Sunglasses

*this story contains some swear words, violent thoughts, a brief description of a one-night stand*

I scream out loud. The best of the best. I am on top. Sealed. The belt around my waist. My corner lifts me up in the air. My family in the cage with me. The title unified they say. Not that I ever cared about titles, scores, or records. I was always the champ. Everything about me is champ-like. 

I walk back to the locker. People. So many of them. I seem to be sound isolated. I keep my hands raised. Flashes. Constant flashes. I seem to be in slow motion. Levitating. Some grab my arms. Some my head. Some give me a high-five. Everyone wants a piece of me. 

My team talks to me. About what this means. This is the new chapter. I nod. I keep replaying the moment in my head. The moment of the knockout. Perfectly executed. Years of work. Of patience. Of hitting the pads. Of remembering the combos. Of being fatigued. Living, sleeping, and breathing this game. 

The press conference. My whole career goes through my head. Constantly getting up and down. Literally. I tell them to hurry up with questions. I have a party to attend to. Let my performance speak for me. I drop the mic. I pose for the photos. The belt over my right shoulder. 

My team shows me that my post-fight interview is trending. Everything about this night is trending. I am trending. On top of the world. 

The afterparty a blast. I dance. I feel myself. I always did, but this night it is official. The whole world gets to witness it. The movement of the body. An art. I am the artist. The martial artist. Now the mixed martial artist. They scream my name in the nightclub. I recognize some of the cheering faces. Pre-fight haters. Post-fight die-hard fans. Hypocrites. Nonetheless, I laugh and shake hands. I am a professional. But, I will remember the hate and the desperate wish to see me fall. 

On top of the world. A new chapter. 

***

I look at the ceiling. A new chapter. The last thought I remember from last night. I draw the curtains. Bright. I smile to myself. The knockout replays in my head. I replay the movement. I close my eyes. I replay it again. Still so real. Almost tangible. I look down at my hands. I smell them. I smell the gloves. Maybe the scent is not there, but the memory is still so very real. 

I put on some clothes. I crave coffee. I text my team that I want to be alone today. I like to be by myself. To take it all in. 

I indulge in the media. Into everything they have to say about me. Edits, montages, articles, pictures. Everyone is in awe of me. The new star of the UFC. 

In the lobby. Congratulations champ! Someone yells. I turn around. I nod. Everyone seems to be looking at me differently. 

As I go through the doors, someone pulls my t-shirt. 

“CHAMPION!!!” Unbearably loud. Bigger crowd than last time. Way too quick of a transition. Again. 

“Tell us how it feels to be a world champion!” 

“How long did you prepare for the fight?!”

“Did you feel threatened by him at any moment?!” 

“Tell us how-” Too many questions. Too many noises. Too many cameras. I do not know where to look or whom to speak to. All the lights bother my eyes. I forgot my sunglasses. 

“Hey guys, thank you for everything, but I have to get my coffee” They laugh. They think I am joking. 

I answer a few questions. I smile. I somehow manage to find my way through the crowd. As I walk to the coffee shop, they keep following me. Phones and cameras in my face. I keep my composure. They yell out their questions. I nod. I answer some. I ignore some. 

I get into the coffee shop. Everyone stares at me, then at the crowd in front of the coffee shop. 

“Hi” There does not seem to be a line. All eyes on me. I look up at the menu. What is the coffee I wanted? Still in front. They won’t leave.

“Can u give me just one second?” 

“Of course, champion!” She smiles at me. 

“Loved the fight last night”

“Thank you”

All the employees nod at me. I know the looks. They all want to talk to me or take pictures. Respectful enough. A relief. 

“Can I get a caffe macchiato?” 

“Of course!” 

“You know my friends won't believe that I had you as the customer today. They simply won't!” She laughs. A bit shy. 

I want to be kind. To say they will if you show them the picture. But, I cannot fulfill everyone’s wishes all the time. I have to have a day for myself.

She keeps looking at me. Seems young. Keeps talking to me. Shows me that she has a phone case of me doing the flip in the cage. 

“I mean if you have the picture, your friends will believe you” Snap. She gets her selfie. Hugs me. I feel her trembling. I want to help people when they gather the strength to be brave and bold. To make it pay off. 

“Do you think you have a pair of sunglasses I could borrow?” 

With sunglasses a bit too small for my face, I fast-pace to my hotel. The crowd gets smaller and smaller. I even forgot my earbuds. The greatness of last night got to me. 

Another crowd in front of the hotel. I just want to get back to the hotel room. I spill some of the coffee. It burns. I get into the hotel. The noise stops. 

The coffee half spilled and lukewarm. I throw myself onto the bed. No wonder I am the most active fighter. These fights make me forget what this actually looks like. An escape. 

I still hear them. I still hear them call my name. I look down from my window. I know I can't see them from this height. But, I can visualize them. I see them no matter what. 

My phone keeps on ringing. Vibrating. That feeling again. No appetite. Each rise is followed by a sharp downfall. I try to control these feelings. I try not to overindulge in order not to go through this again. To keep myself grounded. 

It's all over again. I have to wait for another fight to be booked. Another fight camp. Another hell to go through. 

I notice that I am not breathing. I am holding my breath. The thoughts race through my head. Breathe in and out through the nose. It's difficult at first. I find myself holding onto the bed sheets. Anger, frustration, helplessness. Minutes pass. The feelings persist. Minutes pass. More focus on the breath. Some of the feelings and thoughts not as intense. Sweating. Hot. I take off my t-shirt. I keep my eyes closed. I am cooling down. It helps. A bit. I open my eyes. I dial the hotel. One caffe macchiato, please. Hot. Creamy foam. Preferably in a cup. We watched your fight last night. He tells me. You did amazing. Excitement in his voice. Someone whispers something to him. I imagine the hotel staff standing around him eavesdropping on the phone. I want the coffee. This is part of the job. This is my life now. My life is this, and not the ten-minute fights. Rarely longer, often shorter. Breathe in and out through the nose. The coffee will be ready in ten minutes. Do I want breakfast? No, just coffee. Am I hungry? They keep talking about what kind of breakfast they can make for a champion. No, I just want the coffee. I will eat later. Maybe a croissant. I will get a croissant. From the best bakery in town, they tell me. The conversation ends. 

I look at myself in the mirror. Do I dress up? I am in my shorts. I will just put on the robe. Will I look pervy? I think of the clothes that I have. Why would I dress up? Will they care? I do not have anything today. The day after the fight is a day for me. I have stayed in this hotel before. They probably know that by now. Then they will realize that I am dressing up for them and they will realize how insecure I am. I have the need to headbutt the mirror. 

A knock on the door. Room service for mister —-. I look around. The robe? Where is it?! The bathroom. A minute! I yell. 

I grab the robe. I put it on. 

I open the door. Big smile on his face. 

“Hi” I say. I keep the door completely open so he can pull the cart in. I smell the coffee already. I smile.

“It already smells so good” Two croissants on the other plate. 

“It is our honor, sir” 

“Thank you so much. I hope I was not too much trouble” 

“No, not at all. You see we love you here and–” I nod. I look at the coffee. I want to drink it. I keep nodding. I do not want it to cool off again. If it does, I will headbutt the mirror. I imagine my head breaking the glass and going through the wood. I probably could do it. He stops. Leaves the room. I close the door. I rush towards the coffee. Still hot. A relief.

Pairs well with croissants. I drink the coffee. Dip the croissant into the coffee. I am watching all the edits. Reliving the moment. I put the curtains down. Dark. I fall asleep. 

***

A knock on the door wakes me up. I check the time. 08:00 in the evening. Missed phone calls. The knock is persistent. 

The robe again. I open the door. My manager. 

“Hey. I tried to call. Did I wake you?”

I still think of headbutting the mirror. Maybe I get drunk later on and actually do it. I want to laugh at myself.

“No, it's okay. Come in” 

“Dark in here haha” He turns on the lights. The light bothers my eyes. I reach for the sunglasses on the nightstand. The small ones. I smile to myself. 

“Oh sorry. I will turn it off” 

“No, it's okay. What's up?”

“I know you are taking it all in, but as you know you made history last night. I got numerous calls. ESPN and Helwani are just some of the ones who want an interview, not to mention the numerous requests for podcasts. I was thinking of getting this media thing done by the end of the next week, so you can have the time for yourself during the trip” Tim is uncomfortable. Tim always gets uncomfortable when I am acting out of the ordinary. He likes to say that everything about me is out of the ordinary, but I know when I cross the limit. 

“Uhmmm” He looks around the room. Scratches his chin. Extra uncomfortable. 

“Have you eaten anything? Maybe we get dinner” I take off my sunglasses. He understands the gesture. “We get dinner IN THE HOTEL, and then we discuss your schedule. Or, whatever you want to do” Smiles at me. 

Another scratch on the chin. He keeps eye contact. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It's just the post-fight blues” He nods. 

“Yeah. Well, it will pass. As it always does. You went through this before” Taps me on the back. 

“Well, do you want me to wait here, while you change or?” 

“Yeah, give me a minute” I go to the other room. I want to dress up. That always helps. When I look good, I cannot help but feel good as well. Dark green pants. The same jacket. Simple white shirt. I put on a gold bracelet on my right hand. Ring on my pinky finger. Two identical necklaces around my neck. Diamond earrings in each of my ears. Cologne. Shoes on. 

He smiles at me when he sees me. 

“You look good” I take the small sunglasses. 

Whisky on the rocks. Still digesting the food. We make a schedule for the next seven days. Interviews. Tim is on the phone. I look around. She smiles at me. I nod to her. Walks past us. Smells good. I turn my head. I look to Tim. Still on the phone. The workaholic. 

***

We laugh past midnight. I try to show her how I headbutt the mirror. She stops me. She strips for me. I strip for her. 

We lay in bed. She still laughs about something. I am somewhere in my thoughts. I look at the clock. The after-hours. I have an interview at 10. I won't sleep by then. Not at all. Will take redbulls and coffee as I always do. 

“Wait, you are welterweight?” Wrong. 

“Middleweight” I answer.

“Cool. I will tell my friends about you. Timothy, right?”

I want to correct her. I just nod. I do not care. I feel nothing. This persistent feeling of carelessness might be worrisome. I still do not care. 

She leaves. 

***

They put makeup on me. I sit in front of the lights. Too bright. I put the sunglasses on. Tim hurries towards me. “Maybe we take the sunglasses off” I look at him. “What for?” Then I realize the sunglasses are too small. “Oh, yeah. My bad, sorry” 

Interviews go all day long. Questions all the same. How did the win make me feel? Amazing. How else I would feel? 

How hard did I work? I worked harder than others. 

I still manage to laugh. To shake hands. To fake it. 

Until that one question. What will you get your parents? 

That actually made me stop. I had to think this through. 

I hugged my mum and dad the night I won. Did not see them since. I promised my mum a car. She made me promise that I would drive her around the city in it.. I could have gotten her the car in my debut fight, but never had the time to drive her. Actually, never made the time to drive her. So, she did not want the car until I found the time. I tell them that. Genuinely surprised by my answer. 

The interviews take time. All day. 

I call my mum. She laughs. I will drive her around once we go back home. I make that a priority. 

The next two days interviews, and fans. Loud. I stop at certain stories. You changed my life. I train because of you. Fit because of you. This and that because of you. I shake their hands and laugh. Genuinely. I stop for them. For them, I have the time. Not for the fake ones who want signed crap, so they can sell it. 

***

It's over. I am going back to the airport. Mum and dad with me in the backseat. Traffic jammed because the crowd again stopped our cars. I look through the window. They can’t see me. I can see them. In the crowd, she catches my attention. 

I tell the driver to stop the car. The car stops moving. I get out of the car. L O U D. 

My eyes find hers. I push myself through the frenzy. 

She steps into the coffee shop.

“Your sunglasses” I give them to her. She laughs. 

“They were so helpful. Kept me safe and sane. Thank you” I hug her. Gently. I do genuinely hug her. As a person to a person. A genuine hug. 

“I am glad. You can keep them if you want” 

“No, it's all good” I give her Tim’s card. 

“Call him. I told him about you. If you ever want to get tickets for my events, or just want to talk to me, call this number” She smiles. I smile back. 

I leave. 

Back in the car. The car finally finds a pace. I see her face in the mirror as we take a turn. She has the sunglasses on.