LOSING THE FIGHT
My name is Peter (Pete) Dunning. I'm 34 years old, 5'9" tall and weigh about 145 pounds. I'm quite fit, although not large. I have very little body fat, and I can run a long way and lift more weight than might be expected. I'm good at things like ping pong, baseball and tennis. Sports that require good hand eye coordination and quickness.
I work as a lawyer for my own firm, employing three others. We do mostly real estate closings, but also some personal injury cases. The firm has been profitable from the start, largely due to a boom in housing in our area. We have a contract with the area's largest home builder, giving them a cut rate in return for volume.
My firm has two paralegals, Diane Jones and Russ Mason. We also have a general helper, typist and office manager, Leeann Mason, Russ's wife. All the employees are a little younger than I, and have been with me almost from the start. In addition to these full-time people, I have two investigators on retainer. They are Charles and Mandy Carson, husband and wife. Their agency works for many of the firms around here. We use them mostly for the PI work. Sometimes we also need to look into one of the buyers of a house.
I'm a family man. My wife is Lisa Dunning, nee Bolden. She's 5' 8" tall, curvy and vivacious. She's a stunner. She has light brown hair, usually wears it in a ponytail. But she has the bluest eyes. We have three kids. Byron is our oldest, at eleven. The twins, Mary and Susan are eight. They all attend the local school, down the block from us. We have lived in our house since the twins came along. I bought it outright, using part of my inheritance from my father's estate. I never really knew him, but apparently he kept track of me. The house is in a nice part of town. It has four 'bedrooms' and a pool with pool house. The twins bunk together, and I have a home office, shared with Lisa.
Lisa and I met at college. We're almost exactly the same age. As freshmen, we were both 19 years old upon arrival on campus. I met her at an orientation. She was dressed down, with baggy jeans and a loose shirt. I was also not dressed for success, with jeans and a motorcycle t-shirt. (I had no motorcycle. I got the shirt when someone left it behind after a tennis match.)
Lisa and I spoke briefly at the start of the orientation presentation, in the gym. She sat next to me. When it was over, I asked her to go to the snack bar for some food. She accepted. We had a small meal, and some great conversation.
She asked about the motorcycle shirt and I told her it was just a shirt I got after a tennis match. She was interested in tennis, and played a lot in high school, although not on the school team. We talked more about high school. I had gone to an inner city public school, in a tough area. She had gone to a big suburban school. She wanted to know how I managed to get through to college, coming from that area. I told her that the academics at the school weren't bad, just the 'social' aspects.
She told me that she had been a cheerleader in high school. I laughed at that.
"What's so funny?" She bristled. "I will let you know that cheerleading is very athletically demanding."
"I don't doubt it," I said. "It's just that...well....are you going to try out for cheerleading here?"
"Oh, no. I need to concentrate on learning what I need."
"I bet you were real popular in high school. Cheerleader and all." I smiled at her. Despite her attempt at dressing down, she couldn't hide her appeal.
"I was. But I want to avoid all that froo fra here."
"You can try, Lisa, but guys are going to come after you anyway. Nothing you can do about it, no matter how loose your jeans. You're just too beautiful."
Lisa blushed, although she must have heard things like that thousands of times.
"I just have to avoid certain mistakes I made in high school. That's all."
"Ooooh, this might be interesting."
"Forget it, buster," she smiled. "No way. We just met. I'm not going to talk about all that."
"I'll tell you what, Lisa. I'm offering to protect you from all that masculine attention. We can be 'close.' I'll give you a ring to wear around your neck and you can be 'taken." What do you say?"
She laughed out loud. "That's about as clever a come on as I ever heard. Maybe I'll take you up on that. What kind of a ring?"
"I have to think about it. Actually, I'll take you ring shopping, eh? You can pick one out."
She looked up at the clock, and stood up. "I have to run now. Maybe you can meet me here tomorrow for lunch. Say 1:00?"
"A date. I'm really looking forward to that."
We walked through the exit, and she turned to me and hugged me, tilted her head up. I moved a little tentatively to kiss her, because I firmly believed she wanted that. I was right. She pulled me into the kiss and ran her hands behind my head to keep me in place. She ran her tongue over my teeth. Then she broke it off and stepped back.
"Just so people get the idea, you know," she said. She sashayed off. Loose jeans or not, she attracted attention. I know I paid careful attention. When she rounded the corner, I looked around. People were staring at me. I strolled outside.
I was on a cloud for the rest of the day. I found a nice private stall in the lavatory of our dorm and...well...you know what I did.
I wondered what Lisa meant when she talked about mistakes she made in high school. I thought about my high school experience. I was smaller than most guys until I reached sixteen, Junior year. Then I grew to my current height. Since I was so short and slight, I got picked on. There was a group of bigger guys, some athletes, who hung out near my house. I had to walk by them every day. They'd razz me, shove me, generally make fun of me. I let it go for a while, but I got tired of it.
One day a fellow named Jehru shoved me hard, and instead of falling back, I whirled around and shoved him. He was surprised, to say the least. I shoved him again.
"Keep off me, Jehru. All you guys just leave me alone. I'm tired of your bullshit!" I was very heated when I said this. I turned to walk away when I heard something from behind me. It was Jehru. He closed on me and punched me in the shoulder. I think he was aiming for my face, but I ducked away. Still, it hurt. I punched him in the ribs, two times. He grabbed me and threw me to the ground. He was about to stomp me, but I rolled away, leapt to my feet and head butted him in the belly. He fell back. He didn't fall down, though. I could have run away at that point, and avoided punishment -- this time. I didn't. I was enraged. I had never felt anything quite like the anger that I had at that point. I snarled and charged Jehru. He wasn't ready for that, and I tackled him. I began hitting him in the face and neck.
I felt hands around my waist and I was lifted off Jehru. Two guys had hold of me. I was not through, though. They were holding me so Jehru could hit me. I kicked at him as he approached, hit him in the knee. He screamed. I felt an arm around my neck, from behind.
"We're gonna kill you now motherfucker." The arm tightened. I kicked back at the guy who had me. I hit his shin. Then I stomped his foot as hard as I could. It was life or death at that point. I felt the arm release me. I whirled around wildly swinging at whoever was in front of me. I took a lot of punishment, but I was backed against a wall and I didn't want to let anyone behind me again. I punched and punched. My rage never left me. I got hit on the nose, the eye, the belly. I also hit some faces and, one time, some nuts. That produced a total collapse of one fellow. I heard sirens. Everyone ran except me. I sagged down to the ground.
"What happened?" An officer asked that. I thought he should have known.
"Got jumped. Fought."
"Just see if you can stand up." I did. An ambulance arrived and I was whisked off to emergency. I stayed there being treated for two hours. I got a shot of pain killer and a prescription. I got bandages. Nothing was broken, they said, after x-rays. I limped out to the public area. My Mom was there. She hugged me, and I screamed. She drove me home and I rested up all weekend.
The police asked me who had done this to me. I told them they were strangers. They didn't believe me, but they put that down on the report. One officer said, "You know, if you don't tell us who, it'll keep on happening."
But I thought it best to avoid being called a snitch.
Monday, I went back to school. I was battered. So was Jehru and his buddy Hank. I didn't see any of the others. Hank had a sore foot, wrapped in bandages. Jehru had a tape on his nose. I saw him at gym. He had a wrap around his middle. We didn't speak to each other.
Going home after school, the same crew was there. The biggest of them was Barry. He approached me on the sidewalk.
"Squirt, we need to talk a little. I'm not gonna hurt you."
"Okay. I'm listening."
"You have a lot of moxy. For a small guy. And, since none of us had any problems with the cops, I assume you didn't rat us out."
"That's right."
"All right. Then we can have some peace on this corner. You got hurt, some of us got hurt. That's all. Okay?"
"Okay. All I really wanted."
"Done." He walked away. I was never bothered by those guys again. Of course, there were other assholes. And other fights. After a while, though, guys stopped bothering me. For one thing I grew a few inches, and pounds. For another, I had demonstrated total rage, several times. Most people didn't want to mess with that, once word got around.
When Lisa and I met for lunch the next day, she took my arm and we walked through the cafeteria, just like we were a couple. I thought it was glorious.
Lisa and I talked all through lunch, until I had a class. I told her the little story that I just went through. She seemed skeptical. I pointed to a scar above my eyebrow.
"For real. This is one. There are others."
"I don't see any. Where?" She seemed really curious.
"Some day maybe I'll show you. Not in public, though. That is, if you want to see. Just ask at the right time."
"Hmmm. Now another very clever come on from you. You are intriguing. What about girls in high school? Did you have a girl friend?"
"One or two. I had a good prom. But she moved away that summer. Now here I am with you. Maybe I have a girlfriend."
"Yep. I liked our kiss. We can keep on playing this game. Who knows what might happen, eventually."
I broke into a rendition of an old song my mom played.
"Que sera, sera. Whatever will be will be. The future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera. What will be, will be." I finished with a flourish. She laughed and clapped. Others around us clapped as well. Then we finished our drinks and left. No kiss in the doorway this time.
"I'm disappointed," I pouted.
She broke into a Stones song. "You can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. But if you try some time, you just might find, you get what you need. Oh baby." She had me laughing. She could really sing. (So could I, for that matter.) I clapped for her. We walked off to class, arm in arm.
The next few weeks solidified our relationship. We ate lunch every day, at one spot or another. We studied together. We got late night pizza together. We made out in the recesses of campus. I was no expert, but I was convinced that she wanted me as much as I wanted her.
About two months into the semester, we were out at a pizza joint that had some dancing as well. A big guy walked up to our table, ignored me and asked her if she would dance with him.
"No, thanks. I'm with Pete." Lisa said this nicely. I moved toward the edge of the booth.
"This guy? C'mon. I can show you a good time. He can't."
I stood up. There was a big 20 inch pepper grinder on the table. I had it in my hand when I stood. I just looked at the guy.
