The Song of David(61)

“I’m not made of glass, David,” she said softly.

“I know.”

“Really? Because I’m guessing if I could see, you would want me at your fight.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, nodding to myself. “But you can’t see. And having you out there in the crowd, being bumped and pushed, hearing the fight going down, and not knowing if I’m winning or losing, that seems unnecessarily cruel. And I don’t want that. You’ll be afraid for me, and I’ll be afraid for you, and if I’m worrying about you, my mind won’t be where it needs to be.”

“But Tag, that’s kind of how it works. I care about you, you care about me. It’s called a relationship.” There was frustration in her voice, and I noticed she called me Tag whenever she was a little irked at me.

“I protect you, you protect me,” I insisted. “That’s how it works. You protect me by being safe and secure while I fight, so I’m not distracted. And I protect you by insisting on it.”

She sighed again, and I stopped walking and turned her to face me. Gently, with the pads of my fingertips, I smoothed her forehead, traced the scowl between her eyes, and then touched her unsmiling lips, pushing the edges up, forcing her to smile.

She grabbed at my hands and nipped at my fingertips, biting a little harder than was playful, showing me her frustration.

“It’ll be broadcast on FightNet. FOX sports will be there too, but I don’t think it’ll air until later. But on FightNet you can watch it in real time. You can log in and watch it at home. Mikey does the play-by-play for Tag Team fights. He’s good at it, Millie, and I’ll make sure he knows you’re listening so he gives a little more detail than usual. That way you will know exactly what is happening, when it happens.”

She shook her head as if she didn’t like it at all.

“Please, Millie?” I whispered.

“I don’t want you to feel alone. It feels wrong not to be there,” she protested.

“Everyone fights alone, Millie. That’s not something you can help me do.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?” I asked.

“Okay,” she acquiesced.

I kissed her gratefully, almost desperately, and she kissed me back. But I sensed the hurt and tasted her reservations.

When I dropped her off at home, I didn’t come inside and she didn’t sulk or simper. I was buzzing with pent-up energy, nerves, and anticipation. I had forty-eight hours to mentally prepare for the fight, and I needed a clear head and no distractions. Even beautiful ones.

“You’ll come here Tuesday night, no matter what time it is?” she asked, her hand on the door handle, her stick at the ready.

“I will,” I promised. Bloodied, bruised, beaten, I would be there.

“I’ll be listening, I’ll be cheering, and I’ll be waiting,” she said simply. She pushed the truck door open, slid to the ground, and I watched as she made her way inside and carefully shut the door.



(End of Cassette)





Moses




MILLIE HADN’T BEEN at the fight. I realized that now. At the time I was too amped on the energy of the crowd and the hype of the big event to notice a missing female, especially when she wasn’t my female.

Georgia hadn’t gone either. She’d kissed me and told me that babies and brawling didn’t mix so I should go without her. She said she and Kathleen would stay home and do girl stuff. I knew that ‘girl stuff’ basically meant that Georgia would feed and bathe Kathleen, rock her to sleep, and go to bed early herself, but I let her talk me into it.

So I was running solo, sitting on the very front row with a few Tag Team members who weren’t working Tag’s corner, when Tag strutted into the arena to a Waylon Jennings song about cowboys being hard to love and harder to hold. The crowd cheered and joined in on the chorus, and Tag egged them on. It made me laugh. I was so nervous for him I was practically seeing double, and he was acting like a big gorilla, monkeying it up to the packed house, his smile wide, his muscles bulging. He didn’t seem nervous at all, and when he caught my eye he smirked and pounded his chest.

Bruno Santos, on the other hand, entered the arena cloaked in a shimmery white robe with a hood so deep the only thing visible was the tip of his chin. His song of choice was something so bass heavy I couldn’t make out the lyrics, though I caught the words “destruction” and “annihilation.” He was hopping on the balls of his feet, shrugging his shoulders and tossing his neck, and I suddenly wished I’d stayed home with Georgia. Caring about people was a pain in my ass. Watching Tag fight was a bigger pain in my ass. My stomach turned over, and I glared at my friend, willing him to put me out of my misery as soon as possible.