Chapter 21

“Before we go to the score cards, let’s hear it for these two incredible warriors!” cried the man in the tuxedo. The crowd took his cue and roared their approval while Chinese drummers pounded in rising rhythms.

            George stood to the right of the referee, who was thankfully holding his left wrist instead of his right. His body felt and looked like it might have passed through a meat grinder, or perhaps hit by a car. He couldn’t stand if it weren’t for Ricardo, who stood behind him with his hand on his back.

            George stole a glance over at Hector, who appeared to be in no better condition than he. He was equally battered and cut by the blows inflicted on him by someone he’d once called his best, and perhaps only, friend. The other members of Team Vengeance seemed to keep their distance from him, perhaps because of Hector’s apparent refusal to listen to Phil McGary’s coaching during the fight.

            “Gregor Mathis judged this bout twenty-nine, twenty-eight, Vargas!” the announcer said into the vintage microphone. “Pam Growbanks scored this bout twenty-nine, twenty-eight, Peligro!”

            It was a split decision. George knew the final judge’s decision would decide for all of them who’d truly come out on top in George’s fight with Hector. The entire audience went silent waiting for the announcer to end his dramatic pause-for-effect. George thought his heart would stop if the silence went on any longer.

            “And finally,” the announcer said with a smile, “Douglas Anderson scored the bout twenty-eight, twenty-eight. This match is a draw!”

            The referee raised the arms of both young men into the air.

            “Unbelievable! George Peligro denies Hector Vargas his team’s lace chance at showing up Brotherhood Jiu-jitsu!Ricardo Gracia’s team pulled off an incredible performance by not yielding a single win to Team Vengeance and showing the incredible effectiveness of his family’s Jiu-jitsu, yet again! That was an incredible match by two incredible athletes with a surprise finish! I got goose bumps waiting to hear that outcome!”

            The crowd erupted into cries of joy, disgust, and excitement. George, for his part, felt numb, and heard the announcement as though from far away, or through the television. It was like it was happening to someone else. It wasn’t until he felt Ricardo’s arms around him, lifting him into the air, that it dawned on him that everything he was hearing was about himself.

            “Yes! Yes! You did it!” Ricardo cried, jumping up and down with George in his arms. Pablo and Mo had their hands in the air, trying to slap George on the back as they shouted their congratulations. George could also see Scott and Roy close as well, both of them clapping furiously and Scott cupping his hands around his mouth to give a loud, victorious “Whoop!”

            George turned and saw Hector, whose gaze seemed to be boring a hole into the floor. Hector, who was denied his revenge on the school he believed was the cause of so much of his pain. Hector, who could never, ever, ever be humbled. George watched as his friend pushed his way through the crowd of trainers, fight doctors, and photographers that filled the cage and out into the walkway leading to the locker rooms. He didn’t make eye contact with a single soul, and soon he’d disappeared, seemingly forever.

 

“I couldn’t be more proud of you, son,” said Ignacio as the two of them drove the truck and small rented trailer through the rolling hills of California’s vineyards. It was winter, and the unnumbered rows of grape vines stood bare and brown out of the ground like endless fields of short, ugly trees.

George smiled and looked down at the cast that covered his right hand and part of his forearm. It would be coming off soon, and he couldn’t wait. Though he hadn’t been able to train since his match with Hector a couple months ago, he’d tried to keep his fitness up. But with his hand still healing, it was inevitable that George would lose some of his muscle mass and regain the softer edges to his figure he’d lost while preparing for his first and possibly only MMA event.

Otherwise George was in high spirits. He’d applied and been accepted to UC Davis, and decided right away to pursue his talent for art and design. It was another reason he was eager to get the cast off of his hand, since teaching himself to either draw with his left hand or his immobilized right seemed hopeless. He was, however, glad that his winnings from the match would be enough to see him through quite a bit of school.

And so George rode in the truck with his father, reading the GPS aloud for him since his father couldn’t seem to figure out how to work it. George listened with satisfaction while his father told him about all the people at work he’d bragged to at work about his son’s dual accomplishment of MMA fighter and college student, and allowed himself for a moment to accept the fact that perhaps he was as awesome as his father thought he was.

Soon the two of them were driving through crowded streets choked with the vehicles of other college move-ins. They eventually found a place near the apartment to park their truck and trailer, and slowly they began to unload the many mismatched boxes and bags that contained George’s belongings stripped from his apartment above Brotherhood Jiu-jitsu Academy.  The work was slow and satisfying, and George took his time as not to re-injure his hand and delay his return to his training.

“So you never told me,” his father asked as they unloaded the last of the boxes into his room, “what are you going to do about your training?”

George smiled. He knew his father wanted him to get his Jiu-jitsu black belt. He wanted that for himself too.

“I’m going to try to visit Ricardo a couple times a month, maybe catch a bus down to Vacaville and train for a weekend before coming back. Other than that, I’ll be studying a little on my own here.”

George had found a website for Jiu-jitsu practitioners in the area, and knew that a nice-sized group of grapplers met once a week on the school’s wrestling mats to train. George intended to be there, and wondered how he’d fare against the many different versions of Jiu-jitsu and submission wrestling that he’d find there. Somehow, he wasn’t worried at all about feeling outclassed by the other grapplers.

“So, do you think you’ll do as well in school as you did in fighting?” his father asked as they walked the streets of the college town, looking for a place to get some dinner.

George shrugged. “I’ll survive,” he said with a smile. That was, after all, something he’d learned to do lately, and very well.

George’s phone began to buzz in his pocket. It was a girl. He smiled. He’d looked forward to seeing Summer again.

So many things to work on now. So many possibilities. So many hopes for the future. George didn’t think of everything before him in quite those words, but that’s what it all amounted to. To him, it was simply a good feeling he got when he thought of all the things he could be.