She thinks I'm a Wuss? Pt. 02

Thanks for the kind words and constructive criticisms of my first story in your reviews. As long as you sort of like my stories, I'll keep submitting them.

She Thinks I'm a Wuss? (part 2)

From Part 1: "Once free, I found the closest leg from the chair and proceeded to pound any male who came barreling towards me with it, as the women screamed in fright. I used a backhand to the first head, a forehand to the second head, a backhand uppercut to the nuts on the third guy, and a final forehand to the head on the fourth. Seconds later, the men were all lying on the floor groaning.

I then looked over at my wife of forty years, wished her to "have a nice life", and never talked to her again."

Well, I hadn't intended to talk to her, again. In fact, I made it through 2 weeks, then everything went kerplooey!

After the events described above, I rushed home...to avoid Carol...stuffed as many of my clothes as I could into three gym bags, ran out to my car, and drove away. "Away" is a weak description for my intended destination because I didn't really have one.

I just wanted to be somewhere other than home. I eliminated driving to our beach house because that would be the first place she'd look, and the hotels in town because they would be next. After an hour of cruising around thinking, I decided on the gym I had founded - not because she wouldn't think of it, but because she didn't have a key and my guys would keep her out if she showed up when it was open.

Carol had called my phone incessantly until I finally turned it off. I was astounded by her behavior. She and I, besides being husband and wife, were the closest of friends. We loved each other to pieces, and liked each other equally. I never in a million years would have guessed she would do what she had done. I haven't cried since I can remember. Not when my grandparents died, not when my parents died, not ever. I'm not proud of that lack of emotion, it's just the way I am. Closest I ever came was that night.

The Weightlifting Club had a quarter sized wrestling mat in the rear that was used for stretching and plyometrics. As I soon learned, it was also perfect for snoozing when coupled with the sleeping bag I had stowed in my trunk. The locker room was all I needed for showering, shaving, and other necessary body functions. I was set...at least short term.

After thinking about things, I wasn't too worried about the cops for multiple reasons. First, in addition to opening the gym's doors to neighborhood kids at no charge, I extended the same courtesy to city police. I left a key at the local precinct so they could visit when off from one of those weird shifts they work. Not only did they set a good example for the kids, but we never had a lick of trouble in the 22 years we'd been open. Second, being in the depths of Philadelphia, where it seems like there is a shooting every ten minutes, I supposed that the cops had better things to do than worry about a few artists. Finally, I didn't think Carol's group would file a complaint because it wasn't obvious who would be charged - them for unlawful restraint or me for assault.

The Weightlifting Club was just that, not for Powerlifting, Body Building, Sports Performance, Cross Fit, or any other discipline. Weightlifting is the sport you sometimes see on broadcasts of the Olympics, featuring the Snatch and Clean and Jerk. Our coaching staff were all certified and many, including me, still competed in the Masters (old farts) division. Three of us have won world Championships, about a dozen were Pan Am champions, and virtually all were National champs in one age group/ weight-class or another.

Our younger athletes range from an 8 year old girl weighing 45 pounds to Omar, a 30 year old dude who tips the scale at 408, has clean and jerked over 500 and squatted over 1,000 for reps. Most all of our kids and young adults had also won championships along the way.

I had the misfortune of being seated between Omar and his almost equally robust buddy, Greg, on a flight to a meet. Thankfully, before we departed, the pilot came to our row and asked one of them to volunteer to move so the plane's passenger weight would be more evenly distributed. Once we landed, the guys requested that we stop at a grocery store on the way from the airport and proceeded to purchase six rotisserie chickens. Over the course of the next hour, they sat propped up on their hotel beds watching TV and ate every edible ounce of those chickens. Fortunately, I had my own room.

A couple of weeks after the Gang of 4 party, Omar, Greg, and I visited a steak shop (Philly cheese steaks, not T-bones) after training. We were sitting against a side wall; my back to the bar. Midway through our meal, Greg, who was sitting opposite me, looked at me and nodded his head towards the bar. Carol was seated next to Bill, one of the 4, and they seemed to be arguing. As they got louder, they drew some attention. Finally, Bill grabbed Carol by the arm and started to drag her towards the door. She proceeded to whack him upside the head, and that did it for me.

Having grown up in South Philly, and played sports all of my life, I'd learned that the worst that can happen in a fight with no weapons is that you get beat up. Not usually a big deal. So, despite that Bill was about a foot taller and twice my bodyweight, I took three steps towards him, launched myself onto his back, threaded my forearm along his throat, and pulled. He spun around trying to dislodge me, but started to run out of oxygen. By then, Omar and Greg had each grabbed Bill under an arm. I let go, and watched as they escorted Bill out the door without his feet touching the floor once, and tossed him into the gutter.

I turned towards Carol Having seen me do it, she launched herself towards my chest,

wrapped her arms around me and gave me a kiss like she hadn't in a decade. Without releasing me, she leaned back, looked into my eyes and said "Thank you".

After a five second pause during which I stared back into her eyes, I said "You're welcome".

So much for not talking to her.

But talk, we did. At least she did; I sat on the couch in our house and mostly listened, as usual.

Carol: "I'm so, so, so, so very sorry. I don't know what came over me. I suddenly caught a case of the stupids. First, by thinking they wouldn't try to pull something sneaky. Then, every time they started that stuff when I was there before, I'd just get up and leave. Why didn't I do that this time? Please, please, please forgive me?"

Bob: "I'll think about it."

Carol: "In 45 years, I've only made one mistake. But, it was a whopper. You've got to forgive me."

Bob: "Mm-hmm>"

Carol: "Remember Cheetah, that goofy monkey you had in college? He would do all kinds of crazy stuff and you always forgave him. One time, when he couldn't get the window open to go outside, he took a dump in your baseball cap. Remember that? You forgave him for that."

Bob: "Not quite the same as giving Tarzan a blow-job."

Carol: "Okay, let's do this. To get even, you get to find someone to give you a blowjob. Just one, though, okay?"

Bob: "I wouldn't know what to do. You only do that for me when Valentines Day is on a Tuesday, and the year ends with a 3."

Carol: "Good point! So, what are we going to do?"

Bob: "I'll tell you what. I'll forgive you this one time, but the next time you take a crap in my hat, we're finished."

Carol: "Deal."