The Better Man

James J. Miner

May 2008

Me and Eddie Culpeper go back a long ways. I mean a long time. We was friends at Briar Springs Elementary. But even then, back before we became mortal enemies, we was always on each other, each tryin’ to outdo the other, each tryin’ to show the world who was the better man. It started out simple; who could hit a baseball further, who could score the most girlfriends, who could out-cuss the other, who could spit the furthest. Once we was in junior high school, it became a contest to see who could beat the snot out of the most pimple-faced, four-eyed, book-reading faggots, and who was the pinball king at the duckpin bowling alley downtown. And in high school, we was countin' who could steal the most cars for joyrides, and who did the most breakins without gettin' caught. It was how much time we spent in the drunk tank after a night of drinking and fighting. It was always about even between Eddie Culpeper and me, Dougie Fletcher.

When I look back on it all, and how it all went down, I can’t help but wonder why we didn’t just get together behind the school on a Football Friday night and settle it all, right there. Back when we was still too young to do much harm. Back when we ignored what the principle Mr. Newburn was sayin', that we better mend our ways before we got into real trouble, before it all ended in a terrible tragedy. That we were good for nothing, and that we'd end up shoveling shit for a living. We each thought we was Superman, that we was invicible or something. Well, Mr. Newburn was right in everthing he said, and it did all end in a big pile of shit.

Yep, I wonder why Eddie never called me out, and I never called him out. Why we never settled the question of who was the better man. There was times when we had our little scuffles, just a bit of shovin’ and kickin’ at each other, inside a ring formed by our cronies. But someone was always there to break it all up. I guess we both knew even then that we was too evenly matched, and that there’d be nothing settled if we did have it out.

So instead we’d settle for cracking the heads of cock-suckers we caught in the woods, teaching them to think twice before commitin’ unholy sins in our territory. We’d settle for gettin’ stinkin’ drunk and wanderin’ around the football stadium on game nights, just lookin’ for some asshole goofball to look at us the wrong way before we’d tear into their asses and send them off in the ambulance with a black eye and a broken nose, while we slunk off in the crowd and enjoyed the admiring glances of our peers. The chicks got off on that. They dug us bad boys. They grooved on our muscles, and they fingered themselves silly thinkin about suckin on the biggest muscle of them all, the baddest boy around, the best man. The bad boy who ain’t afraid to pound some jerkoff straight-A student into the ground for darin’ to even think about doin’ it with his woman. ‘Course most of the women we hung out with was skanks, but we didn’t care as long as they put out.

That’s what it was all about. It weren’t about me and Eddie decidin’ once and for all who was the meanest mother-fucker in school. It was about gettin’ pussy. It was about showin’ them straight-up faggots we weren’t such losers. It was about countin’ coup. Neither me nor Eddie could read, write, or do them numbers worth a damn. We couldn’t run as fast as them track fags. We couldn’t take the reamin’ that coach give them football players up the ass ever time they lost. We couldn’t sing, and we couldn’t dance, and we damn sure wouldn’t be caught dead actin’ like no lady-boy in the school plays they had ever now an’ then. Naw, instead we would wait outside the stage-door entrance drinkin’ vodka, and when the play let out we grabbed the girliest drama-queen we could find as he came out, and we’d show him what real men like to do to boys who act like they’s women. That’s what it was all about. Showin’ everybody how good we was at what we was good at.

It was all politicin’. It was all about gettin’ voted most likely to end up in reform school. It was about punchin’ out the most pussy-boys. It was all about how many skanks we could fuck. Me and Eddie, we was the best at what we did. Nobody could come close. It didn’t make no sense for us to have it all out. That would end the contest right then and there; it would ruin ever’thing. We was having too much fun to do that. An maybe we was a little bit scared of each other. How was we to know that it would all come to a head someday?

Course, it was really all about what we learned from our folks. My ole' man, Farley, he was the meanest, drunkest, most selfish no-count bastard that ever did walk the Earth. And he taught me ever-thing I know. Ever-thing I am today, I am because of that worthless no-good excuse for a human being.

From the earliest I can remember, I hated that asshole. I can remember running 'round the yard when I was little, no more than 4 or 5 years old, with my old soiled shorts half hanging off me and nothin' else. The old man says "come here, Dougie". I hadn't learned to be scared of him yet, so I come. I could see he had a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. I could see that he could barely stand. Anyway, I come. And he hauled off and slapped the shit out of me, square on the lips, saying "Boy, get some clothes on, you don't run around here half nekkid". Then he sat back down on the porch.

I went in cryin to Ma. She come out and yelled at him, that he had no cause to go around hittin' kids. I'm standing behind the screen door, snifflin', watchin' Ma and the Ole' Man screamin' at each other, while neighbors stop mowing their lawns and look over at us, cluck and shake their heads, and go back to what they was doin'. Finally, the ole' man put Ma in her place by giving her a good hard slap, and she went inside crying. I may have been young, but I understood that this was not natural. Normal people didn't do this kind of thing, just us freaks that had a Daddy like my old man Farley.

We got the cops called on us more than once, on nights when the yellin' an' screamin' from our house went on and on and got louder an' louder, and finally one big smack and crash an' it stopped. That's when the neighbors called the cops, figuring he'd shut up Ma for good. Them cops would come in their patrol car, and there was the ole' man, just as calm and sober as he could be. Ma would be there with a cold wet rag over her black eye, and she'd say no problem, she just fell down the basement steps. Me and my older brother Tommy would be up in the attic with the fear of God in us, knowin' we'd better not make a sound while them cops was here. My ole' man, he always managed to worm his way out of it.

I learned to fear the ole' man, alright. It only took a few slaps upside the head for me to learn. Tommy, he never did learn to fear that bastard. The ole' man would smack Tommy, a skinny 10-year-old kid, and Tommy would stand up real straight and cuss him out, callin' him ever name in the book, and he'd smack him again, and he'd cuss him out again, through the tears and the stingin', til eventually the ole' man would get tired an' say "Shit, you ain't good for nuthin", and go down the street to get another bottle of whiskey. Course, the whole reason Tommy ain't right in the head today is because of the beatings he took.

Now one thing the ole' man crammed in my head over and over: "Boy, no matter what you do in life, you got to be the best man you can be. You got to earn respect in this world, it ain't jest gonna come to you. You jest a little pussy squirt right now, and you thank all problems can be solved by running home an' cryin' to your ma. Aint nothing farther from the truth. You got to stand tall, boy, and don't take no shit from nobody. You hear what I'm sayin', boy?" Then he'd smack me in the ear and tell me to listen to him, he knew what he was talkin' 'bout. I hated that bastard, but I took his advice to heart.

They come and tried to take Tommy and me away one day. The ole' man was sober for once, and he made up all kinda lies to explain away the black eyes and fat lips. They didn't have nothin' on him. The judge took me into his office, and asked me point blank if the ole' man was beating me. I told him no. I ain't no snitch, even for the ole' man, even though he deserved the worst punishment they could mete out. That's another thing I learned from him. You didn't snitch. You had a problem, you solved it yourself, you worked it out without bringin' in the law.

Well, ole' Tommy, he finally worked it all out, just himself. Just like the ole' man taught him. He did it for me. He did it for Ma. He was 16 at the time, and he was big and beefy and he knew how to fight. He taught me a thing or two about fightin', things I applied in my own dealings at the high school.

One day when the ole' man was particularly shit-faced, and rarin' for a fight, Tommy gave it to him, right out there in the front yard with the neighbors watchin' and cheerin' him on. Ole' Farley was overconfidant, he figured poor Tommy would just stand there taking it, cussing up a storm like he always did. But Tommy had a new outlook, he was fed up. He whupped that ole' man pretty damn bad. He never could have done it when the ole' man was sober, but he was so damn drunk he couldn't even see the punches coming. Ole' Farley was madder than a hornet as Tommy kept landin' round-house punches to his face. He would fall and get right back up, screamin' the foulest curses at him. He was beet red, and snot and blood was porin' out of his nose and all over his face, and he was staggerin' around like a rhino ridin' a cow, takin' wild swings that missed him by a mile. Tommy would wade in every now and then and land one on his jaw with all his might. He finally went down and didn't get back up, landin' in a mud puddle. He left him where he lay, and got Ma and me and went over to Aunt Betty and Uncle Maynard's house, down a few blocks from us, where we spent the night.

I never saw that low-life son of a bitch again, ever. He must of come to sometime during the night, and staggered off to where ever he went, too embarrassed to show his ugly face in that neighborhood again. Man, how that must have hurt him, gettin' his ass kicked by a 16-year-old boy. With ever'body on the street watchin', an' not a one was on his side. Ma said it was just the excuse he needed to leave us and go out on his own. Last I heard, Ole' Farley was killed in a bar-fight down in Richmond, but I don't know for sure because I never saw a death certificate. I don't really give a damn, neither, long as he don't show his face in front of me ever again.

After that, Tommy got worse and worse, like he was punch drunk from all them knocks on the head from Ole' Farley. He got stupid. He dropped out of high school, just stopped goin'. He didn't work, he didn't do nothin'. He didn't walk right, like they was some circuits burned out. They finally had to put him in the looney bin over there at Gallows Road. He reached a point where he didn't recognize me no more so I stopped visitin' him. Later they shipped him off to Staunton and far as I know he's still there gettin' his meals from tubes shoved down his nose. Shit, life just aint' fair, a good ole boy like Tommy endin up like that.

Eddie's ole' man, Big John, was a drunk also, an' I heard he beat Eddie's Ma more than once, but he warn't near as mean a drunk like Farley. Big John's weakness was kids. He was a kid fucker, from what I hear. It was all just rumors, but Eddie's sister Edie got pregnant one year, clean out of nowhere, nobody even knew she had no boyfriends and she was one ugly skank. Rumor was, her ol' man stuck it in her more than once, and he was the daddy. Poor Edie had to be taken away somewhere's to live with her Aunt. Their Ma, she got fed up and left Big John one day. Eddie told somebody that he coulda gone also, but he chose to stick with his ole' man. Then there was rumors goin' round that Eddie was taking it from his ole' man and likin' it. Eddie heard that and he went berserk. The kid that passed on that rumor, he don't live round here no more. Far as I know, that kid may be sharing a padded cell with Tommy down in Staunton.

There were rumors that Eddie was hangin' out at the junior high school, sellin' pot to the teenyboppers and teachin' 'em how to give head. I suppose his daddy taught him that, and he jest kept up the tradition. I never did know for sure, it wasn't something anybody'd walk up to him and ask him about, not if they valued their lives. He never got caught at it, but his skags was always a bit on the young side. He liked 'em young and skinny, and no titties, no doubt about it.

So me and Eddie ended up ruling the roost over at Dale County High School. We was kings, at least in our own minds. Kids learned to stay away from us if they knew what was good for them. If they was ignorant, and new, or they'd been around but didn't know how mean a boy can git, they learned a lesson real quick, either from me or Eddie, sometimes from us both.

Then there come the day Eddie got caught breakin into the drugstore for cigarettes, and they sent him away to Pennfield for a couple years. He was 16 when it happened. For a while, there was a struggle at school as would-be bad-boys tried to take his place. I wasn’t havin’ none of it, and I set each one back in the pack so the next could have a go at me. That last boy I beat pretty bad. He had to go to the hospital and they said he might be brain damaged. That turned out to be my downfall, and I got sent to Pennfield myself.

Case you don't know, Pennfield is what they used to call a reformatory. It was a place they sent the meanest kids, to try and straighten them out. More likely than not, that damn place just made a kid meaner than before. You never seen such a fucked up collection of fuck offs. The boys would live in these damn dormitories, and at lights out half the boys would jump outta their bed and into the bed of the worms, them kids that were weak and couldn't defend themselves. You had to be strong to survive at Pennfield. If you weren't, you'd end up some boy's bitch and they'd fight each over your ass ever' night.

There, at Pennfield, me and Eddie started all over again. We was older than most of them other boys there, and we was a damn sight meaner than any of them. Me and Eddie took over the place. After 6 months, we both had our own gangs. My gang was the Shit Outta Luck Club. We had a reliable source for crack cocaine and he had himself a girlfriend willin' to smuggle it in on visitin' days in a baggy stuffed up her pussy. Man, that shit smelled good lit up. We made a fortune on it.

Eddie’s gang was the Forsaken Warriors. They had a old-timer who had a thing with one of the guards. He'd get a share of a load of cigarettes as they come in, and the guard would get a share of the action and a blowjob in return for cutting his guy in. They made themselves out like they was bikers or something, and there was even a rumor they had applied as a chapter of the Hells Angels. Shit, that was just them boys primpin’. Weren’t a one of them even owned a hog, much less ownin’ half the balls it takes to be a Angel. One of them boys claimed he was Sonny Barger's bastard son. Shit. That boy was too much a pussy to be even remotely related to ol' Sonny.

'Course, there was the niggers. They was more of them than they was of us, but they kept to themselves and we kept to ourselves. You learned never to use the word nigger around them, else the whole population would gang up on you an' put you in the hospital. It was a unwritten rule, you just didn't use the "N" word, an' if you did, don't expect no help from your own kind. You got what you deserved.

Me and Eddie, we just picked up again where we left off in high school. We was each tryin' to build a bigger empire than the other. We hated each other's guts, but we still laid off each other personally. Eddie an' me had a disagreement, maybe because a couple his guys went and broom-fucked one of my boys in the shower room for cuttin' his cocaine too many times for their likin', well, we settled it like men. We sent our best boys out and they cut each other up and that was that, justice was done, vengence was taken, honor was restored, and it was back down to business as usual.

We had achieved our goals. There weren't no better men than we were in that place. Ole' Farley and Big John would've been proud, if they was still alive. Neither of us knew for sure. We was even gettin' our fair share of pussy, every month or so when the guards let in some whores for a share of the profits. They'd call me and Eddie down to the visitin' pen, even though it weren't visitin' hours, and there'd they be, flashin' their hot little boxes under them mini-skirts, with boots up to their knees, fur coats over skimpy little tank tops, big earrings, and rings on every finger. Most of them was butt ugly, but there'd be a few nice lookin' ones, and we'd get them to go. We'd pick out a few for our lieutenants, give the guards some of our cigarette and crack money, and leave the rest of them skanks to be sorted out in the general population.

It was the life, I tell you that. I didn't have to do a lick of work, I'd have my boys doin every thing for me, cookin', cleanin', washin' my clothes, runnin' errands, sellin' crack. I even had one curly-haired young bitch to do me for times when the whores weren't due for another couple weeks. Now, I ain't no fag, but a man had to do what he had to do to get by in that place. That boy was cute as any woman, and he'd do things I ain't never had no woman do for me.

But it all had to end, an' one day it did. Eddie and me was let out the same day, time off for good behavior, they called it. The supervisor called it tossin the trash out in the street. We found ourselves out on our own, the school wouldn't take us back, and all of a sudden we weren't top dogs no more, far from it. It was a couple days after my 17'th birthday, an' I had 50 dollars in my pocket and nowhere to go.

We found ourselves havin to get jobs. Eddie lucked out, he had a uncle got him a job sellin insurance. He never made much money on it. He just wasn't the sellin' type. I guess folks could look in his eyes and see how mean he was and that'd be the end of the interview. But he made enough to survive. I guess there was some folks in this world dumb enough to buy insurance from a guy like Eddie. I could never see it, but it happened. He even got himself a girlfriend, a nice little skinny thing with no titties.

Me, the best I could do was cleanin' out Porta-Johns for minimum wage. I tried for better jobs, but ever place I went the story was the same: you been in Pennfield, guess you got to do some payback shovelling shit before people will trust you again. I guess Mr. Newburn was right. I'd try to tell those folks about Eddie, but they just wouldn't listen. That damn Eddie, he got the nice job, and the nice girlfriend. Me, I'm stinkin' like shit all the time and I blow my salary buying blow-jobs from the skanky whores hangin' out just down the street from the trailer park I call home. Eddie got hisself a place in the same park, in the higher rent section of the dump. We lived practically next door. We just couldn't get away from each other. It must of been fate. But we stayed the hell away from each other.

I didn't have me a rich uncle to find me a job, like Eddie. Hell, my Ma had disowned me the day I got sent to Pennfield. So did her sister and her no-good brother Jake. I didn't have nothin' when I got out, and nobody to go to. So I ended up shovellin shit just to make rent and git me my weely blowjob, plus a little extra for fun. Hell, I missed them days in Pennfield, when we was kings. Now we was just losers like all the other trash in the park.

Me and Eddie was still tryin' to prove our worth. We both hung out at the Green Dragon Inn, a measly little bar downtown where the worst come lookin' for trouble. Me and Eddie, we'd show them boys a thing or two about trouble if they come askin. We didn't hang out together, but we sure kicked some ass together. Some Joe College football players from State would come in, and start mouthin' off. Next thing you knew, I'd crack one of them upside the head with a beer bottle. Eddie would see that, and he'd smack another one of them boys with a bar stool. They'd throw us out of the Green Dragon for a couple weeks, but then we'd be back, on our best behavior until the next group of smart-assed college boys come in thinkin' they own the place. We started to get a reputation around town.

The rotten apple don't fall too far from home, and I started to see signs that Eddie was his old man's son. I'd see him show up at the Green Dragon with his girlfriend, and she's be wearin' sunglasses in this dark bar. One night she was walkin to the ladies room and took off her sun-glasses, and I looked in through the mirror and saw that one eye was black and swollen. That's Eddie for you, just like his old man. He gets married and has kids, I bet his kids will run around all the time in sunglasses too. God forbid he should have a little girl, he'd probably be pokin her ever night, and end up with one of them radio things on his ankle, or they'd strap him to a table an' cut off his nuts so he couldn't do little girls no more.

Me, I had me a steady girl. She come once a week and sucked me off for $25.00 a shot. The girl was real steady, I tell you. She was clean too. I never did get no crabs from her. An' she had a helluva lot bigger titties on her than Eddie's girlfriend did, I tell you that. She was legal age, too.

Stu Miller, the owner of the Green Dragon, got fed up with me, havin' to toss me out ever' week. One day he comes up to me and hires me as a bouncer. He says, if you can't beat them, hire them. So I got me a night job, and pretty soon I told the Porta-John folks to kiss my ass, and I swore never to get near nobody's shit, ever again. The thing about the bouncer job was that it didn't even pay as much as the Porta-John folks was payin, but it had its perks. For example, I couldn't start no more fights, but I sure as hell ended them. I was kickin' more ass in my job at the Green Dragon than I ever did, in high school or at Pennfield.

Eddie was mad as hell about that. There wasn't much opportunity for kickin' ass in the insurance business. To him, it musta looked like I was finally winning! I got to the point where I was even thinking I could kick his ass. Hell, I didn't *think* I could whip him, I *knew* I could do it! I started wishin' he'd start something, just so I could show him who was the better man. I might not be the high-falutin' salesman with the teenybopper girlfriend, but I was still a better man than he was.

There'd be nights in the bar, when I'm settin' at my stool workin, and he'd be there. Just staring at me. With this mean, pissed off look in his face. He was there one night celebratin', cause he had asked that skank of his to move in with him, and she had swallowed the risin bile and said yes. Guess she was desperate, and she probably knew she weren't goin to do no better than him. She was there with him that night. But he sure didn't look happy.

Me, I just ignored his stares. That made him more pissed. He kept downing Vodkas and asking for more, his face getting redder and redder. He was a pathetic sight. This man, once my biggest rival, now looking like a pussy settin' there gettin' shit faced, with his girlfriend tryin to cheer him up, but recognizing that look in his eye and not willing to try too hard.

I had plenty to keep me busy. I remember one night, there was a real hayseed there, in dungarees and a baggy white T-shirt, with big black farm boots. His dungarees was slung real low, and you could see his butt crack just over the belt line. He was a big old boy, about 6 foot 5. He was there alone, and kept wanderin' around, lookin' down the girl's low-cut shirts to their big titties like he was lookin' at flowers in a garden. Them girls kept givin' him a look like, "shhh-yeah, right, that'll be the day". It didn't disturb Farmer John in the least, he'd just wander off to the next girl and look down at her, smellin' the roses. It was pissin' me off, but I held my temper because Stu had told me not to start nothin.

But I kept my eyes on that old boy. Finally, he started causing trouble. One of the girls, her boyfriend complained about Farmer John looking at her titties. Farmer John grabbed that boy by the shirt and lifted him up off the floor. That boy wasn't light, neither. He shoved the boy up against the wall about 7 foot up and held him there.

This was my chance. I walked up to Farmer John's back, got him into a full nelson quick as you please, so he dropped the college boy and staggered back, tryin to get me off his back. Now, I ain't no small boy neither. I ain't no 6 foot 5, but I'm big and stocky, and once I got a full nelson on you you ain't going nowhere. He tried bendin over to lift me, but I weren't havin' none of that, I just leaned back with my knee up against his ass and applied my weight, and pretty soon the farmer boy knew he was locked up tight. Once I had him wrapped up, I started walking him toward the door.

We passed Eddie's table on the way. I smiled at him, and said "someday this is goin' to be you". I then pushed that boy through the half open door and out onto the veranda, givin' him a kick in the ass as he went. He fell down, and some boys out there started kickin' him off the porch. He got hisself up, looked at me, an' said "I'll be back for you". I was busy slapping the hands of my buddies out there on the veranda and didn't pay him no mind. He finally left.

I figured that boy'd be back 'bout closin' time, an' he'd be packin' something. So I went into the kitchen and found me the longest, sharpest ice-pick I could find. This was a mean lookin ice-pick, one of the old timey kind with the big wooden knob of a handle that fit just right in your fist, and 'bout 6 inches of steel blade. You get stuck with that sucker, and it would go clean through your heart and both lungs. I slipped it under my belt when no-one was looking, and pulled out my shirt-tail to cover it up.

I got back to work. I guess my wrasslin' match with Farmer John let ever body know I weren't nobody to mess with. Things was quiet for most of the rest of the night. 'Bout a half-hour before closin' I heard some ruckus comin' from the other end of the place, over by where the easy chairs and the low-slung tables was. I got up and meandered over, and there was Eddie and some jock tusslin', knockin' over chairs and tables and spillin' drinks all over. Eddie was getting the better of the boy, I could see that. He had blood drippin' from his nose, and his eye was swellin' up.

I come over and grabbed the jock's arm, jest as he was gettin' ready to take a wild swing at Eddie. I swung him around and up against the bar an' got up real close in his face an said "Either you leave now on yer own, or I'll see you carried out on a stretcher". The boy looked scared, like he'd gotten hisself in a jam he didn't know how to get hisself out of. He straightened himself up, shook out his clothes, and left kinda quick like.

Then I turned around. Eddie was right there in my face.

"Guess it's about time, isn't it Dougie?" he said.

"Yep, Eddie", I said, "I reckon it is".

"It's been a long time comin', you sorry sack of shit", he said. At the same time he launched a sucker punch upper-cut at me. It caught me square on the bottom of the chin and I bit into my tongue real good. I blocked his follow-up, staggerin' back and shakin' my head to clear it. Blood was flyin' from my mouth ever which way.

He come in close. Now, Eddie was always a fast mother-fucker, but he weren't no match for me at wrasslin'. He shoulda stuck to boxin'. He was bein' stupid, thinkin' he could lick me close quarters like that. I had his head under my arm like that, and I started swingin' him around, crashin' him into tables an' chairs. I hear Ol' Stu call out from the bar -- "take it outside, Dougie". So I swung him around and pushed him through the door.

I lost my grip as he fell down the porch stairs backwards, landing on his ass at the bottom. While he was layin' there, I jumped after him, fixin' to give him a good hard stomp and endin' this mess. That damn boy actually caught my feet as I was comin' down. He turned sideways and spilled me over on my ass. Then he was on top of me, straddlin' me, and he was throwin' punches at me, and all I could do was cover up an' protect myself. It weren't doin' much good. I'd put my arms up to protect my head and he'd punch me in the stomach. When my guard went down, he's punch me in the face. I finally got my legs under me and rolled him over, catchin' a few hard ones in the process.

Now we was rollin' round the parkin' lot. People was gathered all around, just lookin' at us, none interferin'. Neither of us could get the upper hand. I'd roll over on top and try to free my arms from his grip, but then he'd spill me over and he'd be on top. There was blood all over us, mostly mine, I reckon.

At one point, I was layin' on top of him, each holdin' the other's arms. I was just tryin' to stay on top so he wouldn't punch me no more. I was worn out and just needed to catch my breath a bit. Looked like Eddie was doin' the same.

It was about that time that I felt a sharp pain in my belly. I was wonderin' if he'd gotten out a blade and opened me up with it. But then I remembered the ice pick, and realized it was still in my belt. I freed one arm and reached down to my belt. Sure enough, I felt that knob of a grip on the ice pick. I yelled and pulled it out, saw a squirt of blood and felt the pain go through the roof. Eddie was tryin' to punch with his one free hand. I ignored it. I could take a punch or two, after all those I got from the ol' man, I knew how to take it. I raised myself up and sat on him, with him still tryin' to punch me, but he was worn out. I got my forearm on his windpipe, an' he was busy tryin' to not get choked to death.

Now things become a little hazy. All I could think of was stickin' that ice pick into his forehead. I didn't want to hurt him bad. But as I was comin' down with it, somethin' happened. I ain't sure what. I think he hit me, in the eye. That stung, and I couldn't see shit. His hand was in my face and I couldn't see shit. His finger poked me in the eye. That got me pissed. I come down with that ice pick with all my might, thinking to crack into his forehead. I felt it hit, expectin' to get some resistance from bone. I felt it hit somethin', but it weren't bone and it kept right on goin'. I let go real fast, but it was too late.

I heard him let out a blood-curdlin' scream. I don't ever want to hear a sound like that, comin' from a human bein', ever again. His hand fell away from my face, and I could see him now, but what I seen didn't make no sense. The handle of the ice pick was in front of his eye, and it was vibratin' along with his screams. It was movin' up and down, back an' forth, like somebody was holdin' it by the blade and wobblin' it.

Then I figured it out. I hadn't got him in the forehead like I intended. Instead, that damn ice pick had come down right through his left eyeball. It looked like it was in a good couple inches. But there was still three-four inches of blade exposed, and then that wooden knob. It wobbled a bit when he moved what was left of his eyeball. Then he put his hands over it and screamed. He was tryin' to pull it out.

"You blinded me, Dougie!" he screamed. "You done poked my eye out. Call 911, you son of a bitch!

I grabbed his arms and told him to set still, don't touch it. He fought me, but he didn't have no strength left. I was still straddlin' him. I yelled for somebody to call 911. Somebody grabbed me to pull me off him. I fell over and started vomitin' blood, and that wound I'd got in my belly felt like fire. Then I guess I passed out.

Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital with a ruptured spleen. Eddie was in the same hospital, so I heard, but I guess he weren't in the ruptured spleen ward, cause I never saw him there. There was a policeman outside, and he opened the door an' let in the detectives askin' me all kind of questions. I tole' them I didn't know what the hell had happened. It was all a haze. I guess I eventually pieced it all together, and they stopped botherin' me.

I was feelin' like shit, an' not because of the ruptured spleen. I had blinded a man. I had never intended it to come to that. All I wanted to do was find out who was the better man. I guess I found out, alright, and it weren't me. All that time in the hospital, I kept playin' that fight over in my mind, like a horror movie, or a bad nightmare. I played it over an' over, an' each time my head would start poundin' and I'd start seein red, and it would get redder and redder, as that movie went to its sad end. Each time, it would reach the point where that pick was comin' down, and then Eddie's hand was in my face, all was black, and the next thing I know, that knob was settin' there wavin' in front of his face an' he was screamin' bloody murder.

I'd even play that movie in my sleep. I'd have horrible nightmares. I'd be in the fight, an' things was gettin' redder an' redder. I'd raise up that pick, his hand would get in my face, and I'd come down with it. One time, in the dream, I came down with the pick and stabbed myself in the eye. Another time, I'd pull that pick out of my belly and my guts would spill out, all over poor Eddie lyin there under me. In one dream, it weren't Eddie I was fightin', it was ol' Farley, and I stuck the pick in his eye. I ain't had a decent night's sleep ever since it happened.

I got out of the hospital and went back to my trailer. Eddie stayed there a long time before he came home. The police decided not to press charges, sayin' it was self defense, on account of my bein' a bouncer and all. Well, I weren't no bouncer ever again, no way. Fact is, I couldn't work at all. I was too much of a mess. Blindin' a man can do that, you know. It can just eat at you and make you good for nothin'.

I don't fight no more, neither. Mostly I just sit in my trailer, drinkin' whiskey, and playin' that movie over and over. I can't stop it. I sit there an' tell myself to get a hold. Think about somethin' else. But before I know it, I'm settin' on top of Eddie, and I'm bringin' that pick down, and his hand gets in my face. He pokes me in the eye, and to this day I can't see right through that eye, and it pains me real bad. An' then I hear his screams. I can't make it stop. I want to, but I can't.

So I go out on the steps, and set there with my bottle of whiskey, an' stare into space an' try to think of nothin'. But most of the time I can't help myself. I lift my eyes up, and look over to the trailer down the way. It's got one of them fancy decks on it. He's settin' there, a faded reflection of past glory, an' he's also starin' off into space. The only difference is that he's starin' with one eye, he has a eye-patch, and occasionally he turns to look over at me lookin' at him. Eddie sets there and winks his one good eye at me. Times like that, I set there and cry my eyes out, and keep on drinkin', and the movie keeps on playing in my head. Over an' over. An' it will never stop 'til the day I die.