Chapter sixty seven
Noah and I had hatched a silent plan on my last day of parole. Win the hearts of the inmates with me. That way, even if the freedom plan did not work out unfortunately, I'd still have friends as a reason to live on. Consequently, I had to burn my coat of pride, swallow my ego and take a step out of my comfort zone.
It was the dreaded moment of Saturday recreation and everyone was gathered outside once more. Unlike the usually frequent sunny weekends, this day had a dark, windy vibe to it.
I wasn't down with a stick drawing images on the sand again, neither was I ready to spend two hours passing a basketball.
Scanning the vast variety of sports, my eyes caught interest in a gathering of prisoners. At that moment, I was more than certain the sport was combat.
Anything that entailed smashing teeth and leaving bleeding noses, count me in. Without further ado, I strolled over jovially.
The noise of cheers and punches reached me as I neared them, doing nothing but igniting the already burning urge I had to awaken my boxing skills. I tried to peep past the wall made by the solid audience of men. An auburn haired Brit was on the floor, shielding himself from the frequent kicks from the opponent who happened to be Butcher. What a perfect day to settle scores.
The cheers raged on and it was obvious he was winning this already. Without second thoughts, I squeezed through the crowd and into the circle they'd formed just before Butcher landed a last kick on his face.
At the sight of me, the cheers died down and he was glaring daggers at me. Award for always stealing the show. As much as I'd presently begun to rethink my decision, at least I'd saved a life.
Slowly, Butcher stepped away from the Brit, focusing completely on me as though daring me to make the first move towards him.
With my years of boxing, I knew much better than that. Suddenly, the chanting resumed from the crowd of inmates, with better attention proving it was my name. Oh it clearly was not because they suddenly liked me; it was just the familiar calls towards your own death that friends usually gave you in high school.
In the midst of my thinking, Butcher surged towards me with a loud shriek. You could read the anger and hatred he had for me slashed across his face…for absolutely no reason. Evidently, he'd separate my head from my body if he had the chance.
I had no prior composure to defend myself. And so, all I did was step away and send a kick to his side that made him plunge down to the tarmac floor with a groan.
The chant from the men grew wilder, the wind even fiercer and obviously, Butcher was outraged.
He was quickly back on his feet and coming at me again. His fists threw several punches my way. Two landed firmly despite my movements, and I had to spend a few seconds regaining my body. Moans of disappointment replaced the cheering just as more and more people left their businesses to come have a look. Jeffery Thompson was fighting finally, and I didn't want to let them down.
Without a second of warning, I threw a slap to Butcher with the back of my hand, so hard I felt my knuckles smack against his jawbones. Nothing gave me more boost than the exaggerated reactions from the inmates.
By now, almost everyone was watching.
Simon's rules came back to my mind at this point. Do not provide breathing space, no chance for revival at any moment. With that in mind, it was non-stop attack.
While Butcher was still lost in nursing his sore face, I landed a kick on his back that forced him down to his knees. My hand grasping his collar, I clenched a fist, jabbing his jaw now and then. It would have been a countless number for me if the prisoners were not counting them out loud. I was having fun, and that was all that mattered.
What I did not see coming was his punch that dug straight at my stomach, instilling pain that made me let him go.
Despite the urge to fall and have a rest on the floor, I staggered away, moaning because his hit was nauseating. When I knew he was coming at me once again, my leg acted even before I strategized an attack.
Landing a kick across the side of his face, I had bought myself more time to recover from the churning he'd caused inside of me. Butcher was strong, I'd give him that.
Despite the fact my hits obviously deterred him, he never wanted to grant me the chance of having an upper hand. And so, he always never stayed down for long. Luckily, I was taught how to deal with his kind.
Typical of me, I gave him no time to recover from the pain; landing one kick right after another on his face and torso. That way, Butcher received was pain after pain that was slowly sucking every bit of strength he had left.
Seconds later, he had surrendered unto the hard floor limply and did not look like he was rising anytime soon.
With that, I rendered this one a victory and tried to catch my breath amidst my sweating.
Hyperactivity had made most of my hair leave the knot on my head. However, watching Butcher screwed on the tarmac like that was very much worth it.
There was an awful lot of jubilation around me and a much lesser lot of shocked faces staring.
Either way, I was done here.
Though my walk was abrupt and staggered, I left the center of the gathering and through the cheering inmates that had parted to leave a path for me.
As much as I wanted to give off no emotion at all, their happiness just brought an inevitable smile to my face.
***
Next stop was Alan.
Retrieving my little tray with a bowl of porridge that was probably stale, I faced the luncheon space bubbling with life and activity. Without a single step, I watched the space right before me.
Inmates were strolling without supposed direction or obvious meaning, the chatters and conversations were all above the permitted pitch, but who cared?
That was the noise you expected when you stuffed almost a thousand maddened men in one room.
When I was done scanning, I spotted Alan seated all alone upon one of the benches in the central row. Burn that coat of ego and swallow your pride, Jeffery. Sighing finally, I decided to give forgiveness a shot for the first time in my life.
The walk was not exactly a long one. Striding forward through the sparse melee, I tried to find leaks in this decision of mine, anything to make me back out before I reached him.
However, a voice in my head reminded me that everyone makes mistakes, and I ought to forgive just like I wanted to be forgiven. "Hey, Alan." I simply said before sitting on the bench opposite from him. "How are things going?"