The First Word

Without any warning, there was a knock on the door that abruptly forced Colin to leave his plotting and planning.

"Yeah.  Who's there?" Colin asked rather weakly.

The door opened and Bob walked in and began to stare at Colin.  "Man, you look like shit.  You OK?"  Without giving Colin time to respond, Bob asked, "What the fuck's going on? For christ's sake, you’re sweating?"

"Man, I need a drink bad.  I mean in the worst fucking way.  I gotta get out of here and I gotta get out of here, now!" Colin’s manner was fevered.  He felt the room closing in on him, and was bordered on a near panic attack.  He knew in the past, the only way to arrest these particular symptoms was to take a couple of good stiff snorts of most anything in particular, as long as it was alcohol based.

"Look, come on with me.  We can go up to the canteen and find a taxi cab driver, zip up to the liquor store and be back here in twenty-five minutes.  A couple of drinks, man and I will be fine.  Man, no one would know the difference. Come on, let’s go." Colin pleaded in a pressured manner.

Colin was pacing back and forth in his little room and his forehead was dotted with beads of perspiration.  He bordered on manic; his presentation was exaggerated and highly animated.

As he sat down on his bed, Bob said in a soft and gentle voice, which belied his incredible bulk, "Man, I would know.  I would."

"Look, man, if you don't want to go that's your choice, but I gotta get a drink.  I gotta get the fuck out of here!" Colin bordered on being out of control.

Bob did not lose a beat, and his voice remained soft, but it became much firmer, "Colin, I would suggest you sit down here with me and think this drink through, or I will have to whip your ass.  I ain't no counselor, and I may not have the right words, but two things are not going to happen right now that I can fuckin’ guarantee.   I ain't going to drink, and neither are you."

Colin immediately flashed back to the streets of Baltimore when his mind replayed one of the many tapes that he had in storage whenever he was about to enter an ass-kicking contest.   Countless times Colin found himself in the local neighborhood haunts in and around Federal Street, drinking himself into a stupor.  Inevitably, Colin would search someone out who had the same need to exorcise the addictive violent and dysfunctional demons from within.  No, on the streets of Baltimore, Colin would not have any difficulty in finding someone who was more than willing to assist him in this endeavor.

With no forethought, Colin rushed at Bob as if his very life and ongoing existence depended on securing that one drink.  In one impressive maneuver, belittling his agility and quickness, Bob avoided Colin's lunge and stood up.

"Colin, you really don't want a piece of this.” Bob warned as Colin landed squarely on the bed and subsequently bounced to the vinyl-tiled floor.

Though Colin’s look was foreign, it was well known to Bob.  It was that look of rage that was completely dictated by feelings and emotions with no accompanying thought processes. It was the primitive hunter side that surfaces whenever it feels life threatening. Colin rushed forward once again, fists flailing as if he were a man on a mission from God himself.  The disease of addiction was calling Colin so strongly that he was more than willing to risk life and limb to secure that one drink; that one drink which would surely lead to a hundred more.

Bob, looking fairly undaunted by this onslaught of stupidity, merely grabbed one of Colin's wrists as it flew by his ear, bent over, picked him up like the proverbial sack of potatoes and body slammed him onto the bed.  This time, Bob did not allow him to bounce off the bed, because as Colin's body hit, Bob's body landed on top of Colin in a pinning action that would make any Hulk Hogan fan proud.

The old VA springs, mattress and bed cried out in protest, as if it could tolerate no more.  With a resounding snap of its infrastructure, the two bodies on top crashed though its frame and landed on the floor with a resounding thud. Colin gasped as the force of Bob's body on top of him traumatically expelled any and all air from his body.  He lay there in a scene that would have to be perceived by any onlooker as absurd and fairly ridiculous, praying for the return of the life force to his body.

Bob, appearing fairly content with his actions and their outcome, began to chuckle and asked Colin, "What do you think, Colin?  Can we stop now?"  He chuckled some more and responded with, "Hey, I was just thinking, do you still want that drink?

At this point, Bob’s patented hearty laughter filled the room as Colin began to feel as though he could breath again.  With all the energy he could muster, Colin focused his attention on Bob, and with a smile that indicated that his demons had been put to rest, at least for now, hollered, "Will you get your big fat Indian ass off of me?"