Chapter Sixteen
posted in Novel |
Here’s the next chapter of Lost and Found.
I was reluctant to put this one up today because it’s not exactly “Thanksgiving-like”. However, it is the next chapter and I did want to get at least one chapter done for you this week. So, there it is. If you start reading and it’s not what you want to read right now, that’s cool — just leave it for later.
Since there’s a lot going on this week because of the holiday, it’s unlikely there will be another chapter up before next week.
I hope those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving have a wonderful holiday, and since some of you live on the other side of the pond — wherever you are — please be safe and happy.
Peace,
Ron Rink
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Billy lived on Hawthorne Street on the other side of State Fair. His house was a lot older than mine and was in need of some major work. It was a frame house like mine, but the boards were wider. The paint was peeling off and in some places it was completely gone. His front porch was sagging down in the middle and one of the steps was partly broken off. There wasn’t any grass in front of his house — it was mostly all dirt. There was a tricycle with a broken wheel and an old wicker laundry basket lying on the front porch.
We went around the side of his house and through the gate into his back yard. The yard was fenced in and there was an alley behind it. Although they had a garage, the doors on it were gone and it was filled with boxes and other junk. They didn’t have any grass in the back either and there were empty milk bottles lying around on the ground. His mother had hung up some laundry on the clotheslines. It looked like there might have been flowers along the fences at one time, but now it was just weeds. The steps up to his back door weren’t even attached to the house and one of them was missing completely.
As we walked into his backyard, Billy suddenly whirled around and pushed me with both hands on my chest as his leg came around behind my knees and I was suddenly on the ground looking up at him.
“The first thing you gotta learn is to always surprise the guy you’re fighting. You gotta get them on the ground as fast as you can. You gotta stay on your feet, too. Don’t’ try to wrestle on the ground with them,” he said as he stood over me with his fists cocked and his eyes like slits. “The next thing you’re gonna do is start stomping him!”
I realized I was darn scared about then, but Billy didn’t do anything else, so I got up from the ground.
“What do you mean you start stomping him?”
“You start kicking the sonuvabitch as hard as you can before he can get back on his feet. Once he’s back on his feet, you have to start all over again. Keep the bastard on the ground and use your feet. It don’t matter where you kick him, either.”
Billy was getting more excited as he talked. He was jumping around and making kicking motions with his feet. “Kick him in the head. Kick him in his back. Kick him in the stomach. Just kick him and kick him anywhere. Keep the fucker on the ground and don’t let him up.”
Billy gave one of the milk bottles a good, swift kick, and it went flying across the yard. “Watch his hands while you’re kicking,” he went on, “because he’s gonna try to grab one of your feet and get you off balance. Keep moving around as fast as you can while you’re kicking so he can’t grab you. If you’re moving around fast enough he’ll be using his hands to try to protect himself and won’t have the time to grab at your feet.”
Billy kept dancing around and demonstrating how to move around and kick at the same time. Another milk bottle went flying. Only this time it flew across the fence into the neighbor’s yard.
“You gotta win the fight,” he said. “The only way to do that is to make sure the sonuvabitch stays on the ground. If you keep letting him back up, you’re gonna lose the fight.”
“Yeah, but you jumped me by surprise so it was easy for you to push me down,” I argued. “What about when you and the guy know you’re gonna have a fight with each other? Ain’t he gonna dodge away so you can’t get him down?”
“You gotta be faster than he is. Most creeps will start out trying to box with you because that’s what they think fighting is. But you’re gonna be a street-fighter, Van Buren. You gotta remember that you got your hands, your feet, your head, and your body. You can use anything you want to get him off balance. You don’t have to live by any stupid rules like boxers do.”
Billy started prancing around like a boxer with his hands up like he was going to hit me. “Pretend to box with me and I’ll show you what I mean.”
At that time the boxer all of us knew about was Joe Louis. He was still the heavyweight champ, although he would retire in a couple more years. I had seen some pictures of him in magazines and there were posters about him everywhere, not only because he was the heavyweight champ, but also because he was a Detroiter. I had even seen short movies of him boxing when they would run the newsreels at the movie house.
I assumed a boxer’s pose and Billy started to box with me but kept his hands open rather than making them into a fist. He started to dance around me and kept flicking his hands out in little jabs and sort of slapping me lightly with his fingertips. I tried to throw jabs at him too, but he was moving very fast and had me backing up most of the time.
“C’mon, Van, spar with me,” he chided with a sneaky, smart-ass smirk on his face.
I started to dance around and spar with him when all of a sudden he moved in close to me and brought his knee up sharply between my legs. This made me bend over and drop my hands to protect myself. Billy then put both hands under my chin and lifted my head up sharply. When I straightened up I was already off balance and falling backwards. Then he got his leg behind my knees again and threw his shoulder into my chest. I was once again lying on the ground looking up at him without too much understanding of how I got there. He stood there poised with his right foot in a position ready to kick me.
“You get the idea?” Billy asked.
I looked up at him from the ground and nodded my head.
“You gotta be faster than the other guy. You gotta be thinking all the time about how you can get this guy on the ground. There ain’t no rules, man — anything goes. Keep finding ways to keep him off balance. Remember, if you don’t win, that means you’re gonna lose. If you lose it’s gonna be your head that he uses like a football!”
Billy was definitely enjoying his role as fight trainer. His eyes were alert and wild looking. He was talking more at one time than I had ever heard him talk.
“The guy you’re fighting is gonna be doing everything he can think of to get you down, so you gotta know lots of tricks and you gotta be faster then he is. You can’t get scared, ‘cuz when you’re scared you can’t think—and you gotta be thinking all the time.”
Billy and I continued these “practice” sessions over the next several months. We even did this during the winter because, as Billy said, “You can’t pick the time of year you’re gonna need to fight somebody.”
He taught me more street-fighting tricks and eventually we got to the point where I could give him a good run for his money. He could still surprise me, but I was also surprising him more consistently. My confidence level was growing rapidly. I found that even as Billy made it harder and harder to compete with him, I was able to keep fear out of my mind and keep my focus solely on how to get the advantage over him and win.
My street-fighter training cost me some serious bumps, cuts and bruises, but I knew I was gaining important experience, especially if I was going to survive on the streets. I could hardly wait to try my new-found skills out for real.
As it turned out, it wouldn’t be much longer before I would get my chance.
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