I felt like a ninja, seriously, pulling
myself up into the ripped out ceiling and then waiting for them to leave. They never left but instead they found me. Pulling me down from the ceiling and letting
me crash some 8-9 feet, my entire body shook with rage. And then I laughed.
I laughed at the irony of the whole
situation – a boxing club yet to open but already hosting it’s first fight. I had caught my “opponents” off guard, as did
my “teammate” (aka my "tenant"). Each of us not expecting the
other to be there that day but there we were, all of us together.
The scene that played out was like a scene
out of some old school Jackie Chan movie or that of a comic book. Me, assumed to be the damsel in distress, but
proving not to be, and my “tenant” proving to be quite the
faithful sidekick, with a broken soju bottle as his weapon of choice.
I can now say I have officially given
blood, sweat and tears to my boxing club. I have the three stitches to prove
it and one majorly messed up face of my "tenant" to account for it too.
This all went down earlier this week and by
Friday I was still very ticked about it so I showed up late Friday evening,
ready to confront who I assumed had sent me my opponents. I stood there for about 20minutes, on the
street corner, feeling like I could breath fire and kill with my death
stare. I didn’t really know what I was
going to say to this person but I knew what I was going to do. I went there with intentions of taking
anything and everything that belonged to me and all that had any connection to Snickers
and I. I wanted to rid this person's place of
all traces of me. I wanted to be nothing
more than a past memory to them; I wanted to be dead to them.
I never did go beyond the second floor
stairs.
There gets a point where things just click
in your head, when you go far and it’s too far.
Where you catch yourself and realize that this is not you. I caught myself there and told myself that I
was no better than them if I were to take it to the next step.
Earlier on in the day I had stepped in to
stop a street fight between Snickers and a local shopkeeper. What started off as a simple argument about a
parking spot quickly escalated when the young shopkeeper threw a metal makeshift pylon at our
car and swore at Snickers. Snickers
grabbed this guy by the scuff of his collar and smashed him against the shop
window. I ended up separating the two and
telling Snickers the guy was just not worth it.
With Snickers and I both holding pro boxing licenses, getting into a
street fight could easily land us in jail.
More importantly though, I strongly believe that lowering yourself to
someone’s level like that really makes you no better than them, even if you
think they are wrong.
As I stood in the stairwell tonight, I
remembered what I had told Snickers earlier today. “It doesn’t matter who starts and who
finishes, you’re both the same – both wrong.”
I wasn’t about to lower myself even if I thought I was in the right to
do so, I’ll leave it to karma, and on that note I went home.
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