Crystal Vision

November approached quickly after.

There was slight news on the t.v. about the wreck afterwards, but nothing earth shattering. The days still moved along, and my search for a new job had quickly wrapped itself around a few choices; But nothing exciting. Just the same dull life I had lived before.
When I left my last job interview, I was let down; not even a clothing business would take me. But the outcome mostly arrived by the fact that I was 20 minutes late for our scheduled timing.
I flipped open my bag and took out my wallet, stepping into the convenience store and walking out with a green box of menthol cigarettes. I had promised myself never again, because of how hard it was to let go of the luxurious taste of tobacco, but again, I had nothing left. I lit the stick and took my first puff.

***

"You know what I mean," Janice said on the other line, "There's many many places to work out in the city, but there are only so many major hospitals-

"No! I'm not letting you drag me into this again."

"It's for a good cause, though, for your cause-

"I dont have a cause." I said in monotone, "We don't even know his name!"

"Just, please?"

"No."

I hung up the phone (more like slammed the phone), and head into the living room, flipping on the television. Thinking about our some-what short conversation, me and Janice had never fought in 3 years, and if we did it was only stupid matters.
But this wasn't a stupid matter. This matter made me completely insane, and paranoid about where I went and the people I meet. This matter is...

"...something I have to deal with on my own."

And that night I decided to take one last sweep around the west side, taking on two different sides of my persona - Cautiousness, and practical-ness

***

Back at the same dimly lit pub; same feeling, and same mindset as the night he entered my head. As always I kept to myself, drowning myself in thoughts and the taste of rum with coke. I wasn't a heavy drinker, especially after I got rid of the asshole that kept me tied down.
I didn't hear him enter the building, and as a matter of fact, I didn't even realize how close he was sitting next to me until I heard his voice; "The usual."
I turned and almost fell out of my seat, exasperated, slowly beginning to speed up my breathing. Was it just me or was it 30 thousand degrees?

"Hello," he turned to me, "Keeping out of your bar fights?"

I didn't say a thing. I didn't even remember how to speak; The man I've been looking for, forever, was out of the blue right next to me.

"Am I that intimidating?" His chuckle was slightly deep, yet as masculine as I've ever heard a voice before.

"N-no, I'm just, um, how're you?" I kicked myself mentally and as he began speaking, we soon belittled the fact that we didn't know each other personally, and spoke as almost best friends.
He took me outside in the mediocre weather, and just walked and talked. His name was very unique, I learnt; Lyle Rachita. Not very Russian.

"Are you cold?" he asked me. I just shrugged, "I'm alright I guess."

It was somewhat silent after that, and I went spacey again. Then I remembered...

"I wanted to ask," he nodded so I continued, "Where did you learnt to fight?"

He tipped his head down slightly; I could tell he was thinking hard about wording his answer. "When I was six, I was taken away from my parents by social services, then I was placed into a Russian household. My foster dad was heavily induced with the fighting gene, and I took interest."

"I'm sorry." Taking a deep breath, "My mother died when I was 13, I understand tottaly."

"But it's much different when you know your parents are out there but you just can't see them according to law," he said, "I used to miss them but I don't anymore. They wronged me much too often."

"I send my sympathy?"

He stopped in his tracks and looked at me, "No, I send mine." I asked him what he meant and he replied, "I've only had one friend in my entire 25 years of living, and even he left me. I'm not suited for a friend." And then it was silenced. "Chilly November; I think I should drive you home."

"I have my car," and It was silenced again. "I want to ask one more thing, if you don't mind..."

He nodded.

"I wanted to know if, um, whether or not you would, um, maybe teach me how to, fight?"

"You haven't the build; You're weak and thin, not physically the type. Besides, It will be a long and rough process for a-

"-For a girl." I finished his sentence for him and looked at him, "What If I said I was dedicated to learn? What If I said I was tired of being vulnerable and weak?"

"I'll think about it."

I smiled for an unknown reason, "Life's too short for a 'maybe'."

He then smiled aswell, "Come back this Saturday at 7 pm; you will regret it."

"Watch me."