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A Dream by Jordan Lee Burnes
My uncle had a problem with gambling. This is why we were at the arena; there was a fight between Brock Lesnar and Chuck Lidell, my uncle had bet on Lidell and we came to watch the bout. It was a pretty large sum of money he had on the man, as a matter of fact if this fight turned south for him he would have to stay with me again for another four years. I was in a way supporting him by coming, but also watching out for my own personal interests, but at the fight something else happened.
The fight was four rounds two minutes with a two minute break between each fight, but that, being the main event, would only start once the rest of the fights transpired. It was in the middle of the second fight that I turned to look over my shoulder for no particular reason. Two rows back a large black male sat with his lips interlocked with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. As she pulled away from him I looked upon her features; brown hair falling on her shoulders, ice blue eyes, nice plump and smooth lips, and the fairest tan skin I had ever thought to look at. I continued to stare for what seemed like hours. It was a miracle that she didn’t look over and see me staring, but if she would have I wouldn’t have cared.
Then all of a sudden she rose and started to walk up the steps as graceful as if she was floating, her clothes neither slutty nor stuck up… perfect.
I looked over to my uncle and told him I would be back as I rose and made my way to the stairs. I followed them up and watched as this girl disappeared around a corner, quickening my pace as fast as possible without running. I reached the top and turned the corner that she did, the left, and saw her putting on a UFC t-shirt over the one she was wearing and standing behind a counter that was serving food. I reached into my pocket and felt around for some change or a dollar, an excuse to go talk to her, but found nothing.
I ran back down to my seat to go talk to my uncle, but he was gone, on my seat was a note that said, “gone to the bathroom.” I sat down and watched the fight, trying not to be too obvious by the way my leg was bounding off the ground. The fight had finished, (3.5 minutes) exactly as my uncle came back to his seat and I asked him for a dollar, my words coming out as a slur.
“Let me borrow a dollar!”
My uncle reached into his pocket without any complaint and took out a dollar handing it to me. I ran back up the stairs and turned the corner, dollar in hand and ready to order something when I looked up and saw and Indian guy standing were the woman had been. Nevertheless I walked up to the counter.
“Hey, umm… were is that girl that was just here?”
“She was just fired! Caught cuddling with a customer on her break.”
I looked behind me for no reason then looked to the counter tapping my fingers on the wooden surface when my eyes caught a nametag, Alessandra. So that was her name. She was Italian, and the name itself gave me shivers, but not as much as I had gotten when I first saw her.
“Are you going to buy something sir?”
I looked up to the Indian guy and smiled.
“Ya sorry, um I’ll have a water.”
I gave him the dollar and he handed me a Dasani that was in a cooler behind the counter. I said thank you and quietly grabbed the nametag from the surface of the counter before going back to my seat, keeping my eyes on the nametag and taking a sip of water ever so often. Then I turned to look over my shoulder once again, and something very obvious struck me. The black man was sitting were he had the first time I had seen him, and I went back to sit in the empty seat beside him.
“Hey, that girl that was sitting beside you a second ago, do you know her?”
He was very stolid with his response not looking at me and not even thinking about his response.
“Good, do you know were she works or hangs out or anything like that?”
He still didn’t look at me, but smiling this time before taking a drink of the beer in his hand, he said, “Back off.”
I wanted to press the subject, but I didn’t, I knew that I wouldn’t get any information. At that the crowd stood up and began to cheer, all but me and the black man I was talking to. I looked up at the screen and saw the referee holding up Lesnar’s hand and then looked over to my uncle to see him screaming and running his hands violently through his hair.
At that I got up and headed up the stairs as they interviewed Lesnar. I saw a door labeled stairs and opened them, climbing them as far as I could until I came to a door. I went to open it, but finding it was locked put my back to it and sat on the floor. Tonight had been a pretty sad night. I lost track of a beautiful woman, my uncle had lost everything, and Lesnar’s loud mouth coming from the speaker was as annoying as nails against a chalkboard. I opened my water and threw it down the stairs letting it spill everywhere, and attaching the nametag to my hat, I laid on the floor and went to sleep.
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