I love my pops, mother I love you lots. Sister I miss you, still think of you oft.
Lil’ sissy; she used to call me Micky. Cauliflower ears, so I guess it still fits me.
Thirty-six now, wow, so that’s nearly six years since she’s been down.
Which means fourteen, no, fifteen months parched, feeling past thirsty now.
I want a sip, but I hold these chips with a grip expected from an ex-boxer. No playing.
But I guess it goes without stating: I’ve let myself go, if you know what I’m saying?
On alcohol I was always known to lose centre, temper control problems.
Eventually tempting parole officers, often drunkenly screaming “let me go officer.”
I should still feel kind of young, but my face reminds everyone of disgrace.
Failure in the flesh. Was there even a lesson I was meant to learn from this test?
My mother saw my waning, drooping, moonlit eyes, made me get checked.
The doctor took one look at me, said nothing at all… then admitted me to hospital.
Twenty-four, first name not yours to know. Anyway, I go by my last name Tyson.
I’m bored with it all. Stupid job, even stupider boss, and now I’m getting fired?
Yeah, I told him what I thought of his protocols: Luda’s Blow It All.
You know it - I’m a know it all, who can’t be taught a thing, besides; talk is cheap.
At least that’s the mentality I’ve fostered, and adopted from street culture.
It’s influenced me vulgar. These days, usually, no purely: movies move me.
When the lights dim, I see lightening; the whole cinema viewing has this blue screen.
Everyone’s munching and chewing, whereas this is like my ocean renewing.
Acting is one of those truly moving mediums, truer than the human beings around me.
More beautiful than my best memories, sometimes I confuse it all, and recollect epic scenes.
In the films dad sticks around, and the guy always gets the baddest bitches to pound.
In my real life, well, forget it, that’s a concealed file I’ve not revealed in a while.
No job to go to, now my mom’s telling me to go too, saying, “I disown you.”
She said her new boyfriend’s the only dude she can come home to.
I remained so cool - which is to say detached and cold. I said I’d knock him cold.
She’s screaming, “get out”, I told her “give me an hour, burning bridges takes time.”
Packing all my shit into plastic bags, not knowing where I’m going to unpack these now.
On my way out her old dude comes at me with attitude, gave him the one two.
But he caught me off guard, fell hard, felt a collapsed lung, ouch. *Struggling to breathe on ouch.*
I told these paramedics “I can breathe, get off of me”, but they won’t leave.
Fine take me in, observation overnight? Sure, what else have I got going on?
I’m just sitting, waiting for… I don’t know who! There’s all these losers waiting too.
This yellow-eyed guy says “hi”; I shrug it off with a scoffed, muffled reply.
The guy continues, introduces himself as ‘Mick’. I mistake it for Nick.
He corrects me quick, says he gets that all the time - then laughs…
What does this guy want? I don’t know but it’s kind of getting my mind off home.
“So Mick, what brings you to a place like this?” His stare becomes deep.
Mick says, “it’s looking like liver disease”, he’s probably right with eyes like vitamin c.
I told him “that’s a tough pill to swallow”, then Mick asked me “what’s up with the wobble?”
“It’s just a cough I guess”, didn’t want to stress it was from conflict and struggle.
Who is this kid? There’s not too many years between us, but he reminds me of me.
I mean, I’m pre-judging, I don’t even know his history but maybe he needs something.
“Hey Tyson, that’s what they call ya? Kind of ironic considering I was the boxer.”
“Mick let me stop ya. Heard it a ton of times, it’s not even irony, you got rocks in your mind?”
I laugh it off with a smile. My fighting days are over; I’ll let him say what he wants for a while.
“You got some shit to get off your chest? Go ahead. I know that feeling well, old friend.
I only just found out about this liver business. I’ve been sober - practically kosher - a minute.
So I know how it feels to be kicked when you’re down. But this here, just a little blip for you now.”
Tyson seemed to calm down. I’m not trying to roll on him, but maybe he needs a role model.
Someone who isn’t going to extol or coddle, instead just let him flow his problems.
He’s not telling me a thing, but I can see he’s so riled up. Full of vile stuff, just like I was.
Told Tyson “I’m going to stay a while bruv”, he said, “it’s alright” and bust.
I sweet-talked the nurse into giving me Tyson’s address… which didn’t work; privacy check.
Told her “tighten your dress”, then took it from her desk when she called security heads.
I showed up about noon. Tyson looked like he’d barely snoozed, badly bruised.
I apologised for coming around unannounced, just wanted to offer an olive branch.
Tys was in no mood to argue, just asked me “barbecue?” I told him “start it fool!”
Turns out, this was Tyson’s ex’s place, it was the first address he remembered for the registration page.
We had a long chat about life. I told him about my sister, he told me about moving pictures.
Ty continued to be reserved, though a few gold nuggets were unearthed.
“Five trips to the can? Damn man, is your liver really that bad?”
“Why would I act that?”
“I’m crazy enough without external substance, so tired now though I could eternally slumber.
Life is just so boring, stagnant, I can’t match it; all these expectations others have.
I’m not going to be the next big thing, sick of wishing. I can’t even hold down the little things.
I hated my job, but it was all I got. Now I’m back at Kel’s place, cause my mother’s off her rocker.
This time I didn’t even try to stop her, just packed up, strapped up, walked out of there.
On the real she’s a crazy bitch. I wanted to live with my dad, but when I was eight he split.
Guess I can’t really blame him, shit, chained to her I may have done the same thing and jet.
So full of rage I’m sick. I want to make movies, can’t get it moving, I need new pages of scripts.
The one I’m reading from right now… no way I’m getting famous quick, or paid from this.”
“I can understand what you’re saying kid. The hardest thing to do is accept the present.
Because to do so, you need to let go of regretful events, inject a new message.
And all that, boy that’s easier said than done. It’s day by day, and I still remember day one.
The good news though; if you remain strong, the right path is the one you choose to stay on.”
“How can you be so upbeat b? Your life looks like one train-wreck off a catastrophe…
Well I was famished, but we had a feed. Let’s leave it there; I need to have a sleep.
As far as all the things you said, I’ll have a think. Let’s catch a drink on the weekend?”
“As long as it’s coffee or tea, bet. Let’s pen it in for Sunday at three, east end.”
We said Sunday at three, east end… it’s a quarter to four, so where’s he at?
Finally he’s returning my calls on the jack, “hey Tyson, it’s late man. Where you at?”
“I’d like to tell you I was stuck in traffic, or something even less dramatic than that.
The truth is; I can’t hack it. All that shit you said earlier, I can’t have it.
You’re just an alcoholic with a bad liver… so what, you detox… I’m a bad-liver.”
“I don’t know Ty, I think it’s irreparable damage. But I didn’t take you for a mad quitter.
All of your problems are in your head. It doesn’t make them any less painful.
And some of them I can relate to. Just take a few, breathe, you’ll make it through.”
“Why, so I can take this route which makes me new? Who you think you saying this to?
I’m a failure to everyone, and everyone’s failed me too. I’m bailing…”
I feel so guilty, so filthy. Was I the final nail… bad analogy. Did I push him over the edge?
There was a real connection, but we barely met. He must have been so scared and stressed.
If we’d only been able to talk a little more in-depth, maybe he’d be here instead of…
Tyson wrote me a letter, I received it a couple of days after the event, it said:
“Dear Mick, my ego, and depression wouldn’t allow me to let you, or anyone else in.
But I am so grateful to you for spending time on me, more than anyone else did.
I know you’ll think I’m selfish, but I guess it’s fitting I amount to something awful.
It’s how I’ve felt about myself. I couldn’t bare my horseshoe to land anywhere towards you.
But, this is not your fault, and for the record your presence, and everything you said was gold.
I’ve spent so long on my own, even if I fixed up home, it’d only be a tip of what’s wrong.
I haven’t had a chance to think selfless, but I’m really sad about your sister, and your liver.
I know you miss her - I can’t do anything about the former. But the latter I give ya.”
God, Tyson… you stupid arrogant son of a… I don’t even need a transplanted liver.
The doc said these pills’ll fix it. The parts missing now, you took all of them with ya…