In the Ring

Drunken punch choke-out sex is not for the faint of heart. She may want you to choke her, but you have to retain the low enough self-esteem to not only let her beat you like a rowdy slave but also to still finish when she does, just cause; like it makes a fucking difference. You go to work the next morning bloody, with scars and bruises, ignoring the rumors birthed from sheer speculation alone, and do your daily routine like a good worker bee. Explaining that the so-called love of your life finds it fun to inflict pain on you tends to draw a lot of unwanted attention. You tolerate her for a few reasons. One, because Sonya can score the best opioids from “work,” so pain is nothing more than an afterthought, but more importantly, she keeps you from feeling alone. Something that tends to cause you to overreact even as a lonely kid.

I felt like a hero taking one for the collective teams of hetero-males and lesbians for being a self-mutilating, detrimental, toxic human begin willing to take the punishing abusive stalker off the market for the greater good. And maybe I overreacted, but in the end, did anyone truly get hurt?

Well… I’m in a psychiatric ward for all of the things I said before, even the calling myself a hero for it, part explaining to the doctor why I felt this way. I saw this as a moment for re-self-discovery. A break from the chaos of a submissive performer. They, however, saw the slashes down my arms, black eye, and knocked out tooth and thought I had completely lost the ability to see straight. I hate hospitals, so I repeated the same story of my ex dying horrifically so that the clichés of grief can just fast track me to the meds they want me on and the therapy sessions that feel wasteful when the patient stone walls the doctor. I would spend the rest of my time exploring the ever adventurous mind of the rejects of society through the behavior of my new roommates. The screaming, the interesting ramblings of king sponge bob, the Illuminati’s grip on the world’s loose screws, or the silence of the depressed anti-social whisperer that tends to open up just before being checked out.

In some vague mumbling, I noticed that, as I was being shown to my room, a couple of the patients were staring and pointing at me. Wanting to keep things on the up and up, I tried to say hello as I passed but was seemingly shunned. The two stopped their rambling, and just before I was out of earshot, I could hear the last of their back and forth.

“…But he looks just like the, you know. The—“

“Shut up, Gerald. It’s not them, so drop it.

From that moment on, I started to wonder whether it was all worth it. Whether I should have said what I said and hurt who I hurt, just seek asylum away from that which loves me so. Love at the end of a punch or a set of fuzzy handcuffs. Just as much love from the bottom of a bottle or love from a suicide note. I’ll just have to save that for the therapist I won’t open to.

This current stent, so far, was long enough to re-watch all of the Harry Potter series twice, excluding the Goblet of Fire, for the ward just hadn’t been donated that to their collection yet. A thoughtful thing I considered doing after I was released. Maybe I would remember, maybe I wouldn’t; it didn’t matter cause I was the only one indulging in the world of wizardry while the rest of the patients seemed to have other things going on. More so than what is generally allowed for a group of possible crazies. I couldn’t keep up with the patient’s happenings, but throughout the day, patients seemed to come and go from the day room area but were gone for what should have been a worrisome amount of time, yet the staff seemed okay with it. Not that I truly gave a shit, for I was in here worrying about the few friends I have left, not knowing or caring that I am in here and how my boss would handle my sudden disappearance again. I had a co-worker explain what was going on, but they didn’t know me too well and hadn’t called back to tell me if I still had a job when I got out.

This coming and going, mixed with the relentless boredom of routine, I finally started doing some investigation of my fellow patients. I first introduced myself to Clarisse. A patient who was there by her own admission of a severe problem with panic attacks, so much so she couldn’t function in the day-to-day. It could have something to do with her five-foot twig-like frame, but she was intimidated by pretty much everything and everyone. She was kind and very talkative as long as you followed her strict rules of engagement. Don’t look her in her hazel eyes for longer than five seconds, keep a reasonable distance, don’t say the number two thousand five hundred, little things like that that helped her with her constantly having plenty to say. As much of a joy as talking to her, I really needed to get to the point. After thinking long and hard about her rules, I asked about these strange coming and goings. It took her a second to figure out what I was referring to, but once she realized, her eyes widened.

I looked away from her, hoping that I hadn’t broken one of her rules, when she responded, “we don’t want to alert the staff by having too many of us gone at the same time.” What the hell does that mean, I thought, leaning back in the suicide-proof block of a chair. It was time for her session with her personal doctor cutting the conversation short just before getting further. As Clarisse left, I got that fleeting chill of someone watching me. Practical molesting me with their eyes, not a good feeling in any captivity-type situation. Across the room, a Spanish model was giving me a bit more attention than I felt I deserved. Tall, with a figure that stood out even though the hospital gown, as if they purposely gave her a pajama top and bottoms that were too small. I had no quarrels with this once I saw her, so I waved politely. At this point of the story, I would send a drink her way, but since the menu consistently put paper cones of water or the orange juice I had stashed for later, I decided to get straight to the talking, with a slight problem.

I started by apologizing for all the days I hogged the one TV with my newfound addiction and my name, which didn’t lead to any more than a light hand shake of her soft hands and a wicked smile. A type of beautiful smile sinister in origin, like an arsonist or a torturer admiring her work. She walked away abruptly after that and watching her leave, even in the ill-fitting robes, was a pleasure to behold. I was distracted without a doubt when I was approached by another patient who graciously whispered, “She must like you, but Rosetta doesn’t talk. Not in the slightest, at least in this realm.”

I thought about that all night. I didn’t know what to think about the strangeness of these patients, what they were hiding, or was I falling into a warm hole of my own delusions sending me far into the cosmos away from the solar system outside of the Orion Spiral Arm, out of reach of the Milky Way Galaxy, waving goodbye to the Virgo Supercluster into the oblivion that is our humanly limits. I wanted to sleep that night truly so I could recuperate and well enough to leave, but these thoughts competing with Haley’s comet through my head were sending me into flashes of rambling. I needed to calm down. I burn off the excess energy as I seemingly create it as if my own thoughts were generating friction within my brain’s drying fluids fueled by the imagination. I had to forget how good it felt to feel this incredible, how amazing it was to be this alert, this motivated, how turned on I was by the slightest inclination towards the erotic. If I don’t quail the beast’s intentions, they’ll make sure I never leave this place.

ŠŠŠŠ

Fighting to keep this hyperactivity in check in front of the medical staff over the next two days was becoming a problem. I was pacing uncontrollably, and every conversation was the most important thing I could be doing as there was not much else to do after the morning group sessions ended. Hoping that keeping busy would trick the staff into ignoring the obvious signs of my lack of sleep, I returned to my investigations of the patients who were still sneaking around in their little mysterious ways. Fuck talking, I began to think. I’m going to follow one of these bastards.

I switched gears and watched them come and go throughout the day, always happier upon their return, paying as much attention as I could to the pattern looking for the weakest link in the chain. New patients were coming in trying to make conversation with me, trying to make the best of shite situation, throwing off my game, prompting me to have a bit of an outburst gaining unwanted attention from the nurses outside the room. Apparently, calling someone a cunt is grounds for a stern talking to and possible sedation, but I focused heavily on my lies and my portrayal of an average person to return to my work. After lunch, I finally set a plan based on the wondering schizophrenic who was great for a distraction when the time came.

A switch was being made, and I could see my opening to follow him down the hall and out of the door. Just at the edge of the patient quarters down the cold white hall, I watch the man vanish behind a door that shined brightly when opened. I hesitated at first since a camera at the end of the hall faced that exact area, yet none of the staff came running when he disappeared. Worse yet, when I slowly approached the door, watching my back as I went, there was no door, only more wall with a dark green stripe unbroken by anything. My mouth was full of the words, “What in the green goblin fuck,” so I casually put my hand over my mouth, converting the words into a few minor coughs. I stood by where the opening was for a minute or two, pacing, having a conversation with the me in my head; I named Taylor, hoping that something logical or illogical happens real soon. I’m not sure if I can handle myself right now. Taylor was about to scream when I was ripped off my feet into a blinding light by a hand reaching out of the heavenly force.

Rosetta was staring me in the face when I told her, “that sort of behavior opens some doors I don’t think you are ready for, babe.” I made my way to my feet, where a swarm of impossibly loud cheering fans was watching something called the Wondrous Wild Trapeze in a taller than standard boxing ring from the 1940s. My robes were now the clothes I arrived in without the blood that came with them. The jeans, blazer, and sky blue t-shirt were as clean as the day I bought them, but I wasn’t the only one. Everyone was clean cut, well shaven, drinking in what seemed to be a massive legit speakeasy. These bitches had mother fucking Black Heart rum and everything. It was very well, nearly the first thing I ran towards as I entered. I cut the crowd of patience now basking joyfully in their little secret oasis in the dark. The dimly lit warehouse had a wait staff, televisions showing the central performance, the latest series and the latest episodes pleasing the nerds, and books and movies to argue over. Food was served at one end far from the entrance and billiards next to that. It played with my sense of cleanliness as the ceiling was from a rusted-out airline hanger while the floors were black and white diner tiles cleaned to perfection. Not that I could fully see it as it was a hell of a packed house.

I was sipping my rum and Coke, stunned in absolute happiness next to the silent Rosetta as she held my hand smiling even with what was easily a small arena size room packed like a Tardis in this ward. Her spoken words found me clear and concise despite the background chatter all around. “This is where the healing happens,” to which I responded, “You Goddamn right.”

Every generation was represented in the corners of the arena. I wandered around exploring this custom promise lands of times long gone especially set for the older patients who wanted to speak of the Great War, whichever one they fought in. I kept waiting for the dream to end, wake up from the coma, or the drugs to wear off, as I had been inside here for so long, basking in the comfort of acceptance. I hadn’t paid attention to anything but the multiple bars and Rosetta as we found an excellent place to sit and watch this trapeze toy with his food. The match lasted twenty minutes before the Wild Trapeze finished their opponent in a single combo.

I had question after question that no one seemed to want to answer, but as I sat three rows from the main ring, where the chairs were far more similar to love seats that wrapped around the main event, fighting with all my heart to make a move on the now scantly dress Rosetta, I had a thought.

If you found heaven, and I mean truly found a utopia beyond our comprehension, there are only a few ways to respond to it. One is to say yes. Ignore the faults, the impossibilities, the absolute perfection, the change in your understanding, and watch a fight on the stage you’re given. Sit down, drink your drink, and be a part of the solution to all that is unholy. It’s so hard to follow suit with the burden of skepticism throwing out red flags whenever the status quo is fucked by the new and improved way without the proof to tie it down. How does one enjoy ignorance when the brain craves connection?

I could see that Rosetta was confused by the loss of the world’s biggest smile when she gazed up at me. She took it upon herself to make an attempt to bring back its glow, and suddenly down my pants, her hand went. I could almost tell you the exact temperature of her icy glass, and I jumped a little before letting her return the smile to my face. I decided to say yes at that moment, but then again, so did the Wondrous Wild Trapeze, that fucking kill joy.

ÎÎÎÎ

“I CHALLENGE THE, you little shit,” bellowed from behind mask center ring.

A spotlight shined on us as the crowd turned to get a look at my rather awkwardly surprised expression. I wasn’t shocked that I was called out, by the way. It was the fact that Rosetta hadn’t stopped putting a smile on my face as every set of eyes was watching, whether peering over my shoulder or on the screens showing live highlights of the event. All I got from her was another sinister smile made much more awkward by her unflinching eye contact.

“Can this not wait five… ten minutes? You know what, let’s round up and call it an hour, and I’ll be right with you,” I yelled, hoping that the intense red spotlight would stop graphically highlighting my sins. At that moment, the Trapeze used the ropes as a slingshot flinging themselves into a three-sixty front flip doing a superhero landing directly in front of the two of us. Staring me down through that cloth violet shaded mask, those blackened brown eyes broke my sense of bliss just before picking me up from my seat one-handed. Other than that, the Trapeze was wearing a black head to toe. The Trapeze’s build was similar to mine, and I have never picked a person one armed, leaving me both stunned and breathless.

“Are you ready? You shall face me in the ring, and you will perish for your hubris in my domain. What final words do you have?”

Still choking, feet dangling, “Can you let me go so I may say them.”

“Those are some shitty last words, right? That’s what I thought,” and so did Clarissa, who showed up out of nowhere lying down the law of the domain. No frazzled hair with more confidence than I had seen from anyone there so far.

“The rules are thus,” she echoed into the microphone like a classy announcer, “Now that the challenge has been accepted—“

“But has it really,” I yelled.

“Now that the challenge has been accepted, the newcomer must have time to prepare, time to strategize, enjoy life one last night. Thus the battle shall happen in twenty-four hours until the two of you shall be separated until that time has come. The contender must leave. Shake hands and part ways.”

When the bastard shook my hand, I believe their intention was to break it, and their relative success put me on my knees. I grabbed my drink, downed it, and smashed it on the floor before walking out, or in that general direction, as it took a while to find the door. I was bowled by a body guard in the hospital, who was really just a massive patient reliving their Studio 54 door man days. I turned and watched them slowly shut the door with laughs and cheers. The slam brought a nurse Wilson to my aid. The door slammed, and I was left staring at where the secret door used to be. He walked with me down the hall back towards the day room where someone else had decided to crack open the harry potter movies. I looked back in time to watch another patient step through the portal doorway, rift in time and space, what the fuck that thing is, and couldn’t help but smile at the apparently blind nurse. He wanted to know why I was on the floor and how I felt on a scale between one and ten. I wasn’t about to ruin a good thing, so I said I was hungry. No lie felt right to me, and the truth was blocked. Blocked by fear of meds, fear of the other self, fear of a life behind bars. I gave him a very sincere, “I’ll be fine, thank you very much,” and he sent me on my way.

I became mesmerized by the lack of time passage on the clock. Was it wrong? Did really only five minutes go by? Then when the hell is twenty-four hours in that world? I sat there confused until Gerald sat next to me, causing me to think about what happened last time. I had that confused look on my face and thought of something else, or at least I tried. The ex-biker had a raspy voice, face scars, and tattoos galore, leaving me to suspect that he was in here to avoid some terrible charges.

I assumed that someone would come and get me when the time came, and boy, what a time. I was about to die, and while part of me was pleased, the other… The Other was willing to fight to go out on my own terms when I didn’t feel this delusional. I’m still not sure whether it was all real or a slip into some sort of insomnia-induced hallucination. So much fear plagued me for the fight, and my possible slipping mental state should probably be mentioned.

“It’s real. It’s very real. What you need to know is that the world is bigger than we all know, but we have to be willing to let go in order to appreciate it. You tracking?” He said. It hadn’t accrued to me at the time that I had been talking a loud since he sat down until I answered him, nodding while reading. “I can’t believe you pissed off the champion. You’re a brave son of a bitch,” he whispered.

“Since you’re over there dealing out props and wisdom, how about you help me out with a bit of advice. I’d rather avoid, you know, being dead for the moment anyway.”

“Go down swinging. No place like it.”

And with that, he walked the fuck off. The worst advice ever, and sounded proud about his involvement. Fuck that guy. Anyway, I continued to ponder what was possible and felt I was now on the same level as Stephen Hawkins. I skipped dinner and returned to my room to pace, letting the raging thoughts flow as they do with or without an audience. In my own world, listening to Taylor, who really just laughed, recounting her awkward prolonged eye contact, I tried to strategize about how to fight a Trapeze artist or at least an enemy that fought like one. How does a trapeze artist fight? I assumed that it included flips and an elephant. The night was creeping to its wicked end, and I had no real plan outside of taking a compelling early dive.

A world sat outside my window that night. I lived neighboring a planet filled with the journeys and adventures of the wild and the free from now to human eternity. Tales of bitter sweet romantic justice being delivered on dragon’s back to all the inhabitants as if it was a make shift Santa Clause real and full of equal and fair judgment. This planet is orbited by a white sun that shares its loving wisdom with the millions that ask each and every day. Although I am other worldly, it bestows a lesson which I may use to traverse the childish plain in which I am forced to exist in but has now ripped open, its curtains starting a show on a weathered stage ready to take my breath away. The white sun shared its wisdom, saying what I already knew, with only trust in its difference. I fucking need help.

It was too early. Before breakfast and before the sun up. I was startled out of my shallow sleep by a hand over my mouth, and even though I knew it was my literal roommate, I still pushed them away. I imagined being taken in my sleep to a planet without oxygen for study or talking about it vehemently in my sleep, worsening his rough entry. His intentions were evident when he whispered, “It’s time.” I jumped out of bed but had to be tamed due to it still being lights out on the ward. Following Rosetta, we made it to the door in secret to the opening in the wall.

Entering was like walking the mile toward a professional cage fight through a tunnel of cheering fans standing above me in stadium stands that weren’t there before. While I was in my everyday jeans and a t-shirt, I was wearing a hooded cape that shined bright in the reflection of the shiny fabric. I was pushed forward by Rosetta, who was followed by others that I didn’t know but backed me up. Overhead the song F.W.Y.T. by Highly Suspect played as my theme song giving me an intro I wish I was ready for so I could bask in this lime light. The bass from the music worsened my already racing heart as I was pushed towards the towering ring. The slow walk up the mobile metal steps entering the ring was met with a mix of praise and rejection from below. I entered the ring between the red and white ropes, where I popped off the cape and threw it into the crowd to try to stoke people. In my corner, I was slapped by the Wild Trapeze as they front flipped over my head, landing in a roll on the mat to a roar of applause. “You’re done here,” they said, stealing the microphone from Clarissa. They dropped the mic like that was the most incredible burn ever witnessed and took to their corner.

Clarissa picked up the mic angrily and introduced the fighters to the world, gaining great applause for her clever introductions. The two of them entered the center to shake hands before the bell, but instead, I was head-budded to the ground. “What, no bell? Shit, my dude. It was all I could get out. My leg was stomped on as I tried to stand and was forced to crawl back to ropes to prop myself. With my back leaned against the ropes, The Trapeze used my chest as a damn launch pad jumping into me and being flung clear to the other side of the ring throwing me to the mat. I looked up at the Wild Trapeze, perched on the top rope balance in the center like some bouncing tight rope act. I gave the international signal for time out, and for a split second, they seemed to honor it, casually stepping down from their perched position and walking towards what was soon to be my lifeless body. I realized that this was a simple ruse. Before long, I was being spun by my hands, trying hard not to vomit from dizziness, wishing it was over. As the speed increased, I soon appreciated their grip on me, especially when they let me go, and I smacked the corner post quite hard.

I have no idea how long I was out, but my first sight was the gloating Wild Trapeze running circles in the ring, arms raised and screaming. I stood up, taking my time, knowing not what I would do next, but I had a hunch. While they bragged, stoking the flames of the people, I caught the Trapeze by the foot, tripping them, and when they rolled to recover, I caught him with a right hook. The look I got when the Trapeze spit from under the violet mask two tablespoons, at least, of saliva and blood, it forced out and very weak and feeble, “Want to… to talk this out.” The flurry of fists I dodged and blocked was nothing compared to the punches I took in between, and for a few seconds, there were no less than three Wild Trapezes scaring the living shit out of me. In the onslaught, I managed to grab their head which was like an off switch as the Wild Trapeze pushed me away and fixed the mask facing away from me. “Oh no, somebody’s got a tell,” I sang, inching towards them.

I lunged forward, aimed for his mask, trying to grab it anyway I could, and while it seemed fruitless to continue as every attempt was blocked easily, it did leave them open for body shots. I took those opportunities whenever they came putting them on the ropes, compensating for my comparatively slow attacks. They caught my hand mid swing and pushed me into the far ropes. I used the momentum to bounce off the ropes and charge them. I went up instead of down, landed on their shoulders, putting my crotch in their face as I punched down into their face. I felt their hands on my thighs and the familiar cradle of gravity as I headed towards the mat like a meteorite from the deep cosmos. I did the last thing I could before I hit the mat rumbling the whole arena with the sheer force of my back being broken. The lights blinded me as I lay there gasping for the air that had been knocked out of me violently. After I regained focus of the figure standing over me, I tried fleeing, looking like a slug creeping away. It was me. I …I was kicking my own ass.

ÊÊÊÊ

They leaned in, staring into my eyes just before taking a knee and whispering something in my ear. I didn’t like the feeling of people whispering into my ear, but what they said made up for it. It was just what I needed to hear yet already knew. The arena emptied the ample space became vacant with only the whispers of a few stragglers still comfortable in the safe space. I was alone and laughing hysterically as the Wild Trapeze.

“I can’t believe you lied like that. And they didn’t see thought it with all your hand waving?”

“I’m out, aren’t I? Besides, those meds would have ruined me like they did in high school.”

“You were the Wild Trapeze along then, is that right?”

“That’s what I said, Sonya. Now it has been a long three weeks, and I’d like to take care of a few things.”

“A burger, sex, maybe a little drive. I think I can help you out with that.”

“Yes, no, and sure, why not.”

“No to sex? We’ll just have to see about that,” Sonya muttered, legitimately surprised.

“You misunderstand. Yes, to sex, but no to you being a part of it. I’m done with us. I want you out of my apartment. Soon.

“Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?!”

I could see it in her face; she was stunned. She didn’t know what to say, but I imagined she would say it with her fist. I would have left her standing there, and to be quite honest, I only stopped because she was my ride home and had my house keys. I needed to end it with her. We’re were toxic it together. She sent me to a nut house cut open, afraid of living another day with or without her. If I swallow a little pride and take a moment to myself and think about what to do next, I could actually come up with a balanced plan in my continued existence into the absurdity that is life with a rotating meaning. I liked her, and maybe we could work something out friendship-wise in five years or more. But the anger that fueled us, the lust that drove us, and the pain we were hooked to were too much. I hope she understands; I really do because we both could use a friend, and as separate entities, we could be okay. I guess that I owe the Wondrously Wild Trapeze my respect. Nah. Fuck that; baby steps.