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In Need of Direction; New Friday Night 17 part 1/2
Topic Started: Jan 5 2012, 01:04 AM (253 Views)
Tom Jackson
Unregistered

"Come on, John!" yelled a voice from the corner of the ring to Tom's back. "Hit him with a one-two." Tom heard the command. He knew what to expect, but before he could react, a jab from John had planted itself in his face, but not quite as hard as the right cross that followed directly behind it. "Shoot!" came the voice of the trainer in the corner, and in a flash, Tom felt both of his legs scooped out from under him as he came crashing down on his back.

BUZZ!! "Time!" John didn't have a chance to rain down any punishment before the round expired. John looked down at Tom before he stood up and let out a soft, mocking chuckle. It stung more than any ground-and-pound could have.

John walked over to his corner and got met by a pat on the back with a towell-covered hand from his coach. "You look good in there, John," he said.

"Thanks, Coach Parker," said John.

Coach Parker smiled. "I want to see you get better though."

"You'll need to find me some better sparring partners, then," said John, smirking and glancing over his shoulder at Tom. Coach Parker did not smile.

"Don't you worry about the quality of your partners. You worry about YOUR quality," said the coach. "Character first. Remember that."

John scoffed. "Yes, sir," he said as he exited the ring. Tom was now sitting up in the ring, breathing heavily, but more frustrated than tired.

Coach Parker stepped into the ring and walked over to him. "You okay, Jackson?" he asked. Tom nodded. "Are you sure?"

Tom looked up. "I'm alright, Coach," he said, staring at his coach's face, but never making eye contact.

"I can see that you aren't injured," said Parker. "I asked if you're okay."

Tom was confused, and his face showed it. "What do you mean?"

Parker squatted down next to Tom. "I can tell that you are frustrated. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it: you aren't the best guy in this gym. But when you first came in, you were full of ambition." Tom looked down as his coach spoke. "But it's like the ambition is pouring out of you along with your sweat." Tom continued looking down, but his eyes were active. Parker could tell that he wanted to say something. "Tell me what's on your mind, son."

Tom turned his head toward his coach, but his face was still down. "I'm not the kind to make excuses, Coach," he said.

"I'm not asking for excuses, Tom. I'm a coach. I can't help you improve if I don't know what's going on."

Tom thought for a moment. "Alright then," he said. "I'm the only guy in here with no kind of background. John was an NCAA Division 1 All American. David lived in Thailand for two years just to study Muy Thai. Jose is a BJJ brown belt and Ron made it to the semi-finals of Golden Gloves. I used to roll around in the grass in the back yard with my cousins. I'm YEARS behind these guys. It's like they barely even try."

"Do you try harder than they do?" asked the Coach.

"Sir?"

Coach Parker had a stern look on his face. "I don't ever see you in the gym putting in any more time than the other guys. I'm not saying you are in here any less, but you aren't gong to make up ground on the guy who's miles ahead by running the same pace." Tom looked down again.

"I'm sorry, Coach."

The coach patted him on the back. "I'm not chastising you, Tom," he said. "I'm telling you what to do. Come in early. Leave late. I'm here before everyone and I'm here after y'all leave. These other guys have the talent. But they've gotten content with that. I need a guy who is willing to go that extra mile."

Tom made eye contact with his coach for the first time. "You really think I can be on their level, Coach?"

Parker smiled. "Remember, Tom: 'Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard.'" Tom nodded.

"I didn't know that you even cared about me or my aspirations," said Tom. "I thought John was your golden boy."

"John just shows the most promise right now. I care about every guy in here. You are here for a reason." Parker pointed over his shoulder. "You see that banner hanging back there? It says 'Kingdom Fighters.' I don't know the exact path that brought you here. But I will do my best to help guide you down the next few steps of the path." Parker patted Tom on the back, then walked out of the ring.

"Oh, and Tom?" Tom looked over his way. "Work on your sprawl a bit. You're letting him take you down way too easy."

Tom watched him walk away. As his coach walked away, he passed under the banner he had pointed out. Tom looked up at it. It was a red cross on a white background. "I don't know why You brought me here," Tom started, "but I guess we'll see where this goes." He was still frustrated. But as he looked around, he realized he was the only one still in the gym. After a few minutes, he stood up in the ring. He visualized an opponent shooting in for a takedown. He put his hands where his opponent's head would be. He sprawled his legs back to keep them out of reach, and he placed the weight of his chest on the invisible back of his invisible opponent. His body ached as it hit the mat. But he quickly rose back up and repeated the process. And again. Over, and over, and over...

= = = = =

Tom's body was racked with pain as he walked up to his front door. He was still covered with water from the shower. He went to turn the knob and found it locked. He put his key in and walked in, turning sideways so he could get his gym bag into the door as well.

"Where have you been?" came a sharp voice. Tom turned to look at his wife. She had a look of contempt on her face as she sat in the recliner, turned to stare directly at the door. He let his bag slide off of his shoulder and thud on the floor by the door; not where it belonged.

"I've been at the gym," he said back, his voice having a layer of attitude he didn't expect. "You know that."

"Well you've been there a lot longer than you usually are!" she said this pointing at the clock. It read 8:30pm. "You are usally home no later than seven!"

Tom walked past her and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and started to reach for a beer. At the last second he grabbed a bottle of water. He wasn't going to grab a beer because he was mad. He wasn't going to let her get to him like that. "I worked over. I need to work over if I'm ever going to get somewhere with this."

"I haven't seen you all day! You left for work at 5:15 this morning."

Tom walked back into the living room and looked at her. He could see her eyes were red. She'd been crying. "Well," he started as he unscrewed the top off his water, "it's what I'm going to have to do if I want to be any good." He took a sip as she stared at him in silence. "I'll be late again tomorrow night."

Stephanie swalled a little bit, fighting back another wave of tears. "How often will you be training late, then?" she said, knowing what he was going to say before she even asked.

"Every time," he said. "And I'll be going in early a bit too."

"So I'll see you right before bed, and right after we wake up, and for a little on weekends, huh?"

"Come on, Stephanie!" Tom snapped. "We've had to do with seeing each other very little before. Remember how we lived in different cities for two years while we were dating?"

"WE AREN'T DATING ANYMORE, ASSHOLE!" Stephanie snapped back. "I'm your wife, you son of a bitch!"

Tom took another sip of the water. The bottle was still almost full. "You know this is what I want to do. You knew that when you married me." His voice was low, but it was seething. Stephanie turned the rotating chair away from him and toward the TV. An episode of NCIS was on, but it was muted. "Steph--"

"--Don't talk to me!"

Tom stormed down the hall. He opened the door to his bedroom, but before he walked in, he turned and slung to bottle of water back down the hall. It slammed against the front door as he slammed the bedroom door. He sat down on his bed, fuming. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He began to type a text message.

"Are you free tonight?" he typed. He then fished through his contacts for the intended recipient. He stopped on the name 'Jenny.' But he stopped. He closed his phone back without sending the message and put it on the night stand. There was a Bible sitting on top of the stand. He looked up at the ceiling, his body hurting and his heart and head screaming.

"God, I don't know what the hell is going on...but I sure wish you'd give me something to work with, here."
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