Patrick had waited long enough. He knew if he waited any longer he would be too dizzy and sick to fight. Tiger was enraged by what he thought to be a wink. It was like someone had rung a bell. Tiger and Patrick lunged. They started trading punches. It was all out. Not fancy tricks, no upper hand. It was like a couple of country boy gladiators who had reached the end of their match, expending all their weapons until only the speed of their fists remained in their battle arsenal.
At first, both were immovable pillars. There was no interest in blocking or dodging. It was a slug-fest. Whoever went down first would have the victory.
In the midst of the slugging Patrick saw an opening when Tiger dropped his right. Patrick quickly landed two punches straight to Tigers chin. Tiger stumbled back. It looked as though he had lost. He blinked as if was going to black out. Patrick only needed to finish the job.
Tiger realized he could not win this fight by boxing. The Scrapper was too fast and hit just as hard as he.
Tiger stumbled again and Patrick saw his chance. He lowered his head and barreled into Tiger’s torso to bring him to the ground.
In the rush of the battle Patrick had forgotten his Alcohol induced state. He didn’t have the strength, or balance to bring this seasoned 215 pound, 6’2 football player to his back. Tiger seized the opportunity and slung the dizzy Patrick around to the ground and in a frenzied second, he had him pinned. Tiger could tackle and divert tackles like a pro. He did it every day in football practice for hours. He didn’t get the nickname Tiger for being a pushover. For Pat, the alcohol had finally had its turn in trading punches in the fight. In the moment Patrick needed his last bit of strength to finish the job, the liquor had sucker-punched and robbed him of it.
Now with one skilled turn and throw Tiger had him trapped under his weight and on the ground. Tiger shoved his knees into Patrick’s shoulders rendering him immobile. Gluing the Scrapper to the ground, Tiger began to relentlessly pound Patrick in the face.
Every three punches Tiger would pause and say, “YOU GIVE??!
“PISS ON YA!” Patrick would defiantly reply.
Three more slugs. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! “YOU GIVE??”
“I AIN’T GIVIN UP NUTHIN!!” Patrick said; His face getting bloodier by the punch.
Patrick could no longer feel the punches. There was something unbreakable in his spirit. Every punch only made him more resolve. Every punch was like hammer on a hot piece of iron, sharpening the blade when it should destroy or break it. His whole life, his whole spirit, had been sharpened this way. This time the fire for this sharpening was especially hot and the blacksmith on this occasion was especially mean. Still, every time Tiger asked if Patrick wanted to give up, it only made Patrick’s answers more defiant.
Pathetically, Jack regained his consciousness and crawled over to the knarly scene of perpetual violence. Tiger paid no attention to the crawling, sniveling, still-bloody Jack.
“PAAAAT” Jack said, still unintentionally yodeling.
“Just give up Pat…”
Tiger heard the plea and paused for an answer. He was holding his fist up and breathing short fast breaths through his gritting, bloody teeth.
Patrick looked at Jack and stared straight back in to the face of Tiger…
“PISS ON BOTH OF YA! I AIN’T GIVIN’ UP NOTHING!!”
Patrick spit a wad of dirty bloody right into Tiger’s face. Tiger punched Pat three more times and then caught a glimpse of a rock 6 inches from Patrick’s head. Tiger grabbed it. He lifted it back and hovered it over Patrick’s head and starred at Patrick while pursing his lips and breathing hard though his nose.
He waited for the surrender.
“WELL, YOU GIVE?” Tiger finally yelled.
Patrick focused his eyes and calmed his breathing. He snarled his swollen lip, slowly lifted his head off the ground and looked Tiger directly in the eyes.
“I said… PISS… ON…. YOU…”
Tiger gritted his teeth again and took a few more breaths. He pulled the stone back another inche… and finally, threw the stone aside. He breathed an exasperated curse word and rolled off of Patrick’s shoulders. He wasn’t going to kill him. This was different than the guys that stole his car. He was through fighting today. If he punched any more he would pass out himself.
Then came the silence after the storm. Only the sound of two, hard-breathing boys and a faintly moaning Jack could be heard. Tiger, still breathing hard, looked at Patrick and shook his head.
“Shit man.” Tiger said and spit to the side showering half of it on the sprawled out, moaning Jack.
Tiger looked up at his three dumbfounded and frozen friends.
“Lets go.” He said in a breathy, tired voice.
One of Tiger’s buddies came over and grabbed Tiger by the hand and helped him up. Tiger and his friends made their way quietly back to his car. Patrick sat up slowly and eventually and painfully made it to his feet.
The silence was as if a tornado had barreled though a farm, leaving everything in destruction. Slow and cautious, the family emerges from the cellar to view the damage and stand in awe of what just happened.
“Lets go Jack. Get up.” Patrick finally said.
Both warriors and Jack eventually limped their way back to their cars, doors slamming shut. Silence again. No cars turning their engines. No movement. No screaming, no jeering. Just silence. Patrick was strangely aware of the sound of the cicadas in the woods starting their early-evening songs. He hadn’t noticed them all summer. Patrick sat in the driver’s seat with his window rolled down and spit some more blood and part of a tooth out the window. He was starting to feel his wounds. He looked in the mirror. It was bad. His lower lip was so severely cut that he could almost see his tooth through it. His hair was matted with blood, sweat and dirt. His eyes were both swollen. He was going to need stitches. Lots of stitches.
Patrick heard the car door of Tiger’s Mustang open. It was Tiger.
“Come on Pat, start the car, lets go. I don’t want to fight no more.” Jack said.
Patrick ignored him.
Patrick wasn’t worried. Patrick knew that there was no more fighting today. Tiger knew it too. Tiger had literally worn himself out. He hadn’t the energy for one more punch and knew that if he punched for days, Patrick would never break. He would have to kill him to break him.
Tiger approached Patrick’s window. Jack started to whine again to leave. Jack was silenced when he saw Tiger extend his hand to Patrick through the window.
“Good fight.” Tiger said, his lip now swollen to where his speech was impaired. Tiger spit a glob of tobacco into the dirt with his hand still extended to shake.
“I ain’t shakin’ nothing” Patrick said. “So just get your hand outta my face. When I’m healed up, I’m comin’ after you. And I’m gonna finish the job.”
Tiger put his hand down and on the window and chuckled.
“I figured you’d say that.” Tiger said. “That’s just what I’d say.”
Tiger stepped back, let out another raspy chuckle and walked back to his car.
Patrick watched in his side mirror as Tiger opened the door, revved the engine and sped off towards Claremore.
9 comments:
All I can say is...
there are four people on this earth who are lucky to have been born.
Great story! Loved it.
some things get etched on your brain in such a vivid way, that it is almost like you were there. it's amazing to have a man like that for a father. one in a million. i've never heard of another like it.
Go Pat! YESSSSS!!!!
I LOVE this ending. I like at the end, you think it will be sappy and happy, with the guys shaking hands, and then Pat says, I ain't shakin nothin.
So did all this REALLY happen?
Yes it did fancypants. The actual events and the body of most of the quotes. It was really fun to fill in the scenes and gaps. Fun to write this little booger. I have ALOT more respect and admiration now, (and I already had quite a bit), for writers who do this all the time.
Thanks everybody for reading it and the encouragement to keep writing the Pat stories!
Soooooo. Any suggestions? Anything stick out?
Likes, dislikes? Best parts? Weakest parts?
Be my editors for this little project if you have the time.
I was really worried about the cussing thing. Did that offend anyone? I just want to know for future reference. It was a tough decision and believe me, I left out plenty of the other cuss words from a few other sources who told the story besides my dad. I don't really like reading books that are filled with profanity. But I don't mind if it a part of the story in character as if I am catching a glimpse of the action. So let me have it. To much?
btw, hat happened after this fight is really funny.
Great story, man. And had you censored the cuss words, the story wouldn't have worked as well. They must be kept.
So what did happen after the fight?
It's true. The cussing gave the story authenticity. After all, two rednecks who've been drinking booze all night are hardly gonna say: "Gee, Wally, do you think you should talk to that guy that way?" Or "Unhand me, you clod!"
Truth is not always pretty. Nor is it always rated G.
They went back into town, and told everyone that they got jumped by 7 guys. They looked that bad. All of their buddies got so ticked that they got together and were going to avenge their outnumbered and unfairly beaten friends. It was too embarassing for them to admit that they had both been beaten by one guy. ESPECIALLY THE Pat Ward.
It didn't take them long to hear the REAL story and they eventually fessed up so as to not spill any innocent blood.
I hope you still read back this far in your blog comments, Seth. (I guess if you never do, I'm just commenting to the random passers-by of the future who stumble in here because of a search engine or something)...
I finally got the free time to read this story in its entirety, and loved it. I agree with other commenters -- without the "colorful words", the story loses its authenticity. The dialogue needs to accurately match the setting, and over-euphemized dialogue is something that I personally find more offensive than a few "bad words".
It flows very well as a literary work because it draws you in. You immediately identify with and sympathize with the main characters. It paints an interesting setting, immediately hints of the approaching conflict that all great stories have, then fills in the necessary character and plot development leading up to that conflict.
It's not predictable, as it continues with twists and turns in the story that leave the reader engaged and wondering to the very end.
So... I hope that's the kind of commentary you were asking for in your comments.
Maybe that's way too glowing, and needs a little criticism too -- so how about this... there are a few spelling and grammar errors. If you were going to publish this in Reader's Digest or with Simon & Schuster or somebody like that, you'd have to have an editor clean up those little errors.
But I hope you understand -- I'm knowingly being harsh and over the top with a silly criticism like that. This is a blog, and with such a high word-count spread over several separate blog entries, it's inevitable that you'll have minor errors. But hey, I've got nothing else bad to say, so when all else fails, I just put on my Grammar Nazi hat. :-)
Heyy!!! Thanks for the comments. Exactly what I was looking for. Grammar comments and all. Thanks. Seriously.
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