Warrior

"Pikachu (yeah my boss actually calls me Pikachu, even in real life) can have the bed and, Gadget, there is a couch for you in the corner," my boss Crash said. He stood for a moment at the doorway of the 10 by 13 foot single room cabin, short range radio in hand. I could see the top of the semi-auto, which was across his back, over his shoulder. A flash light was secured to the top via a large quantity of unceremously wrapped electrical tape. Odds are he was going to go sit on the roof of his own cabin for a few hours sipping a beer and thinking before climbing back down to ground level, going in his cabin, and calling it a night. After the fight that weekend he had been strangely quiet and contemplative.

I remember riding down to town earlier that day in Crash's truck. Crash drove, Wafflulz rode shotgun, and I was nominated to sit in the middle due to my short stature. Jack-of-all-trades (Joat) and his girlfriend were in another truck behind us.

Joat's girlfriend had come along on this trip to the middle of nowhere, although I am not entirely sure why. The outdoors seemed a little overwhelming to her at the best of times. However, she had reached a full-fledged breaking point after falling from a raft earlier that day and being dragged under the boat by the current.

Wafflulz got out from the car to do something and I was left there sitting with Crash.

"What's she getting so upset about," I asked. The words from my mouth were more snide and condescending than actually seeking an answer, "Falling out of a raft..."

"She thought she was going to die, and she was afraid."

"Well she didn't die, and that was hours ago! What is her problem?"

"That feeling of 'I will not live through this' probably never happened to her before"

I put my feet up on the dashboard of Crash's truck and stared at my knees flippantly. "Pffft"

I'd like to be able to offer a reasonable explanation of why I talk and act like a seven year old when nobody but Crash can hear me but I don't have one. I suspect it is mostly just because I can, and because I know he will not judge me for it. It is a rare luxury.

"Not everybody's like you and me, Pikachu."

I made another moronic and immature condescending noise, "I'm not afraid to die!"

I'd never thought about it before, and it probably wasn't true, but somehow I wanted Crash to believe it.

Crash sighed, "Yes you are."

"No I'm not! I've almost died a ton of times!"

My boss smiled a little, "I use to say that too, Pikachu."

The conversation had been cut short by Wafflulz reentering the car and muttering, "They don't have it." Crash threw the truck in reverse and shortly after we arrived at a weathered brown wooden building with the words "General Store" tacked overhead. Inside they sold pretty nearly everything you would need except clothing or alcohol. The alcohol situation was taken care of next door where a tired bar stood, constructed of the same weathered planks.

We all piled out and wandered into the General Store, including the car following us which contained Joat and his girlfriend.

Some asshole slammed the door of the shop on Joat's girlfriend. Crash asked him pretty nicely (in my opinion) to be kind to her, and said she had a rough day. The kid had turned and, without warning, slugged him.

Fights almost always start over stupid things anyway...because fights are rarely about whatever happened directly before the fight. Fights are normally about at least one person wanting to start a fight.

Crash had gone easy on the 20 something kid. My boss had not tried to hurt him, but the kid had drawn a good amount of Crash's blood via the rings he wore on his hands. Head wounds bleed like nothing you would believe and the blood had obscured Crash's vision, hampering him.

"Hah!" the kid had screamed every time he used a ring to gouge another line in my boss' forehead, "Fuck you old man!"

I remember being enraged not only that this kid was cheap enough to sucker punch Crash, who was more than twice his age, but that he was so cheap that he had done it with a fist full of rings. I wanted the whole thing to stop... or slow down, anything for a second to think. Every time I've been in a fight I've been to busy saving my skin to really be scared, but I was scared now. I wanted to run in and save Crash, but I did not do it. Crash had been a national champion once. To enter the fight and "attempt to help" him would injure his pride in ways I could never hope to repair. Additionally, to be frank, I never believed for a second that Crash could possibly lose. Crash is very much like a father to me and I suppose I had been struck by some bizarre impulse to believe him invincible and immortal.

I remember feeling very torn. The flip side of me thinking of Crash like a father was that I knew he regarded me as almost a daughter. If this unbalanced brat managed to draw a drop of my blood Crash would probably lose it and start snapping the kid's bones or worse instead of trying to just pin him down and make him stop. Then again, if I won, I could make the kid stop hurting Crash so much faster.

I can't ever remember feeling like my brain worked so slowly. All I could do was watch the fight. I never thought Crash could lose, but simply watching somebody I care about being physically beaten was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I had never permitted anybody to do this to my brother. Now I just stood and watched, telling myself that this is what Crash would want me to do, telling myself that this was his fight, telling myself that he had it handled.

I remember looking over at Wafflulz, who was standing next to me on the porch of the general store. I remember being horribly jealous of him for being male and a good foot taller than me. The kid wasn't ripped, but he was built enough to do some damage if he wanted to. Crash didn't regard him as a son. He could have walked up and trounced the kid and not feared putting Crash into such a rage should he suffer a scrape. With his size and a little training he could have beaten the shit out of that kid. At that very moment I would have given anything to be Wafflulz.

I had this terrible lurking feeling that my hesitance to assist Crash was not out of consideration of his pride but a disguise for my own cowardice, and my strong desire at that moment to be Wafflulz did nothing but reinforce that fear. If I was wishing for strength, did that mean I doubted my own? Did it mean I did not fight because I was afraid?

Wafflulz stood there expressionless and watched motionlessly except to put one arm in front of me. The gesture was clear, "Stay here." Was his judgement better than mine? Should I do as he said?

This is one of those situations where indecision is a decision to do nothing. I never really decided that it was ok to leave my friend, but my failure to decide quickly meant the fight was over before I had really concluded anything.

Our faith in Crash's did not disappoint us. Despite what it felt like, in reality it wasn't too long until the kid was sauntering back to his truck. He reminded me of a frightened cat, walking at the briskest pace possible without flat out running. His head was held high, still pretending it was going this way just because he felt like it, not because he happened to want to get the hell away from Crash. He was trying to show that he wasn't scared, that he hadn't lost.

Joat had happened in on the fight half way and not immediately recognized Crash was one of the participants. I could tell he was flustered and as guilt-ridden as I was by this entire experience. His girlfriend had progressed beyond borderline hysterical into a full-fledged meltdown. Crash coolly cleaned the blood from his face and went over to comfort her, but the cuts were still bleeding and looking at him I swear you could watch the black eye forming, causing her to cry harder.

I had tried to convince Crash to tell his story to the police but his interesting childhood had helped him develop a strong distaste for for them, and I could see he was upset. Instead he left his business card and his story with a local sheriff who arrived shortly after.

We drove a small way before Crash realized his shirt was soaked in his own blood. He stopped at another town's general store, gave Wafflulz some money, and told him to buy a shirt. He did not want to arrive back at base camp covered in blood and alarm our other coworkers.

I stared at Crash's reflection in the windshield. I couldn't help but look at the fresh black eye and the cuts. I did not want to look directly at him because I knew it was important to Crash that I act like this was no big deal, and that seeing his blood soaked face and clothes did not upset me. I have never seen him so sad. It does not matter what actually happened, Crash thinks he lost.

"You totally had him!"

I blurted these words out of nowhere as if I was already in mid argument with him.

"It's too bad that coward ran away!" I finished

Crash sighed. His voice sounded distant, "I'm getting old..."

"No! You were just in it for the longer fight! Didn't you tell me how your team always won by endurance rather than brute strength? That is how you were trained!"

Crash's response was pretty half-hearted, "Yeah."

There was a long pause.

"You did the right thing Pikachu," he said at last. "A third person has no place in a fight."

I remember staring at his face in the windshield reflection wondering if he was just saying that to make me feel better.

Crash turned his face to look out the driver's side mirror, and away from me.

***

"Pikachu can have the bed and, Gadget, there is a couch for you in the corner,"

There was a definite advantage's in Crash's simple instructions. In one sentence he had completely eliminated my dilemma of whether the me claiming the better spot to sleep (I had shown up first) was me abusing my privileges as Gadget's boss or just me calling dibs.

It was just the three of us up there in the wilderness that evening. Wafflulz, Joat, his girlfriend, and everybody else had gone home a few hours ago. Gadget and I had a presentation to prepare which we had planned to spend pretty much all of Monday doing anyway, so Crash invited us to do it out in the wilderness instead of in my lab.

I picked up the box with the gun and ammo in it and moved it right up next to the cabin door, which I locked. If Crash wanted to come check on us he would radio over before hiking up here anyway. Walking over to the twin bed in the corner I tossed my sleeping bag on top of it and sprung up to sit on the side of the mattress, legs swinging in the air over the edge, just above the floor.

"Hey," I called to Gadget, "you tired yet?"

"Nah."

"Me either."

It's amazing when you find yourself repeating conversations from second-grade slumber parties in "real life." I guess it is one of my reasons for wondering if most people ever grow up at all.

So, like so many girly slumber parties from eons past, we sat up and talked with one another for hours. We talked about all manner of things which I have no right to repeat here. It isn't that the events were dirty or shameful, far from it, I just have no right to try to tell you the story of somebody else's life.

Discussions ranged from life stories and eventually into just raw philosophy.

"I think," Gadget mused, "That people can be divided up into two groups pretty easily: politicians and warriors."

I was intrigued. I knew exactly which of those things I wanted to be considered. The image of Crash covered in his own blood was still very vivid in my mind. I wanted more than anything to be told I was brave enough and strong enough to protect those important to me no matter the personal or reputation cost. Gadget had not heard of the fight yet, so in this moment of weakness, it very important to me for him to say, without any prompting from me, what I wanted to hear.

Gadget laughed a little at my sudden attentiveness.

"Pika, that's easy, you're a warrior."

I remember laying in bed that night thinking. I remember wishing that Wafflulz had held me back and stopped me from fighting. It would have removed the responsibility of making that choice from me, and the feeling of cowerdance watching a friend bleed from each punch while I forced myself to stand still. Its harder to regret your choices when you can convince yourself you didn't have any.

"You're a warrior," the words echoed in my head.

Dear God, I thought, I hope he is right.