SHANE. I have no complaints about my life. Life, as they say, is what we make it. I make mine a series of lessons. I learn something every day. And whatever I learn allows me to live the next day without the same worries, problems or concerns I have harbored in the past.

We are told to learn from our mistakes, and this will prevent us from repeating them. I live my life absorbing all of what is around me. I pay close attention to the mistakes people make and learn from them. It prevents me from having to make the same errors they have already made. We never know what the future may have in place for us, but remembering the events of the past allows us to walk into the future without much hesitation or wonder.

I feel as if I have lived the lives of many.

When you least expect it, life may propose something to you. Something you might not necessarily be looking for, but without a doubt it has the ability to offer your life some form of enrichment. When this time comes, all we can do is hope we are living in the particular day with an open mind, heart and arms.

Mike Ripton was one of life’s proposals of enrichment.

“So. She said Ripp, you have a stain on your shorts. I looked down and was like, what the fuck? To tell you the truth I thought it was barbeque sauce,” he paused and shrugged his shoulders.

“So she reaches down and tries to wipe it off. It was pretty cool she was willing to rub my leg, so I didn’t grab her or anything. Anyway, she brushes my leg and says, it looks like blood, and there’s something in your pocket. And it’s bleeding. I freaked the fuck out,” Ripp took a deep breath and raised his beer to his lips.

“So I start brushing my leg wondering what the fuck it is, and then it hits me. I got that fucking finger in my pocket. You carried Kace in the house, so I figured you two were fuckin’. I was like, shit what to do? So I turned around, reached into my pocket, and pulled out the finger. And when she wasn’t lookin’, I opened the grill and tossed that little nasty fucker inside. And it fell through the rack and into the fire. About five minutes, and she starts sayin’ something smells like burning flesh. I acted like I couldn’t smell it,” he finished his beer and started rubbing his bald head with the palms of his hands.

I pulled my hood up and held it tight to my head. As I started to massage it into my cheeks, he picked up a fresh beer and continued.

“So that little motherfucker stunk up the whole yard. I’d already pulled half the chicken off the grill, but had the other half in there with that stinkin’ ass three month old finger. It’s smokin’ and stinkin’ and making me about half sick. The whole time, I’m acting like I can’t smell nothin’. She’s about to barf. I tell this bitch we were eatin’ grapes earlier, and that was a crushed grape in my pocket. But here’s the deal,” he placed his beer on the table, leaned toward me, and opened his eyes wide.

“I put that chicken on the other side of the platter. The finger chicken. And that’s the shit I gave to the girls,” he held his eyes open wide waiting for me to respond.

“God damn, Ripp. The girls? You fed that shit to Kace?” I asked as I pressed my hood into my face.

“Yep. Dude, I’m sorry, but it was just simple mathematics. Half the chicken was unharmed. That’s a chicken and a half of the clean stuff. Luckily you weren’t too hungry. Only reason I’m telling you is because you didn’t actually eat any. Had you got into the dirty shit, I’d a kept my fuckin’ mouth shut,” he nodded his head and picked his beer back up off the table.

“I ain’t shittin’ ya. I’d a fed you that shit if I had to,” he said as he tipped his beer bottle up.

“Fuck. You sick fucker. Let’s keep this between us. Forever. I mean it, Ripp,” I said as I opened the face of my hood with my hands.

“You bet,” he said as he held out his clenched fist.

I clenched my fist and pounded it against his, confirming the conversation would never be discussed again.

“So now, after she ate the finger chicken, I ain’t sure I can fuck with her. She’s cute as fuck, but damn, dude. She ate the dirty shit,” he raised one eyebrow and waited.

“You fed it to her,” I paused for an instant, “and you cut it off the guy. You cut it off, and you cooked it, and you’re worried about her being gross for eating chicken that was cooked with a finger you cut off and hid in the grill? Nasty assed chicken you fed her.”

“See, that’s why I keep you around. You always keep shit so real. Yeah, I never thought of it like that. I guess if they’re giving prizes for bein’ gross, cuttin’ that fucker off and cookin’ it trumps the finger chicken, huh?” he asked.

“I’d sure think so,” I responded.

He nodded his head and took another drink of beer.

“Yeah. I might keep trying to fuck with her then. Guess you’re gonna be fucking with Kace, and she ate a ton of that finger chicken. I can’t really call or consider her gross, she’s your girl and all,” he smiled and nodded.

I shook my head and pulled off my hood.

“We’re done with this, okay?” I asked.

“Alright, brother. Done,” he said as he rubbed his hands together.

“Well, she seems nice. She’s really pretty,” I admitted.

“Yeah. She’s hot. That’s for sure,” he laughed.

“I hate it when you call people hot. It’s so fucking insensitive. All it really means is I want to fuck you. That’s pretty much it,” I complained.

“Yeah, but I do want to fuck her, bro’. Did you get a good look at her?” he raised his hands in wonder.

“I did. But seriously, Ripp. You want to fuck her based on the fact that she’s tall, blonde, and has a nice ass,” I sighed.

“Dude, I want to hurt that bitch. Well, you know. Hurt her in a good way. Shove her full of about ten inches of my pierced hard fuckin’ cock. Fuck her ‘till her legs are rubber and then watch her try and fuckin’ walk,” he smiled as he tipped his bottle of beer up.

I shook my head, “That’s what brings parentless children into this earth. Broken marriages. Torn emotions.”

I pulled the front of my hood up to my face.

“Dude, enough of the sorrow bullshit. Not everyone’s as clean as you. Who dates a chic for three months after seeing her for a month before they started dating, and doesn’t fuck her? I know of one person. You. You’re a fucking weirdo. I’ve been telling you that for a few years now,” he said as he pointed toward me.

“We’re making progress. Don’t fucking start. We’ve talked about this, Ripp. I don’t want to hurt her. She’s sensitive, vulnerable, and liable to make a decision based on something she thinks she needs, not what she actually desires. Like if your car breaks down, and someone gives you a car to drive. You drive whatever they give you. You drive it out of necessity, not desire. If you had the time to pick your own car, you’d damn sure pick something different. I want her to pick me because she feels she wants me, not because she needs to fill a hole in her soul with whatever she can stuff in there,” I slipped my hands under my hoodie and felt my dog tags.

Ripp looked up at the ceiling for a moment. As he shifted his gaze to me, he took a shallow drink of his beer and swallowed it, “Yeah, but her car’s been running like shit for about ten years, and broke down for what? Four? She ain’t had sex in four years. She ain’t making an uninformed decision. And if your car does happen to be broken down, and someone hands you a fucking Mercedes Benz, you don’t drive that bad boy because you have to. You drive it because you know it’s a damn fine ride. You’re acting like you’re some shitty assed dude, Dekk. You’re not. We both know it,” he pushed his empty beer bottle toward the center of the table.

“Well, we’ve been talking about going to see her mother. I’ve tried to talk her into letting me take her there. It’s been about ten years since she’s seen her. That’s the first step for me. I want to do this right,” I leaned onto the table and sighed.

Ripp rubbed the hair on his chin. He looked like he belonged on a surfboard in Los Angeles or on the beach at Venice. His head was always shaved, his body tan, and his chin had a patch of hair on it, always. No mustache, no typical male goatee, just a patch of hair on his chin. He rubbed it and stared at me, obviously thinking.

“You know. You watch guys play basketball. Sometimes you think you see a shot they ought to take, and you scream at the T.V, take the shot. Most of the time they don’t, and you wonder why. Sometimes they do. But have you ever seen a guy take the time to shoot a basket and block his own shot?” he asked as his mouth began to form a smile.

I shook my head, “No, suppose not.”

“Me neither. If they take the time to shoot, they’re gonna let that fucker fly and see what happens. They took the risk when it left their fingertips. With Kace, dude, you’re blocking your own shot. You took the time to seek her out after you met the first time at the video place. Did you forget that? You’ve been courting her for three months. You shot. Let that baby fly. Right into the basket,” he rubbed his chin and smiled; confident he’d made his point.

I pulled the hood from my head and reached for my water glass. As I tipped it to my lips, I narrowed my gaze.

“Made sense, huh? The Ripper ain’t no dummy, bro,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, cooking that finger was a smart move,” I responded dryly.

“Whoa. I thought we were done with that one?” he said as he pushed himself from the table and leaned into his chair.

“You’re right. Sorry. And yeah, you made a good point. I’m thinking,” I responded.

“Well, while you’re thinking, think of this. There’s two months till the fight. I’m thinking about taking off for a few months and helping you train. What do you think?” he asked as he leaned into the table.

“What do you mean, Ripp?” I asked as I leaned my chair forward.

“Simple. I’ll spar with you. I’ll watch the tapes of that dude, Mc Claskey. I’ll mimic his style, and we’ll spar as often as you want. I’ll help push you physically. You know I’m a chameleon. I don’t have a style. I’ll become him. You can beat on me all you want. I want you to win this fucker for sure, Dekk. Hell, if you do. Shit. You’ll be on the cover of Sports Illustrated,” he tightened his jaw and made a fist.

I clenched my fist and extended my arm toward the center of the table.

“Do it,’ he said.

I smacked my fist against his.

“Guess it’s settled,” he said.

“Guess so,” I admitted.

“When you wanting to start?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I responded, excited about training with Ripp.

“Let’s start today. Just stay off this jaw,” he said as he rubbed his jaw.

“You know I can’t make any promises once I step into the ring, Ripp,” I said apologetically.

“I know you can’t. It’s what makes you the beast you are. It’s the devil inside of you. The one you’re either fighting against or fighting for. Never seen another one like ya. You got that devil inside,” he said as he stood and grabbed his wallet.

He was right.

And I needed to feed the demons.