I had never thought about Fight Club this much before. I lie on my stained, coil-heavy mattress, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow was the next Fight Club meeting. Marla would be there. Why wouldn't she be there? I began to wonder if I wasn't thinking about Fight Club, but more about Marla. I admitted that I was thinking more about Marla.
When Tyler and I had returned home from Fight Club, he had never mentioned Marla's prescense at there. I recall walking through the door and leaning against the table, watching him search through our fridge. A bruise marked his cheek, and I could tell his knuckles were sore by the way he stretched his fingers. Coincidentally, a bruise marked my cheek too. That was where Marla had punched me.
As I lie on my mattress, I folded my arms over my stomach. The stench of urine and an unfamilier, sour odor briefly filled my nostrils as I rolled onto my side. From the corner of my eye, I saw Tyler walk from the bathroom and into his room. I heard his door close. Hours passed before I fell asleep.
The next day came all too quickly. I saw Marla walk past my door. I knew what I had to do. I darted out of my room and stopped Marla with a rough hand on her shoulder. Her eyes followed me as I stood before her. My heels hung off the edge of the top stair. If she moved any closer, I would most likely tumble down the stairs, through the door, into the street where an 18-wheeler would run me over.
As I opened my mouth so speak, I was interuped by Tyler. He stood at the foot of the stairs. I hadn't seen him. I just knew it. I knew he was wearing a high quality, blue tuxedo that was imported from India, previously used at a wedding. Then it was discarded when the groom was seen buying himself a $5 dollar hooker with a fetish for blue tuxedos. I knew this because Tyler knew.
"What are you doing?" Marla asked. She swung her foot a bit, threatening to kick me in the shin and send me down the stairs, straight into Tyler. "I have to talk to you." I explained, swallowing a great deal of saliva. I hadn't eaten breakfast.
"About what?" She asked. I tried not to laugh. She was being naive and numb. How could she not know?
"About Fight Club."
"First rule is: No one talks about Fight Club. Second rule-"
I cut her off. "I know, I know. Let's make an exception, ok?"
"Ok." She looked me over suspiciously.
"I want you to leave Fight Club."
"What? Why?" Her eyebrows drew together in frustration and confusion.
"You know why." I said. I stared at a patch of mildew on the wall. I couldn't look at her anymore.
She pushed me aside. Luckily I caught myself by grabbing a corner of the wall. "I don't want to hear this." She said, walking down the stairs. I followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen, right past Tyler, who seemed to be idly playing with his nails. She picked up her keys from the table, heading for the door. I grabbed her shoulder again. She stopped and shook it off, looking at me.
"What the hell is your problem?" She asked.
"I don't have a problem. I just want you to listen."
"Yes, you do have a problem! You definitley have a problem. I need Fight Club. So do you. I know you want me there."
"Marla, I-"
"We don't need this conversation." She said, again cutting me off. My fists tightened frustratedly. She wouldn't let me make my point.
"Take her keys." Tyler said.
I jumped slightly. I had forgotten Tyler was there. It amazed me how silent he could be. "What?" I didn't understand.
"Take her keys." He said again. It was a simple command, and I had no reason not to obey.
Marla looked me over, her hand resting on her hip. Tyler often instructed me like this. No one else seemed to notice or care, but when I obeyed Tyler, things always worked out. I took her keys and raised them high above her head. Lucky for me she wasn't wearing her platform shoes. She stared at me like I was a bad child, like I was just asking to be slapped in the side of the head.
"Give them to me." She asked. She wasn't begging. She was demanding.
"No." I said.
"Not until you listen." Tyler added.
"Not until you listen." I repeated.
She swung her arm at her keys, only managing to hit the edge and making a slight jingle. She lept up, but I quickly switched hands. I would stand here until she listened.
"I don't want to play games." She said.
"Me neither." I expected her to cut me off again. This time there was a pause. She was waiting for me to speak again. I smiled, satisfied. My trust in Tyler always payed off.
I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to explain why she needed to leave. I wanted her to leave Fight Club and know why she left. It was the same reason I had given her when I needed her to leave my support groups. She was killing the stress relief and joy I had in Fight Club. So why didn't I say that?
"Fight Club is at Dave's Gentlemen's Club." I said, dropping the keys into her palm.
"Ok. I'll see you there." She said, pocketing her keys and walking out the door. She closed it behind her.
Fight Club wasn't going to be at Dave's Gentlemen's Club. I didn't even know if there was a Dave's Gentlemen's Club. Possibly, but I probably mispronounced the name. I knew what would happen when she found Fight Club. I knew she was going to find Fight Club, and when she did, she'll be wearing her platforms. She'll bring a second pair, in case when she shoves her foot up my ass, they get lost in my small intenstine. It happened to this one guy on FOX News or something.
Tyler stared at me. "What the hell was that? Dave's Gentlemen's Club?!"
"I don't know." Wrong. I did know.
"What have you learned from Fight Club?"
This took me a moment. What had I learned from Fight Club? I learned how to fight better, I guess. "To fight better." I immediately regretted this when Tyler socked me in the face. I held my cheek, moaning.
"Wrong! You obviously can't fight any better. You would've dodged that!" He had a point.
I began to back away. He grabbed me by the back of my collar. There was a cheap waffle iron sitting on the table heating up. He opened it and shoved my face as close as it to get to the waffle iron's steaming surface without touching it. It stung my eyes. This was what he called "therapy", where he gave me near-death experiences and convincing lectures. It helped. I don't know why.
"Close your eyes, numbnuts!" He said, which was actually advice.
I closed my eyes. Good idea. The stinging faded from my eyes, but the heat still stung my face. I knew what I had learned. To trust Tyler. I trusted Tyler when I took Marla's keys. I didn't trust him when I told Marla that Fight Club was at Dave's Gentlemen's Club. I made a mistake then.
"To trust you!" I said, wincing in pain. If it hurt this much to hover over a waffle iron, I wondered how much it would hurt if he slammed the lid shut. I imagined my face flat with impressions, like a waffle. I tried not to laugh.
"Do you really want to know how it feels? Do you really think it's funny? It's painful! Is pain what you want?!" He said. It was like he read my mind.
"No!" I trusted Tyler that it was painful.
"Don't say that just because your centimeters away from turning into a human waffle. Be honest."
I thought about Fight Club. Pain was what fed my adreniline. I enjoyed the punches. Pain was what I wanted. Why did I come to Fight Club? Not because Tyler made me. He didn't make me. I enjoyed knocking the shit out of some 16 year old kid. I enjoyed the 16 year old kid knocking the shit out of me.
"Yes! I want pain!" I screamed.
"Good answer."
Slowly, Tyler let go. I lifted my head and watched him sit down, tapping the ashes off the end of his cigarette, then tossing it into the sink. That was what I heard learned from Fight Club. To trust Tyler. If I trusted Tyler, I would live. I would be safe.
"So.. You're making waffles?" I asked.
Later that night was the next meeting of Fight Club. This was the first time I ever felt anxious about a Fight Club meeting. As Tyler and I walked through O'Riley's Pub, I anticipated each step closer to the basement. So far there was no sign of Marla. As we passed the bar, the bartender waved. Tyler waved back and continued, opening a door that led to the basement. He began down the narrow stairs and I followed, closing the door behind me. I felt no thrill of excitement as I joined the hungry faces that stood before Tyler. I felt numb and tired. Still no sign of Marla. A rush of excitement crawled up my spine.
Tyler recited the rules of Fight Club. So far, it was like every meeting. It was that same smell of liquor that came from the first floor. The same hunger and excitement that lingered in the air. Yet a small sliver in me anticipated the opening of the basement door. I anticipated Marla coming through the door and down the stairs, her fists balled and ready. I anticipated her pulling me before Tyler, slamming her knuckles into my face and beating me unconscious. I was unprepared. Tyler would see. I would let her humiliate me in front of Tyler. I imagined all of this.
Tyler finished the rules and everyone stripped down to their pants. "Calvin Klein and Michael." Tyler ordered, backing away and leaning against a column, folding his arms. A heavy set man with a Calvin Klein t-shirt walked into the ring. Michael followed. Once Tyler saw you fight, he knew your name.
The two didn't waste time trash talking one another. They got at each other straight away, throwing brutal punches. Michael had a nice, curling kick that sent Calvin to the floor. I folded my arms just as Tyler had done, smiling.
Suddenly I heard the door swing open. Marla's oversized combats seemed to create an earthquake only I could feel. Tyler glanced at her and my eyes her glued to her. The crowd and the men fighting didn't notice. They were lost in sweat and blood. I saw her clunk down the stairs, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her lips. She slipped into the crowd. Normally, she would be on her tip toes. Her boots boosted her half a foot. She searched the crowd most likely for me.
I tried to slip deeper into the crowd, but she spotted her prey. She pushed aside the spectators who rooted the two fighting, making her way towards me. I escaped the crowd, seeing no way out but the stairs. I headed towards them, but it was too late. Like a wild beast, she charged me, slamming into the wall. My body hitting the plaster made it crumble a bit, falling onto my shoulders. Why didn't Tyler save me? He knew she was there. I sighed. Trust Tyler.
"What the hell is with you?! I know Fight Club wasn't at Dave's Club or whatever it was. I trust you for once and then you screw me over!" Luckily she was speaking in a hushed voice, but not quite a whisper. Even if we did make a scene, the crowd wouldn't notice, but I couldn't afford the embarassment from Tyler. I couldn't speak. She pinned me against the wall with her arms. I guessed that possibly I could push her off, but I couldn't. I felt like a corpse.
"Fifth rule: One fight at a time." I said to her. I didn't expect her to laugh. Tyler laughed, but she didn't notice.
"No ones laughing. I'll kick your ass after these two." She unpinned me.
I felt a great relief in my shoulders. She lost herself in the crowd, her arms folded. I caught her glance at me as I grinded my spine into the plaster. I prepared myself to make Fight Club history, or at least, Tyler Durden history.
When Tyler and I had returned home from Fight Club, he had never mentioned Marla's prescense at there. I recall walking through the door and leaning against the table, watching him search through our fridge. A bruise marked his cheek, and I could tell his knuckles were sore by the way he stretched his fingers. Coincidentally, a bruise marked my cheek too. That was where Marla had punched me.
As I lie on my mattress, I folded my arms over my stomach. The stench of urine and an unfamilier, sour odor briefly filled my nostrils as I rolled onto my side. From the corner of my eye, I saw Tyler walk from the bathroom and into his room. I heard his door close. Hours passed before I fell asleep.
The next day came all too quickly. I saw Marla walk past my door. I knew what I had to do. I darted out of my room and stopped Marla with a rough hand on her shoulder. Her eyes followed me as I stood before her. My heels hung off the edge of the top stair. If she moved any closer, I would most likely tumble down the stairs, through the door, into the street where an 18-wheeler would run me over.
As I opened my mouth so speak, I was interuped by Tyler. He stood at the foot of the stairs. I hadn't seen him. I just knew it. I knew he was wearing a high quality, blue tuxedo that was imported from India, previously used at a wedding. Then it was discarded when the groom was seen buying himself a $5 dollar hooker with a fetish for blue tuxedos. I knew this because Tyler knew.
"What are you doing?" Marla asked. She swung her foot a bit, threatening to kick me in the shin and send me down the stairs, straight into Tyler. "I have to talk to you." I explained, swallowing a great deal of saliva. I hadn't eaten breakfast.
"About what?" She asked. I tried not to laugh. She was being naive and numb. How could she not know?
"About Fight Club."
"First rule is: No one talks about Fight Club. Second rule-"
I cut her off. "I know, I know. Let's make an exception, ok?"
"Ok." She looked me over suspiciously.
"I want you to leave Fight Club."
"What? Why?" Her eyebrows drew together in frustration and confusion.
"You know why." I said. I stared at a patch of mildew on the wall. I couldn't look at her anymore.
She pushed me aside. Luckily I caught myself by grabbing a corner of the wall. "I don't want to hear this." She said, walking down the stairs. I followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen, right past Tyler, who seemed to be idly playing with his nails. She picked up her keys from the table, heading for the door. I grabbed her shoulder again. She stopped and shook it off, looking at me.
"What the hell is your problem?" She asked.
"I don't have a problem. I just want you to listen."
"Yes, you do have a problem! You definitley have a problem. I need Fight Club. So do you. I know you want me there."
"Marla, I-"
"We don't need this conversation." She said, again cutting me off. My fists tightened frustratedly. She wouldn't let me make my point.
"Take her keys." Tyler said.
I jumped slightly. I had forgotten Tyler was there. It amazed me how silent he could be. "What?" I didn't understand.
"Take her keys." He said again. It was a simple command, and I had no reason not to obey.
Marla looked me over, her hand resting on her hip. Tyler often instructed me like this. No one else seemed to notice or care, but when I obeyed Tyler, things always worked out. I took her keys and raised them high above her head. Lucky for me she wasn't wearing her platform shoes. She stared at me like I was a bad child, like I was just asking to be slapped in the side of the head.
"Give them to me." She asked. She wasn't begging. She was demanding.
"No." I said.
"Not until you listen." Tyler added.
"Not until you listen." I repeated.
She swung her arm at her keys, only managing to hit the edge and making a slight jingle. She lept up, but I quickly switched hands. I would stand here until she listened.
"I don't want to play games." She said.
"Me neither." I expected her to cut me off again. This time there was a pause. She was waiting for me to speak again. I smiled, satisfied. My trust in Tyler always payed off.
I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to explain why she needed to leave. I wanted her to leave Fight Club and know why she left. It was the same reason I had given her when I needed her to leave my support groups. She was killing the stress relief and joy I had in Fight Club. So why didn't I say that?
"Fight Club is at Dave's Gentlemen's Club." I said, dropping the keys into her palm.
"Ok. I'll see you there." She said, pocketing her keys and walking out the door. She closed it behind her.
Fight Club wasn't going to be at Dave's Gentlemen's Club. I didn't even know if there was a Dave's Gentlemen's Club. Possibly, but I probably mispronounced the name. I knew what would happen when she found Fight Club. I knew she was going to find Fight Club, and when she did, she'll be wearing her platforms. She'll bring a second pair, in case when she shoves her foot up my ass, they get lost in my small intenstine. It happened to this one guy on FOX News or something.
Tyler stared at me. "What the hell was that? Dave's Gentlemen's Club?!"
"I don't know." Wrong. I did know.
"What have you learned from Fight Club?"
This took me a moment. What had I learned from Fight Club? I learned how to fight better, I guess. "To fight better." I immediately regretted this when Tyler socked me in the face. I held my cheek, moaning.
"Wrong! You obviously can't fight any better. You would've dodged that!" He had a point.
I began to back away. He grabbed me by the back of my collar. There was a cheap waffle iron sitting on the table heating up. He opened it and shoved my face as close as it to get to the waffle iron's steaming surface without touching it. It stung my eyes. This was what he called "therapy", where he gave me near-death experiences and convincing lectures. It helped. I don't know why.
"Close your eyes, numbnuts!" He said, which was actually advice.
I closed my eyes. Good idea. The stinging faded from my eyes, but the heat still stung my face. I knew what I had learned. To trust Tyler. I trusted Tyler when I took Marla's keys. I didn't trust him when I told Marla that Fight Club was at Dave's Gentlemen's Club. I made a mistake then.
"To trust you!" I said, wincing in pain. If it hurt this much to hover over a waffle iron, I wondered how much it would hurt if he slammed the lid shut. I imagined my face flat with impressions, like a waffle. I tried not to laugh.
"Do you really want to know how it feels? Do you really think it's funny? It's painful! Is pain what you want?!" He said. It was like he read my mind.
"No!" I trusted Tyler that it was painful.
"Don't say that just because your centimeters away from turning into a human waffle. Be honest."
I thought about Fight Club. Pain was what fed my adreniline. I enjoyed the punches. Pain was what I wanted. Why did I come to Fight Club? Not because Tyler made me. He didn't make me. I enjoyed knocking the shit out of some 16 year old kid. I enjoyed the 16 year old kid knocking the shit out of me.
"Yes! I want pain!" I screamed.
"Good answer."
Slowly, Tyler let go. I lifted my head and watched him sit down, tapping the ashes off the end of his cigarette, then tossing it into the sink. That was what I heard learned from Fight Club. To trust Tyler. If I trusted Tyler, I would live. I would be safe.
"So.. You're making waffles?" I asked.
Later that night was the next meeting of Fight Club. This was the first time I ever felt anxious about a Fight Club meeting. As Tyler and I walked through O'Riley's Pub, I anticipated each step closer to the basement. So far there was no sign of Marla. As we passed the bar, the bartender waved. Tyler waved back and continued, opening a door that led to the basement. He began down the narrow stairs and I followed, closing the door behind me. I felt no thrill of excitement as I joined the hungry faces that stood before Tyler. I felt numb and tired. Still no sign of Marla. A rush of excitement crawled up my spine.
Tyler recited the rules of Fight Club. So far, it was like every meeting. It was that same smell of liquor that came from the first floor. The same hunger and excitement that lingered in the air. Yet a small sliver in me anticipated the opening of the basement door. I anticipated Marla coming through the door and down the stairs, her fists balled and ready. I anticipated her pulling me before Tyler, slamming her knuckles into my face and beating me unconscious. I was unprepared. Tyler would see. I would let her humiliate me in front of Tyler. I imagined all of this.
Tyler finished the rules and everyone stripped down to their pants. "Calvin Klein and Michael." Tyler ordered, backing away and leaning against a column, folding his arms. A heavy set man with a Calvin Klein t-shirt walked into the ring. Michael followed. Once Tyler saw you fight, he knew your name.
The two didn't waste time trash talking one another. They got at each other straight away, throwing brutal punches. Michael had a nice, curling kick that sent Calvin to the floor. I folded my arms just as Tyler had done, smiling.
Suddenly I heard the door swing open. Marla's oversized combats seemed to create an earthquake only I could feel. Tyler glanced at her and my eyes her glued to her. The crowd and the men fighting didn't notice. They were lost in sweat and blood. I saw her clunk down the stairs, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her lips. She slipped into the crowd. Normally, she would be on her tip toes. Her boots boosted her half a foot. She searched the crowd most likely for me.
I tried to slip deeper into the crowd, but she spotted her prey. She pushed aside the spectators who rooted the two fighting, making her way towards me. I escaped the crowd, seeing no way out but the stairs. I headed towards them, but it was too late. Like a wild beast, she charged me, slamming into the wall. My body hitting the plaster made it crumble a bit, falling onto my shoulders. Why didn't Tyler save me? He knew she was there. I sighed. Trust Tyler.
"What the hell is with you?! I know Fight Club wasn't at Dave's Club or whatever it was. I trust you for once and then you screw me over!" Luckily she was speaking in a hushed voice, but not quite a whisper. Even if we did make a scene, the crowd wouldn't notice, but I couldn't afford the embarassment from Tyler. I couldn't speak. She pinned me against the wall with her arms. I guessed that possibly I could push her off, but I couldn't. I felt like a corpse.
"Fifth rule: One fight at a time." I said to her. I didn't expect her to laugh. Tyler laughed, but she didn't notice.
"No ones laughing. I'll kick your ass after these two." She unpinned me.
I felt a great relief in my shoulders. She lost herself in the crowd, her arms folded. I caught her glance at me as I grinded my spine into the plaster. I prepared myself to make Fight Club history, or at least, Tyler Durden history.