck,” I stood up in my chair and looked over Dekk toward the aisle which led foot traffic to and from the bar.

A guy in a wheel chair slowly rolled his way into the bar and stopped at a table twenty feet from where we were sitting.

“Oh fuck dude we gotta go,” I said, half frantic.

“What happened,” Dekk said as he looked over his shoulders.

I reached for my wallet and started pulling bills out.

“Dude. A fuckin’ cripple. In a God damned wheelchair, c’mon. What’d you have? Sandwich? Ten, my chicken and two beers, twenty, three, three, twenty-six. Fuck it, I’ll leave forty and include the tip,” I tossed two twenty dollar bills on the table and put my empty beer bottle on top of them.

Slowly, Dekk turned to look around the bar as he stood.

“C’mon, motherfucker. You know I can’t stay, this is freaking me out,” I started pushing my way through the empty chairs and tables, quickly making my own path toward the exit and into the parking lot.

For as long as I can remember, people who are crippled have always freaked me out. I felt pretty bad most of the time about how I felt, but it wasn’t a decision I consciously made. No matter how hard I have tried to force myself to accept it, them, and the fact they existed, I couldn’t accept it as a part of my responsibility to accept being in their presence. When I see them, try as I might, they kind of scare me. I’ve never been afraid of another human being, and hell, I’ll fight anyone. Place me in the same room as a person in a wheel chair, however, and I’ll stand there and just shake. Give me enough time, and I’d be crying like a baby.

Crippled people.

And fucking midgets.

And God damned clowns.

Crippled people and midgets I feel terrible about. I can’t help it, but I feel the way I feel. To me, they’re like spiders or snakes are to other people. I actually
fear
them. A clown? They’re just fucking stupid. When I see a guy in a clown suit, I want to beat the shit out of him. He
chooses
to be a clown; crippled people and midgets can’t help it.

Fucking clowns.

As I reached for the hand controls on my bike, I noticed my hands shaking. I extended my fingers flat and tried to steady it, but it shook uncontrollably.

“You alright?” Dekk asked as he stood between his bike and mine, staring at my hand as it shook.

“Fuck no, I’m not alright. That fucker just slid by where we were sittin’. No warning, no nothing. Just a fucking head rollin’ by in a chair. Seriously, that’s fucked up,” I clenched my jaw muscles and stared into the parking lot.

“Let’s go down to dirty sixth and hang out in a bar. The Jackelope. How’s that sound?” I asked as I gripped the throttle on my bike.

“You know there’s nothing they can do about it,” Dekk sighed.

“Don’t even fuckin’ start. You know how I feel. Been this way since I was a kid. That shit creeps me out. They’re like fucking spiders,” I said as I turned on the ignition and fired up the bike.

Dekk shook his head and slowly walked his swaggering ass over to where his bike was parked.

“Want to go to Dirty sixth? Jackalope?” I hollered over the sound of the exhaust.

Dekk threw his leg over the seat and fired up his bike. As his engine warmed up, he turned and nodded my direction.

Great. Let’s get the fuck out of here.

Most people see me, meet me, or hear my slow Texas manner of speaking, and they assume I am stupid. In fact, I’m far from it. I received a full ride scholarship to college, and it wasn’t what most would have guessed that got me there. Academics. An academic scholarship for a guy built like a linebacker.
Go figure.

I never really cared for sports, not with my heart. I don’t look at boxing as a sport, per se. It’s not what drives me to compete and excel. Beating another man’s ass is what fuels me. Winning a one on one competition lets me know it’s me and me alone that won the contest, the fight, the competition, the match. No one else. Win or lose, it’s all mine.

Naturally intelligent, and as mean as a snake. An odd combination, but that’s who I am. As smart as I am, I have never been able to determine why I felt the way I did about crippled people and midgets. It bothers me and I know it’s wrong, but I can’t change it. I can’t really accept it either.

I grabbed a handful of throttle and closed the gap between Dekk’s bike and mine. As we sped down the highway toward downtown, it dawned on me. I was doing what I’ve done pretty much my entire life.

Relationships.

Getting a real job.

Facing my fears.

I
was
running.

Hell, maybe I’m a little bit smarter than I look.

RIPP.
“You seriously are going to say you like someone based on their looks alone,” Dekk looked over his shoulder, studied her for a minute, and slowly turned back to face me.

“Dude, don’t stare, you’ll freak her out,” I whispered.

“I wasn’t staring, I just looked. You told me to,” he whispered back.

“Well, what did you think? And I didn’t say I
liked
her. I said I liked looking at her and watching her walk. Wait till she walks again, I’ll tell ya. Dude.
Dude
. She’s fucking
smoking
,” I slowly shook my head from side to side as I watched her walk toward her girlfriends.

“She’s beautiful, no doubt about it. But people are more than their looks alone. She could be an awful person,” Dekk rubbed the sides of his face with his hands.

“And she could be a humanitarian. That’s my point, I want to find out,” I nodded my head in her direction.

“You’re like a two hundred-fifty pound kid,” Dekk sighed.

“Two-thirty. And yeah, we all are. Or at least, we should be. I like being a kid. Holy fuck, dude, look at her calves when she walks,” I nodded my head in her direction again.

Generally speaking, I am a good judge of character. I don’t know if it makes me a good boxer, or if being a good boxer has helped me be a good judge of character. Most of the time, I can tell from looking at someone if they are a good or bad person. I’m not psychic, nor can I see into the future. I can, however, accurately categorize people. The good and the bad.

She was about five foot six in her heels, give or take an inch or so. I’d guess about five foot two without them. Physically, she was what most would describe as
athletic.
Her attitude was apparent by her hand gestures, the way she walked, and how her friends paid attention when she spoke. Her brunette hair was a little past her shoulders, and she wore a black pencil shirt and heels. Her attitude and presence demanded I pay attention to her. And, well, she was absolutely gorgeous. I watched as her girlfriends played pool and she told a story.

She was the type of woman who caused men to do stupid shit they would later look back on with disbelief. When asked why, a shoulder shrug and quick gesture toward her would cause the person inquiring to just nod in complete understanding. She was
that
gorgeous.

“Well, on a scale of one to ten, what do ya say?” I asked as I sank into my seat and took a sip of my beer.

“Definitely a ten from what I can see from here. And what the fuck are you doing? You’re hiding your beer?” Dekk chuckled.

I shrugged my shoulders and slowly sat up in my seat.

“Fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing. Tell me what to say,” I pushed my beer to the side of the booth and rubbed my hands on my shorts.

“What to say?” he sat up in his seat and raised his hands in wonder.

“Yeah. I need to talk to her. You know, say something. You’re a walking Hallmark card, Dekk. Give me
something
,” I leaned forward and rested my forearms on the table.

Dekk sat and stared at me through the hood of his sweatshirt and brushed the sides of his head in his hands.

“I can’t tell you what to say. Just walk over there and talk to her,” he pulled his hands from his hood and shook his head.

“Dekk, look at me. You know me. If anyone does, you do. I knock motherfuckers out and fuck bitches. I don’t love ‘em. I fuck ‘em. I might have said something once or twice which ended up
being
sweet, but it wasn’t intentional. I want to go over there, say something, and have her think,
holy shit - this guy is so sweet
,” I nodded my head as I thought about Dekk providing the perfect poetic phrase.

“I don’t know. Shit, Ripp. You could…” Dekk rolled his eyes, looked up, and then focused on my face and stared.

“Make it good,” I leaned closer to the center of the table and rubbed my hands together.

Dekk rotated in his seat and watched her over his shoulder as he stretched his arms outward. When he turned to face me, he smiled and slowly shook his head. Brushing the hood off of his head was proof he was really putting some serious thought into what he was going to say.

“I’m sure if I tell you you’re gorgeous, I wouldn’t be the first. It goes without saying you’re a strikingly beautiful woman. That’s not why I’m here. You have a certain presence about you, and it commands attention, and certainly demanded mine,” Dekk took a slow breath and started to continue.

“Dude, stop,” I raised my forearms from the table and leaned back into the seat.

“What?” he asked.

“You really think I’m gonna remember all that mumbo jumbo shit? Damn, Dekk. Give me your fucking hoodie,” I said as I leaned back toward the table.

“What?” he asked again.

“Say what
again
, motherfucker. Say what
again
,” I joked, mimicking Samuel L. Jackson from
Pulp Fiction
.

“You want my hoodie?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I pointed to my chest, “Look at me. I’m wearing a wife beater and I’m covered in tats. I want the hoodie. So I’ll look like a normal person.”

“But you’re not a normal person,” Dekk chuckled.