It would be mature of me to move on - to let the past go. Maybe it would make me a better person. For me to be nice.

Weak.

Had I popped back into the world - without my family, without the attention they gave me, as they wrapped me in humanity and I slowly felt the bloodlust and wildness recede, I would have killed Derek - ripped him apart and made him suffer.

A part of me still roared as I thought about it. Felt that it was right. I felt the animal in me demand the satisfaction.

Except that part of me wasn't an animal - an animal didn't have to rationalize a response, an animal didn't make an enemy suffer. An animal knew nothing of cruelty.

An animal was just instinct -

How did I survive? Not by being a beast - that wasn't enough. I had to be better. More. I had to go further than what an animal could do. Not just bite -

I needed cunning - creativity. The ability to take my enemies weapons for myself. To plan for them and steal their strength. I survived because I was able to adapt. To change. To grow.

Animals could do that, over time. But humans?

I felt the truth of it buzzing inside me now. Reminding me of the many ways of defeating an enemy. Reminding me of the need to understand a weapon used against you, and this particular weapon I still couldn't comprehend -

Cruelty. Sure I'd tasted it. I'd tried it. But I didn't understand it. And replaying what Derek had done to me, where he'd intentionally made me suffer - that was cruelty.

I rounded the corner of the locker room, and saw Derek - I didn't bring my fists up, or shove him. I didn't go to attack, but to understand.

I just approached three feet away, and stopped.

As he struggled to ignore me, to pretend I didn't exist. He slowed his motions as he took his shirt off - trying to keep the thread of conversation going with his buddies as they stopped talking and turned their attention to me.

I heard the confused mutters, forced laughter - before those, too died off, as Derek finished pulling his shirt off.

"What do you want." Derek finally spoke - still not looking at me as he kept his movements casual, I saw the slight fumble - his fingers failing to catch the button of his jeans, I knew he understood exactly what I wanted.

That he expected me to beat the shit out of him, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop me.

Except I didn't.

I didn't say anything. I didn't move.

"Fucking weird." Derek threw his voice like a pass - everybody was wide open, any one of them could have caught it and ran - laughed. But nobody did. They just stared as the words fell flat.

And Derek finally looked at me - looked into my eyes, and he saw my growing anger at how he was dodging what we both knew this was about. He saw how quickly it could be me beating the shit out of him.

That I wanted to.

I saw that he was built better than I'd expected, toned. I'd never seen him with his shirt off. And I thought that had I truly fought him before, with my new mentality, it wouldn't have been disappointing at all -

"Look - Cody, bro. If you're pissed over the prank, just say something man. I thought we were all just having a laugh. As friends." He said looking away, shrugging, "If it'll make you feel better, I'll apologize."

And the other guys nodded, too. As I followed his gaze to them - the audience.

I saw that they had forgotten - what had happened, just last week. That his words had reminded them - the most shameful moment of my life, they had to be reminded of. To even remember -

And a couple apologized outright, unbidden - heads bobbing up and down not to appease but to explain, and I saw that it was sincere. What relief, what redemption. For almost all of us, because in that moment I realized they hadn't meant to hurt me.

What is laughter? For so long it had accompanied - Pain. It came right before, and I had thought laughter was pain. That one could cause the other.

Yet, just today. I'd called for it, felt it bubbling at Brandon's fear. Laughter! His admitted shame at feeling it, because he couldn't see how it didn't matter. I used laughter, because I had felt fear too. Still did. I - we - almost died.

And still I tasted the cruel edges of it. That laughter could be a weapon - of course anything could be a weapon - a pair of scissors. Pain. A plant.

It was the wielder that made it a weapon. And I knew I was right to try and understand Derek because there was power here, a power I wasn't familiar with, one that he was.

I saw the guys around me now, not friends. Not yet. But they were no longer aliens, incomprehensible beings that had found fun in cruelty. That had laughed when I felt shame. Had laughed at me?

No. They were laughing at shame. They were laughing to show me - that it wasn't to be feared.

And it had been funny...

"Alright." I nodded, shrugging off my flawed understanding, I thanked them for laughing at me, for trying to show me how stupid I was being. It wasn't their fault I failed. That they had been bystanders, medics even, to my pain, it absolved them and I couldn't wait to face each again on the mat.

And a future where we could laugh together, at each other, at ourselves.

But Derek.

That Bastard.

Derek was clever. Smart.

I marveled in how he so easily manipulated the situation, with just words. Not even backing down, but changing the game.

He made it sound like I should apologize for misunderstanding the situation - and if I hadn't already replayed the calculating look in his eye, understood how he had planned it. Maybe I would. Had it just been my underwear around my ankles -

I would have just done the same to him. Laughed and left it behind me, another misunderstanding addressed. But his words showed me the truth, he thought differently - he'd engineered the situation not for fun and games, he'd used me.

For what? I realized there was something more here. A different battle. A different battleground. One far more complicated, far more insane than the jungle. Because I suddenly felt the same way, as I had first arriving there - reaching - confused at what didn't make sense.

And I felt another excitement growing, one that had learned to enjoy the fight, that there was more ways to fight. And I looked at him, again - I felt my begrudging respect solidify as I was forced to nod at his strength.

Different than Brandons. A different weapon -

Because he had used words - to completely change the situation. He'd turned a scenario where I was just coming to pay him back into one where I had to ask for an apology. And if I hit him - I was the guy that couldn't take a joke. That all these people around me - us, would not see my strength. They'd see only weakness.

Words and people. The audience. That's what this was about - that's what he had to gain from what he did. I had realized that in part, but hadn't seen how they could be used as a weapon. Or in this case a shield.

So I decided to play -

"I could use a laugh. From a friend." I said grinning, admitting that I understood I couldn't win here, couldn't punch him - but just because I couldn't beat him didn't mean I couldn't strike back -

His face flashed from the growing relief and victory he'd felt as he saw my comprehension, into realizing what I was about to do and -

He attacked.

"Alright then!" He shouted, "Let's have a laugh."

He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down and walked up to me in just his briefs, his voice loud, drawing every eye to us - making sure the ones in the other rows heard as well.

"Go ahead, Cody."

Which brought a chuckle to everyone and I saw the smirk in his eyes - felt the other guys turn to me, the jaws closing. Again he took the upper hand, by telling me what to do - he maintained control over the situation, made it so even if they laughed it was with him.

He made it impossible for me to even things - once more with just words and people, he made himself a winner. He swaggered like a gladiator putting on a show - he offered for me to unsheathe his sword for the hungry masses instead of exposing him to their jeers!

I continued to be amazed - even as I felt my defeat. I wanted to applaud! I wanted to shake his hand and congratulate him, in sportsmanship. But afterward. Just because I had lost didn't mean I couldn't score a couple points.

"It's funnier when you do it." I gave him a nod to his mastery, "I'll probably do it wrong, but if you want me to try..."

He blinked at me - and I saw the edge of his surprise at my words, hardly masked because he was so confident, of his complete victory, of his domination of this battlefield - that when he heard my tone -

The guys chuckled, a few even whooped sensing what I was about to do like a play they'd seen before, caught up as the drama unfolded and my hand reached out and grabbed the waist band of his pants -

And because everything about what we were doing was friendly, just joking, that our smiles had diffused all the tension except -

I lifted his ass off the ground. As easily as a twenty pound dumbbell, as he shouted in surprise and small pain. I did it with one hand.

The other I brought to catch his chest, to keep him from face planting on the concrete as his feet left the ground and he kicked, searching for surface.

The other guys gasped, their eyes shocked at my strength as they searched my face, my arm, looking for the strain. They exploded in disbelieving laughter, admiration of my feat, as the band of his underwear finally ripped and his feet slipped to the ground.

I couldn't win with words - or by using my strength to hurt him. But in this social game I knew that strength counted for something, the fact that Brandon didn't play was because he didn't have to. I was strong enough to not have to play either -

But I wanted to - wanted to learn and understand this, too.

How Derek had kept his composure, even as his briefs had crawled all the way up his ass leaving him in a tattered thong, he didn't blush, he laughed.

"I can't wear these anymore." He pulled them off and held them up as the tattered thong they had become, then tossed them at another guy, "These are more your style."

So much laughter, mine as authentic as the rest. Derek turned to me in the fog of it, I caught the narrowing of his eyes, the weariness of my strength held there, and a nod to me. Gratefulness that I hadn't creamed him perhaps, but what I hoped was a small wish that I had -

Because I know that he saw my intention. The challenge that he had awoken in my eyes, my desire not just to play, not just to enjoy the game - but to win.

"We need to laugh like this more often."

Coach Clyde came through the gym rolling a cart of basketballs and teams broke off, except for me and Brandon.

I motioned toward the wrestling room, already heading there - Coach Clyde eyed us - his glare flicking between us, then landing on me. He made sure I knew that he knew. Make my life hard, I'll make your life hard...

Brandon followed my gaze and I saw him glance over at Derek, then back at me with a confused mix of anger, and disappointment. I couldn't understand why he was upset.

I shrugged it off as I reached the door.

The wrestling room opened in front of me and I stepped into the darkness. The soft floor receded beneath me as I pulled off my shoes, hearing Brandon match me, then I heard the door shut behind us.

I heard the twist of a deadbolt. He'd locked it. As I searched for the light switch in the room -

"Light." And an orb of light floated up out of his hand, blinding me for a second before my eyes adjusted, and I turned to see him release it. It floated to the ceiling and stuck there - its glow expanding into the whole room was filled with a soft fluctuating light, not quite landing on a color.

Then he was grinning at me and I was grinning back.

He started to walk toward me and I turned, moving until my feet were just outside the edge of the closest circle. It seemed now every time I looked he had a different expression - where before I could only ever remember one -

He was more complex then I had imagined, but it didn't matter - didn't change what we were here for.

We closed - no whistle to start or stop the crash. No testing swipes or jukes, we were entwined and instantly I could feel my strength, feel that I was stronger -

And I knew it wouldn't be enough, not to instantly destroy him as he had done to me, not in a friendly bout where I couldn't grasp and crush and tear at his vulnerabilities. Because it wasn't just a battle of strength -

He was brutal, fierce, outweighed me, and his height loomed over - and when it was multiplied by his skill and technique?

Our crash together - legs locked in our drive, we pushed at each other. I couldn't drive him back - I was losing ground, only inches, each of us pushing the other to the dominant right we circled, each trying to shove the other back with brute strength alone.

Socks slipping and I felt the heat, the friction on the balls of my feet losing the battle. With no bark to grip, he took the ground I lost. Driving me back -

Driving me down -

So I became the snake, and instead of pushing back I collapsed around the strength and momentum of his power, and he became a massive tree falling down over me - to crush -

I wrapped around him, slipping across his side, then pulling my self back in close, as he realized he wouldn't be falling on top of me, he spread his arms in a trained sprawl, to take our battle to the mat -

It was too late, because I was still faster - and my grip that held tight slid around the openings between, over his back and under his arm, to latch onto his neck where he felt the grip of my bite as he landed with me behind him.

On top -

A gasp of surprise -

The Half-Nelson.

He grunted and struggled, testing my hold, thinking he could buck to dislodge. My legs wide, I absorbed each blow locking him down tighter as he settled into the realization of my victory, his rumbling movements slowed to accept it -

And I reached beneath him and I pinched, and I felt him gasp and squirm beneath me I chuckled, rolling off of him, and then -

"What are you doing?" He asked me. I looked up to his eyes - surprised at the question.

"Wrastlin." Just as obviously as he had said it last week, and I saw there how his expression flashed into sudden hurt - even as he took his place across the ring from me.

And I doubted myself, I doubted him. Because I had felt it before, so clearly - that invitation he had offered me, to have fun. To let myself go and lose myself in the struggle, that there was so much more.

That if I could just see it -

And I finally did! And it had felt so right crashing against him, it was everything I had loved of battle, that I didn't have to recoil against death - when another soul exploded, cut out from its mortal cage. No bitter taste of guilt -

This was a struggle of pure life!

But did it matter? Even if he failed to see it, even if it was all about winning for him, and gloating, did that change anything?

As I looked across and saw him ready again - his eyes narrowed in new determination - did it matter that we enjoyed it differently, as long as we both enjoyed it?

I felt my joy was superior - in not knowing if I would win the next, I felt joy in not caring. I felt joy in each moment - joy in the victory and getting up after to do it again, as once more -

We closed - my arms slipping through his guard, I flapped them up like wings, and my chin crashed into his sternum like a beak and I closed my grip around him.

And I squeezed - wrapping him up tight I squeezed to crush him, waited to see which way he'd push to escape so I could use that momentum to throw him upon the ground - except.

I felt his breath coming as sharp gasps, convulsions in his struggle. I felt drops of sweat fall on my head as I held him tight. What I didn't feel was him trying -

Instead he locked around me, too, tightening his arms, I readied myself for the crush.

It didn't come. He'd given up - After one defeat, I realized, he was no longer struggling against me at all, but merely going through the motions of the match - and I twisted.

Slamming him to the ground with all the crushing disappointment I felt. All I had to do was pull out my hands. Let go and I'd won - nothing. This wasn't a victory, this was nothing. I couldn't help the words, as I spat them out of my mouth.

They held none of the playfulness his once had. Instead it was an accusation. That he was worse - worse then a coward. That he wasn't a man -

"This is what you like. Being on the bottom."

I didn't want to pull my arms out. I didn't want this win. I held onto him, onto what I thought was my first friend. I held onto what he had done for me. What he had shown me. What I knew now was Spirit - something words could never explain or build or understand. That I had no way of reminding him of something that wasn't there...

"Yes."

The word that came from his mouth - just acceptance, I released my grip around him and pulled back wanting to get away from him I pushed myself up and took a last look at those eyes that once had so much -

LIFE. Defiance! Rage enough to rip away every failing, the joy of a redwood spread wide to reach the sky. The unapologetic lightening as it tried to strike it down. The thunder of laughter that followed the searing heat of injury and the explosion of -

It was all there. Not even the tears that leaked could hide - I'd gotten so lost in them, at the hardness there. So confused that when the word reached me it was the exact same time that I noticed another hardness. One that I had backed into as I sat to push myself off him -

I jumped back from the sudden realization, as surprised as the tiger when it encountered the surprise attack of the pain stick, and I reacted the same - a very loud yowl of surprise followed by crashing on my back as something I had no idea was possible had happened.

As I turned to him, not knowing what to do or say, he found words before me -

"Say it." He spoke.

"What?"

"That I'm a faggot."

I looked at him, then shrugged.

"You're a faggot." I told him.

He looked up at me, and I met his eyes and grinned. I watched the sadness evaporate. I walked over to him, I reached my hand out, to help him up, and he grasped my forearm -

Brandon Zelinsky added to Contact List.

and pulled me down - off my feet, crashing over him. It was so sudden, so vicious, I thought my arm had left its socket as he twisted and wrapped me up so completely, I was caught before I landed the mat.

The Full Nelson - impossible to escape.

"Let's hear you say that again." He promised me.

"You're a faggot." I laughed, and I bucked, throwing him completely over in a flip that carried me with him to land with his back against the mat, he tried to pull me into him, tried to use pain to hold me there -

I let him and pushed, tearing my tendons, they popped like sharp gunfire as he recoiled and my neck escaped. I was free, sitting up on his chest, and spinning over, I met his eyes, my arms flopping useless.

My knees came down next to his ears, my shins pushing his shoulders down into the pin as his eyes widened, as they moved between each torn shoulder that bulged in the wrong places. His mouth opened into an expression of disbelief.

That I could be the bigger man, and that I wanted his friendship. That I wouldn't put a limit on it, that I would give to him as much as he could.

We weren't exactly alike, I didn't understand everything about him, but I didn't understand everything about myself either. I understood enough to know that I was happy, and I wanted my friend to be happy, too -

Brandon Zelinsky moved to Companion List.

"I'm glad you didn't pick knots." I told him afterword.