Eddie by E.L. Krawzfiar

“Just...start hitting it,” he encouraged.

“Just...like that?” I wasn’t so sure. The punching bag looked heavy, and I was dressed in my concert attire.

“Yeah. Well, here.” Eddie ran to a corner of his garage and produced a roll of medical tape from a dilapidated cardboard box.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s so when you start punching the bag, your wrist doesn’t move so much.” Slowly, methodically, Eddie began to wrap the tape around my wrists a number of times of until my wrists felt like fat sausages.

I told him I felt like one.

“Huh?” he remarked, looking up from the tape he was rolling around his wrists.

“Nothing.” I shook my head. I’m really kind of overweight. Kind of is an understatement.

“It’ll take the hair off your arms, but it’s better than spraining your wrists.” Eddie brought out the gloves. “Here, put these on.”

I took them from him. They were black and red. I’d really never worn any gloves like this before, like mittens for playing in the snow. I’m not much of an athlete. I’m not much of a sport at all. “I’m having a hard time getting them on.”

He showed me how to put on the gloves, using the little bar on the palm to grip more tightly.

“If you hit it with your wrist at the wrong angle, it’ll hurt,” he explained. “Just make sure you’re hitting it with this part of your fist.” He demonstrated the area between the origin of the fingers and the first joint. “Go ahead, try.”

So I tried. The suspended pillar trembled a bit, but nothing too amazing happened.

“Here,” he remarked. “Let me teach you the jab.”

He’s left handed, so I had to mirror his actions, because I’m right-handed.

Eddie quickly thrust out his right arm and pulled it back to a defensive position in front of his face. “It has to be quick,” he continued, “so that you can block your face from your opponent.”

I didn’t feel like hitting the bag anymore. I’ve never been excellent at any sports, and for me to try to impress my friend by feebly punching this pillar of sand would be pointless. What was the point in hitting the bag? I wasn’t angry with anybody. I felt like there was no hope in building the deteriorating muscle in my body, being replaced by multiplying lipids. “Naw, man, I don’t feel like it.”

“Just try it. Here, watch.” Eddie threw a few jabs at the bag with his bare fist. He smiled, observing with pride the spot where he’d left a faint hint of white marks. “That’s my skin,” he laughed.

I laughed, too. “All right, I’ll try.” I threw a jab. It wasn’t so great.

“It has to be quick. Try again.”

I threw another. The bag swung back a little.

He taught me the one-two: a jab, followed by a powerful swing with the opposite arm.

I followed suit. Suddenly, power possessed me. Power like I’d never felt before. I was hitting the bag further than Eddie could hit it, inflamed with anger, stress, and rage at the people that had broken promises and betrayed me. Stress from all the promises I had made and painstakingly kept. Rage at the fact that I had never asked to be overweight, but that I had grown up it anyway. All those feelings suddenly surged through my biceps and triceps and imprinted themselves into the white and gray logo of the black punching bag, swinging loudly on its rusty chain.

“Is that all that’s holding the bag up?” I asked, pointing at the chain hanging from the ceiling through a board in the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “You don’t see the other two-by-fours in the attic.”

I nodded, throwing another few sets of one-twos. During my exercise, Eddie sat on the bench where he lifted weights and watched me pulverize the bag.

“So,” he said. “I still haven’t made a decision.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I haven’t decided what to do about Bonnie.”

I took a breath from my physical exertion and glanced at him. “You mean you haven’t broken up with Sera, yet?”

“No,” he replied. “Let me hold it for you.” Eddie got behind the bag and I swung wildly at it, one-two-one-two-two-one-one-two. The numbers were the choreography of my violent catharsis.

“He likes it!” chuckled Eddie. He saw the gleam in my eyes.

“Yeah,” I replied.

I was already sweating a little, and tired from a lot of physical activity I wasn’t used to doing. Eddie, on the other hand, was thin and in good shape. I was a poor craft compared to him. Still, we’d been friends for years, even when his first girlfriend had nearly separated us; that had been close. We could talk about nearly everything. Nearly.

“I don’t know what to do,” he continued. “I don’t know if Bonnie is going to like me back.”

“Well,” I answered, always the advisor, “you need to end one relationship peaceably before beginning another. Otherwise, you’ll end up with disaster.” I sounded like a stupid fortune cookie.

“Yeah, I know,” he answered, nodding speculatively. He always did that when I said something half-intelligent.

Eddie always knew. I’d always been there, always pointing out the line between black and white, making sure he knew it was wrong to think about other girls when he was going out with one. All I could think was, “Poor Sera.” And according to him, she’d been better than the first girlfriend. But then, anything’s better than a manipulation freak. There always seemed to be a flurry of girls around Eddie, a haze of females that he had to dig through. Sometimes I confused myself with which one he had decided to grace with his favor.

“Well, I wrote Bonnie a letter,” he explained further. “It says how I feel about her. Funny thing is, I know deep inside what the right choice to make is, between Bonnie and Sera, but I don’t want to make it.”

I’ve never been for going out. I’ll admit that now. I can always see where it’s going. Usually it’s going to end, one way or another.

“Sera’s always kept me on my toes,” Eddie continued. “She never lets me slack off. She keeps pushing me towards doing the right thing, what’s best for me, but...”

“But what?” I asked.

“I want Bonnie.”

Simple enough. Human carnal desire was to go for the fresh meat, the easiest kill. In some cases, the hungry animal will strike for the weakest, but Eddie’s species wanted to bring down the leader of the pack, the high and protected, hard to get your chops latched on, but a worthy trophy once conquered.

“Whatever you do, make your choice soon.” I really didn’t want to talk about it anymore. No matter how often we discussed his problems…there were always more waiting to spring up from the hasty decisions he made. The worst thing about it was that he thrived on the drama of the romances he masterminded. I was sure it would devour him sooner or later. Until then, I was the guru to whom he vented…or just a walking ear.

I punched the bag a few minutes more, each time sending it swinging in wider arcs. Eddie laughed and exclaimed, “Man, you punch harder than I do!”

I shook my head. He was always trying to make me feel good about myself; he knew I was less than him. Not less in size, certainly not, but less in strength and agility, charm and dashing. Eddie always tried to make me feel stronger, but I wasn’t, and I knew it.

“Well, the concert starts in a little while,” I sighed, looking at my pocket watch. It doesn’t have a silver chain or anything. It’s just a watch face on a leather strap I keep in my pocket.

“You should’ve taken off the concert shirt,” he remarked, noting my perspiration.

“I know.” I glanced at myself. The smell wasn’t too noticeable. My cologne would cover any trace of odor.

Eddie and I took off for the concert hall.

“We need to do that more often,” he said as he sped down the highway. Eddie always sped…his life was a broken speed limit.

“Yeah, maybe we should. I just found my stress reliever.” I smiled, remembering the feeling of the bag swinging away from my flying fists.

A red corvette suddenly flew by.

“That’s her. It’s the Devil,” he snickered, looking in his rear-view mirror at the speeding vehicle.

I knew who the Devil was. It was his ex-girlfriend. She’d discovered some form of mind control that allowed her to make Eddie mad and then reel him back in with her wily lures. They’d broken up...and rebuilt the bridge...many times over. One day, Eddie realized my warnings about that girl were true. She’d cheated on him and he had found out. Finally, he was ready to believe she wasn’t everything in the world. I was glad he realized. And then he’d met Sera. Hence, Sera the Angel was the only comparison of companionship that Eddie had to the Devil.

Shaking my head, I mumbled, “I can’t believe she cheated on you.”

“Well, I should’ve listened to you before.” He revved the engine. “I hate doing that, ‘cause it wastes gas,” he yelled over the sound.

“But you do it anyway,” I commented under my breath. That was simply the way it was with Eddie. No matter how often I advised…he took his own road. It was maddening.

We reached the concert hall and I performed. I’m a cello soloist. That’s what I’m best at. Music. It’s some sort of gift, or that’s what people say. Anything else is probably a failure at the moment of consideration.

Playing the cello is my one true escape. You see, with Eddie, as inconstant as the wind, I never knew what would be the next predicament, from which I usually saved him. The cello, my singing craft of polished wood, sang to the tune I requested of her. My fingers massaged and manipulated her strings to my every musical whim. I was never out of control, never unsure of her reaction to my suggestion. My cello sang and I thrived in my unchallenged camaraderie with her. She deserved her standing ovation.

As people congratulated me on my performance, I looked toward the back of the concert hall and saw Eddie walking out, intent on Bonnie, who had happened to be there. I tried to keep my eyes on them, but they slipped out the door amidst the throng.

Adults swarmed about me like flies, bending down to shake my hand or to slap my back. Somehow they herded me into the banquet hall, where there was a reception set up with punch and cookies. Finally, when the crowd dissipated, I found a chance to sneak outside. I felt like throwing up from the stifling attention.

In that moment, the feeling hit me. I get these feelings, when something’s wrong. That is, when something’s wrong according to me. Usually, when something bad happens, and I feel like I could’ve stopped it, I get all nauseated. And it had something to do with Eddie...and Bonnie.

I walked toward Eddie’s vehicle. Maybe he’d be there, waiting for me. Then, I heard the thumping bass so popular with our generation in the car to my left. I saw silhouettes only, of two figures wrapped around each other.

I suppose I must have said it out loud. “You can’t do this!”

The nausea turned into disgust. I strode to the car, threw open the door, and stared Eddie down as he pulled away from Bonnie. She looked scared.

“What’s the matter-?” Eddie only managed to get those few out before I tugged him out of the car and tossed him to the ground.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this!” I yelled.

Bonnie screamed for me to leave him alone.

Eddie got to his feet unsteadily and looked at me in confusion. “Man, what’s going on?”

“I told you to make your decision. I hope you made it in the car, ‘cause Sera certainly wouldn’t appreciate it.” I was livid, my eyes widening, my breaths quickening. I was in rage. Complete rage. How could he? How dare he? Suddenly, I jabbed at him. “You’re just like the Devil! And worse!”

Eddie’s much faster than me. He stepped back and caught me with a left hook. It sent me teetering into a truck nearby. Eddie’s voice trembled. He wasn’t confused. He was afraid. “Stop it! You can’t make my decisions for me. I chose what I wanted.”

Regaining my equilibrium, I wiped the blood from my nose and ignored the cries of the audience emerging from the banquet hall, intent on the confrontation. I stared at Eddie, my eyes aflame, and suddenly I realized what this was all about. “I can’t let you do this to yourself.”

“Do what?” he stepped toward me, one hand out in defense.

My fury blazed, mingled with the coals of sorrow at what once was and now could never be. “I can’t let you ruin everything.”

I suddenly remembered the bit of training I’d had earlier that afternoon. One-two-one-two. A quick jab to the face, just to stun, followed by a right hook. Then, a jab to the stomach and another hard swing with the right hand. No tape. No gloves. Just knuckle against flesh. Raw, violent, organic power. It intoxicated me. I flew at him, finally tackling him to the floor and beating the blood from his nose. Spit and crimson mixed on the gravel around him, a bloody halo.

All of a sudden, I stopped, terrified of myself, of the monster I had unleashed. I didn’t realize my strength...and I suppose he hadn’t either.

A ring had formed around me, among the bystanders Bonnie, crying with her hand to her face. I stared down at Eddie, moaning and writhing in pain. In stunned silence I waited for Eddie to return my favor with a fist to the gut or some such atonement, but he didn’t seem to have the strength. Then, I gingerly picked up his limp form, wincing and groaning.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” I exclaimed, wanting to break the awful, condemning silence.

The ring opened as I carried him away from the parking lot and to his truck. I took the keys from his pocket and began driving him to the nearest medical clinic, even though I didn’t have a license. Let them stop me.

The streetlights illuminated his face each time we passed one. Complete black, and suddenly the blood shone. And once more, into darkness, then the ruby red mask. Again, bathed in shadow, then the glint of his painted, distorted face.

“You know what?” Eddie mumbled softly.

“What?” I whispered, trembling as I drove.

“You do hit hard.” He tried to smile.

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

A moment of silence ensued, broken by the rev of the engine. Finally, he sighed, “I know.”

I think I’d rather the cello sing for me. When you tune her, the cello doesn’t bleed.

The End