JiminQueens2's blog

It was Johnny who finally pointed it out. “You know,” he said, smiling, “we never did have that fight.”

“No, we didn’t,” Ryan agreed.

Johnny’s smile grew a little broader. “You know, if you didn’t want to fight me, you could have just said so; I wouldn’t have told anyone. You didn’t have to go and catch mono and leave school early just to get out of it…”

“Fuck you,” Ryan laughed. “You think I got that sick just to get out of a fight?”

“Well, if you were that scared…” Johnny laughed back. “No, of course I don’t think so, just jerking your chain; you really did look like shit. And while we weren’t nose-to-nose, we were standing pretty close to each other. It’s damned lucky I didn’t get sick, too. But it’s too bad we never got a chance to settle things.”

“You mean you still want to fight me after all this time?” Ryan’s tone was incredulous. “Do you even know how to fight? I mean, you told me your parents never let you do anything like that…”

“Yeah, but once I was getting a steady paycheck and knew I wasn’t going to be living on the streets, I started taking classes at the Community,” Johnny said. “There was a guy there who told me I moved like a boxer. He offered to sponsor me at the Y if I wanted to learn, and I said yes. Still have the gloves he bought me.”

“Damn, you got really lucky, bro,” Ryan said. “Um…I can call you ‘bro’, right? Even though we’re going to duke it out?”

“So you accept my thirty-year-old challenge?” Johnny grinned.

“Fuck yeah, I accept,” Ryan said, grinning back. “If you still want to get your ass beat after all these years, then I’m more than willing to accommodate you. I’ve got a great setup at my place; once I lost the dead weight and the kids were grown and gone, I didn’t need a three-car-plus garage, so I converted two-thirds of it to a miniature gym. All I have to do is clear some space and we can settle this shit once and for all.”

“I can’t wait,” Johnny said. “And before we get down to some serious trash talking, I want to be clear – I am not still mad at you. It was a long time ago and we were kids.” His smile grew broader, with a slightly threatening look to it. “But I’m still going to put you on your ass for every time you made me feel like a pussy for not standing up to you back then, so you might want to put some padding in your pants. The back part of your pants, I mean, not the front like you usually do.”

Ryan shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, that’s going to cost you, my brother,” he said. “When I’m done beating your ass, I’m going to put you out on the curb to be picked up with the rest of the trash.”

“Fuck you,” Johnny said. “When do we do this?”

“How about next Saturday?” Ryan said. “I live alone, so we’ll have the place to ourselves. Just you and me, one-on-one.”

“Perfect. Shake on it?”

The two men shook hands – a slightly less friendly handshake than they’d exchanged before. Their eyes locked in challenge and attempted intimidation, but neither was the sort to be intimidated.

Ryan held up the empty bottle in his hand. “Well, I need a refill. How about you?”

“Same,” Johnny agreed. “Let’s go back inside.”

The week passed extremely slowly for both men. Having agreed to the fight, they both felt butterflies in their stomachs at the thought. More than once, each man wondered if there was a way of calling it off. But just as it had been in high school, once a fight was agreed to, you couldn’t back down.

But Saturday eventually came, and, at two o’clock in the afternoon, Johnny’s car pulled into Ryan’s driveway.

Ryan, watching from the window, was at the front door, wearing only shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, to meet Johnny before the other man had a chance to ring the bell. “Come on in,” he said shortly. As Johnny, carrying a black gym bag, followed him into the entryway, they simply stood there facing each other. Ryan seemed to be at a loss about how to go on, and Johnny seemed equally uncertain.

Finally, Johnny asked, “Um…do you have a beer?”

“Um…sure,” came the response. “C’mon in the kitchen with me.” Johnny put the gym bag down on the floor by the front door, and followed Ryan into the kitchen, where Ryan fished two beer bottles out of the refrigerator and opened one for his guest. “Cheers,” he said, holding up his beer. The two men clinked their bottles together and drank.

Ryan put his bottle down on the kitchen counter and seemed to steel himself. “Well,” he said, “if we’re gonna do this, we might as well get started. You brought gloves, right?”

“Of course. They’re in my bag.”

Once Johnny retrieved his bag, Ryan led the way through the kitchen to a door that led into what used to be the garage. Johnny was impressed. Ryan had built a respectable gym in the former car space; no wonder he was in such great shape. The exercise mats had been scoured almost clean of weights and bars, however; it was fairly obvious where the two men were going to have their fight, particularly given the stools, small tables, and water bottles in opposite corners. “This okay with you?” Ryan asked.

“Fine,” Johnny replied shortly. “I’m guessing those are yours?” he continued, nodding to a pair of gloves waiting in one corner.

“Of course they’re mine. Whose else would they be?”

“Just checking. Makes picking a corner easier.” He chose a corner opposite the one with Ryan’s gloves, then began to peel off his t-shirt and divest himself of his jeans. Ryan, meanwhile, moved to the far side of the impromptu “ring”, stripped off his t-shirt, and pulled on the gloves. They had Velcro straps on them, so they could be tightened or loosened easily.

Stripped to the near-skin, and from the neck down, the two men were mirror images of each other physically. Long years of regular exercise had given them solid, muscular frames with only a small layer of excess flesh over their midsections. Their waists and hips under their dark briefs were still narrow, however, and both had powerful legs that might have done some damage if they’d been kick-boxing.

“Alexa!” Ryan shouted. “Set timer!”

A disembodied voice echoed through the garage-turned-gym. “Waiting for parameters.”

Ryan glanced at Johnny. “Eight rounds good with you?” Johnny nodded and grunted something from behind a mouthful of Velcro, which Ryan interpreted as a yes. He had to do some math in his head, and then shouted, “Fifteen intervals, alternating three minutes and one minute. Bell to end each interval, buzzer fifteen seconds before the end of each interval. If the word ‘Down’ is said, begin a secondary ten-second audible count, to be ended if the word ‘Up’ is said. Begin on my command.”

Ryan banged his gloved fists together to get the gloves firmly in place. “Last chance to back out,” he said to his opponent.

Johnny threw a couple of jabs in the air in front of him. “No thanks,” he said with an arch smile, “FAG-nola.”

Ryan smiled back. “Oh, this is going to be good. Alexa—START!”