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I exhale. “You know what irritates me the most?”
“No, you tell me. I’m all ears.” Marty removes his Kelly green top hat and whips it on the desk. His similarly tinted hair is askew and makes the tiny duffer look like he’s put a finger in a light socket. Again, I don’t laugh. Marty isn’t funny to me anymore.
“After all these years, after all you and I have been through – the highs and the lows – you still don’t take me seriously. You slough off my ideas like child’s play. You look at me like I’m a bottom line, a profit margin in muscles and braided hair.”
“Holy blue cheese on a moldy cracker. You’ve been watching daytime TV again, haven’t you? Filling your head with too many buzzwords. ”
I bolt up and stomp over to the drinks counter. I grab an oversized bottle of Gatorade, swig it in one go, and cough. Man, I hate that shit. So salty.
I know Marty buys that swill to piss me off. I turn to him and smack my lips like I loved it anyway.
This time, I choose to lean over the desk, placing a menacing shadow over the little green man.
“Just because I can feel something, anything, but glee from incoming bucks, it doesn’t mean I can’t pummel you into next week with these fists.”
I feel the blood rush to my head and my muscles tense. If I don’t calm down, I’ll go into full-on warrior mode. I watch Marty slither back into his chair, clearly melting.
“Listen, Ronan, things have been said on both sides. How ‘bout you and I sleep on it? Let emotions die down. There’s no rush to decide right now, is there?”
I stay quiet and walk to the window. I see kids in their early teens training. Their arms and legs are so scrawny, but their zeal is so strong. I know they would all kill to be me. The irony is not lost. Always greener on the other side. I sigh.
This isn’t how I wanted things to be. I fought so long and hard to get here. To reach the wrestling mountaintop, win every match, and grab the silver buckle. And now I want to fight to risk it all.
For what? To soothe my savage beast. To be someone I’m not. Whoever heard of a good-natured orc, anyway? Instead of fighting, I should kiss and hug my opponent. The thought makes me shiver.
I fly out of the office, letting the door barely hang on its hinges, and head out to the locker room to pack my things. Marty doesn’t stop me. Maybe he thinks I’ll be back tomorrow. That I’d never actually leave, not for good.
On the way, light comes in from the open front door. I turn to look and see Cheyanne. She’s geared up, ready to drill. My determination to leave quickly goes into high gear. The last thing I need is for her to see me vacating with my tail between my legs.
I stuff all my sweat-stained gear into my sweat-stained duffle bag. Every movement feels like my last. I walk out now, slamming shut all the open lockers. I don’t give a shit about anything anymore. I’m walking out for good. So be it. Screw you, Marty Murphy!
“Ah, frig it. No pain, no gain. You meant what you said. Put your money where your mouth is, Lawless. Suck it up and go.”
I flip the bag over my shoulder and lumber out. I can’t ignore the feeling as the locker room door closes. It’s like a chapter of my life closed without my say-so.
Go ahead, world, screw around with my life. I’ll laugh last, I guarantee that.
Word gets around the gym about my leaving. Everyone lines up to say goodbye. I smile, offer a few niceties to each fighter, and shake their hands. Then I slowly make my way to the door.
Before the front door closes, I take one last look. I see Cheyanne in the center ring, training hard, but with no new trainer by her side. I let the door close, but questions arise.
“Hey, man, we heard the news. You’re leaving for good. Is it true?” Killer Thomas catches me in the parking lot, and I smile and nod.
“Yeah, man, time for a change.”
Charlie Hodge, aka, Monkey Man from La Mancha, strolls up behind Thomas and shakes my hand.
“The place won’t be the same without you, Lawless.”
“Call me Ronan, Charlie. I’m putting Lawless to bed.”
“Damn, that’s a cryin’ shame. There won’t be another one like Lawless again.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You guys see Cheyanne in there? She’s training hard to be a badass.”
“Yeah, we saw. She’s been doing her new routine for weeks now but not with a new trainer. You know yourself, Ro. No new brand trainer, no new brand.”
“So, what’s the scuttlebutt, then?” I’m not the gossipy type, but with Cheyanne, my curiosity is perma-aroused.
