II: Champion
His opponent’s grip was tight, wrapped around Mathias’s upper thigh, trying to pull up. A member of the tennis club, hadn’t seemed like much of a threat, but the Junior was surprisingly quick on his feet, deceptively strong. Mathias tried to push down on the boy’s back, drive him to the sand, but his stance was too firm to budge. Legs like tree trunks. So instead Mathias wormed his arms down, around his opponent’s neck, and began to yank up. In a second his opponent had tapped out and fallen to the ground, gasping. When he managed to catch his breath, Mathias offered him a hand and pulled him up.
“Almost,” Mathias said with a grin. The boy nodded and slunk off to receive his pity beer. Another challenger was stepping up, but Mathias waved him off. “Two minutes.” Three matches in a row and the buzz was fading. He snagged a beer for himself and worked two hits of a joint off a spectator. “Much obliged.” After that, it was just making short work of his opponent and another victory lap around the impromptu ring.
It was a beautiful night for victory. The cool air, the gentle breeze, the light from the fire casting shadows across the sand all made the beer taste sweeter, the joint hit deeper, the cheers from the crowd ring louder. What could be better than this? He’d be in college soon, a full ride off a basketball scholarship, out of this fucking dead town with nothing to offer him, new teammates who could actually keep up with him, new skills to learn, teams to conquer. Life would be good. He grabbed another beer and waited. No one had stepped up yet. Everyone who’d wanted their shot had taken it, and the losers who’d come back for revenge hadn’t had any more luck than before. Maybe it was about time to wind down, take a swim, get the sweat off. But there was still one more thing.
Zeke was coming around from the fire, carrying a few beers that he passed around. Before he could leave, Mathias grabbed his shoulder.
“Hey man,” he said. “Get in here.”
“You sure you want that?” said Zeke, grinning. He was already pulling his shirt off and stepping into the makeshift ring. “I’m not going easy on you.”
“Of course,” said Mathias, and leaped forward. Inches before he connected Zeke pivoted away, and before Mathias could react had him in an arm lock. He pulled hard, sharp, and Mathias immediately tapped out.
“Again,” said Mathias, popping back up.
“Sure thing,” said Zeke. They went three more rounds, and each time Mathias barely managed to get a finger on Zeke before getting trapped in some sort of lock or choke. When it was done, Mathias fell to the ground, breathing hard. The beer was starting to take its toll. He didn’t want to back out now, but Zeke was already walking off.
“Nice job man,” said Zeke. “Enjoy your beers.”
“You’re a fucking freak,” said Mathias as Zeke walked off. He couldn’t help but smile. There was never any fun in losing, but it stung the least when it was against Zeke. Getting mad at himself for the loss would have been like getting mad that he couldn’t fly – some things just couldn’t be helped. He climbed to his feet, grabbed some cans from the cooler, and walked over to where Clarice was waiting in the audience. He kissed her on the cheek and passed her a beer. She gave him a look that made him wish he'd stayed in the pit.
“You said we’d talk about school soon,” she said.
“We will,” he said, sighing. “Just, you know… not now.” He knew he couldn’t keep putting it off, not without risking fallout on a nuclear scale, but they both knew where the conversation would head, and he wasn’t looking forward to ending things just yet. He cared about her – he really did, they’d been together for almost two years at this point – but, well… he couldn’t afford a college degree without this, and he’d be moving so far, and he didn’t want to limit her, and, and, and… what else was there to say that they hadn’t gone over before?
“I just want a straight answer,” she said. “Yes or no?” There were tears in her eyes, faint glitters. Her balled fist was resting against his chest. The two of them completely still in this moment, like the eye of a storm as the party spun around them. Fuck, he thought. I’m such a piece of shit.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “No.”
The tears began to flow earnestly, and she turned away without saying anything else, wiping her face as she walked off. He wanted to say something, comfort her, but knew in his gut that there was nothing that wouldn’t make things worse. Without a word he went back to the cooler, grabbed a beer, drank it as fast as he could, grabbed another, sat down in the sand, ran his fingers through his hair. Someone sat down next to him. A girl with short, curly red hair and an unimpressed expression.
“You must have fucked up bad, huh?” said Olivia.
“I guess,” said Mathias. He shrugged, took a sip of his beer, passed her the can. She gulped down more than was polite and handed it back.
“Maybe there’s, y’know. Still some way.”
“Nah.” Mathias shook his head. “It’s done. No point in dragging it out.” The beer was finished. He crushed the can with one hand, tossed it onto the beach. “She’s going to end up hating me no matter what.” Olivia was staring at him, hugging her legs with her head resting on her bent knees.
“Did you love her?”
“Yeah. Told her too. Just not enough I guess.”
“She’ll know that, I think. Just give it time.” Olivia stood, patted him on the shoulder, and wandered back off into the crowd from which she’d emerged. Mathias sighed and also got up. Maybe it was getting about time to leave. Wouldn’t be easy to enjoy the rest of the night. An unexpected sight made him stop. Across the fire, a figure was descending to the beach from the parking lot, a small man with glasses and blonde-hair. Mathias clenched his fists.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered, and started forward.
« I: Bacchanal | Contents | III: Straggler »