It was just another boring summer night. I sat, my back against the wall, on the floor in Trav's basement. Dave, half asleep, lounged in the wom out recliner that sat in the corner of the room nursing a Big Gulp. Trav was babbling incessantly about how "Three's Company" just hadn't been the same since Suzanne Sommers left the show. No one was listening. No one ever listened. George who bore a remarkable resemblance to Sid Vicious with his short spiked hair and leather attire, remained standing as he fidgeted with an unlit cigarette. The TV was on, but the volume had been muted and no one was really watching.
"I'm going outside for a smoke," said George in his thick Irish accent.
No one replied.
We were really just waiting...waiting for the fight. Travis had heard from his brother, who worked at a local bread bakery, that two of his co-workers were going to go the rounds after their shift ended. Trav hadn't bothered to inquire as to who the budding pugilists were or what they hoped to achieve by pounding the hell out of each other. He had simply recognized the fight as an opportunity to be entertained.
After George had returned, we decided to while away the time playing cards. Five Card Draw, everything wild, was the game of choice. Rarely, if ever, did these games end on a happy note and this night was to be no different. Dave, who never lost at cards, was up about twenty bucks when Trav announced we had just enough time to grab refreshments at the Quickie-Mart before the fight. George, as usual, blew his top demanding that we play cards until he had won back all the money he had lost. We ignored him.
When we arrived, a crowd had already formed around the two circling figures. Travis cursed aloud then muttered something about being late. George smiled, dousing his cigarette in his Slurpee. Refreshments in hand, we began to work our way to the front of the crowd. Dave, the tallest member of our motley crew, quickly obtained a clear view of the brawlers and began providing updates for those of us who couldn't see through the dense forest or people.
"It's Harley," Dave said matter of factly. This information did not come as much of a surprise to anyone. Harley was Dave's next door neighbor and a former marine. He had been discharged early for some reason. No one could confirm why. One rumor floating around town was that Harley had become upset with one of his superior officers, expressing his extreme dissatisfaction with a mean right upper-cut to the chin. Just a rumor, mind you, but it was one that everyone thought very plausible.
"Who's the other guy?" I queried.
"Dunno, but Harley's really tearing him up," came Dave's reply.
Without success, I tried to get closer to the action. Finally, I realized the only way I was going to be able to see anything was to retreat and then strategically reenter the crowd. Upon doing so, I found myself with a clear view of the entire spectacle.
Harley, to no one's surprise, was clearly the superior gladiator. By the time I had settled in, it was over. Everyone recognized this...everyone except for Harley. Harley continued to slam his fist into the face of his opponent. As I gazed around at the crowd, faces that had just moments ago projected excitement were now shocked by the utter brutality of the ex-marine.
Someone screamed, "Stop it, Harl", but Harley paid no attention.
When Harley dragged the bloodied body away from the crowd and into the shadows, I followed. No longer did I watch the fight (if you could call it that) because I was bored or because I wanted to be entertained. Now I watched fearing the worst, fearing that Harley would not stop until the body turned cold. Random thoughts zipped in and out of my mind. I wanted to grab Harley and pull him away from his sobbing co-worker. I wanted to scream for him to stop. I wanted the show to be over. Most of all, I wanted to be somewhere else. I acted on none of these thoughts, Instead, I silently stood and did nothing.
Whether it was fear that motivated my inability to act or just pure numbness, I will forever regret the fact that I was party to this senseless act of violence and humiliation. Eventually, someone did step forward and separate Harley and his victim. I can't recall who it was, I only know it wasn't me. It was only then that I recognized the semi-conscious individual draped against the side of the building.
It was Ray. Again, my mind raced. He had been a good friend during some difficult times in elementary school. There were times when he had been my only friend. His family had moved away and, as so often happens, we'd lost touch. I hadn't seen him for probably ten years but I was sure it was Ray. What was he doing back here? What was I doing here? The fact that it was Ray that lay half-dead in the shadows made my shame even greater.
"C'mon man, let's go," Trav said with a weak smile. I couldn't smile back. As we drove back to the all too familiar confines of our neighborhood, no one really said much. Our minds were still miles away. My thoughts were with Ray.