Laz looked at his grandpa and wondered what he meant. Laz never really had to fight before. The only time he had gotten into anything that could be considered a fight would be when he had been assaulted that night. But he couldn't really call that a fight. He never stood a chance.
Looking at his grandpa, he had no idea what he meant. He would soon find out though.
After lunch, he grandpa told him to go get changed into something he could move around in easily and meet him by the car. Laz couldn't help but get a bit nervous as he knew his grandpa shouldn't be driving, but he did it anyway. Slipping on an old, faded tee and some sweatpants, he went outside and got into his grandpa's old Chevy pickup. Grandpa didn't say anything as he started up the engine and put the old truck into gear. Although it was a bit rusted and kinda loud, the truck still worked well and never broke down.
Getting on the main road, his grandpa headed south towards the highway, his driving smooth and steady.
"Laz, what do you think is the most important thing about fighting?" His grandpa asked in a curious tone.
"To be the strongest," Laz replied, somewhat confidently.
"Hehe, really? "
"Yeah, cause the strongest guy wins right?" Laz looked at his grandpa.
"Hardly. Strength can mean many things, but one fact remains the same in any fight: the one who loses their cool loses the fight."
"What do you mean?"
"Alright, think about it for a minute. You have one guy who is stronger than the other and one guy who is smarter, or faster and more agile. What do you think will happen if someone loses their cool and goes nuts?"
"Uh... ?"
"They screw up. If the guy you are fighting messes up, you can take advantage of that. If you mess up, they will take advantage of that. Sometimes, even the simplest tactic of evading can lead to victory, because it causes people to get angry. Let's say some guy is going after you. He's bigger than you, stronger than you and thinks you are an easy target. What happens when he can't touch you?"
"He gets mad?"
"He gets insulted and that makes him mad. At that point, piss him off more. The more pissed off he gets, the more likely he will look down on you and make a mistake. Then, you just need to act on it."
"But grandpa, how am I suppose to be calm like that?"
"Well, that's why we are here, isn't it?"
"Here?"
His grandpa had turned off onto a dirt road and took the way down slowly. The massive ruts and potholes would have made a car bottom quickly, but the old truck with its higher suspension seemed to run ok.
"This is the place of an old friend of mine. He's... uh... a little out there in a different way. Don't ask him any questions about his past and if he says anything, I didn't say anything either."
"Yes grandpa."
"Alright, lets go." His grandpa put the truck into park and pulled the parking break before getting out of the truck. Laz followed behind him and began looking around. The area was pretty spacious with an old, run down trailer off to one side of the clearing and a big barn over on he other. Laz had no idea what they were doing here.
"Hey Bill, BILL!!" His grandpa called out towards the trailer.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT YOU OLD ASSHOLE?" Came the response from inside the trailer.
"Friend?" Laz said, smiling at his grandpa?
"I didn't say he was a good friend now did I?" His grandpa smiled back and made his way over to the small fence surrounding the trailer. He didn't walk past the front gate. Laz noticed there was a sign that read "Warning: Active Mines."
"Hey Bill, I brought my grandson here for a visit."
"Why would I want to meet your grandson?" Came the reply. The old man stumbled out of the front door and stood on the porch, looking at the two uninvited guests.
"Well, my grandson here got into a fight at school and some kid pulled a knife on him," Grandpa Crowe lied smoothly.
"HAHAHA, did he now? So did the little shit wet himself eh?" Bill asked, obviously enjoying himself. Laz could help but examine Bill a bit closer. He had an eye patch over his left eye and was unshaven. He stood there in nothing but underwear and a stained white teeshirt, unconcerned about the cold weather. His looked of amusement was just annoying to the eyes and Laz had no idea why his grandpa would say this to him.
"Nope, he ran," Grandpa Crowe replied without missing a beat.
"Oh, so the kid is smart huh? Just lacks some guts?"
"Yeah, something like that.
"So that's why you brought him here?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, I owe you one anyway. Since we both might drop dead tomorrow, might as well give you this one. Bring him to the barn and see if he's made of glass. I will be over in a bit."
"Thanks. Hey, they find you yet?" Grandpa Crowe asked, looking at Bill.
"If I did, do you think I would still be alive? Fucking aliens, I know they are around, I just don't know where. They were walking around the other night, but I scared those little green shits off. They ain't taking ol' Bill without a fight, god damn it."
Grandpa Crowe didn't say anything and just walked towards the barn, dragging Laz with him.
"Laz, never question his belief in aliens, otherwise he will think you are one of them. Got it?"
Thinking back to the night with the homicidal bitch, Laz actually realized that he couldn't question it at all. He thought the same way. Had it been before, he would have thought Bill was nuts. Now, he kinda wanted to ask him about it.
"Alright, see that heavy bag hanging there? Go take a few swings at it." Opening the large wooden door, Grandpa Crowe pointed towards the old punching bag hanging from the massive wooden rafters. The three chains that kept the bag stationary were slightly rusted. The bag itself was dusty and dirty. It was apparent that it hadn't seen used in a while.
Walking up to it, Laz balled his fist and struck out. His right hand glanced off the left side of the bag, scraping his knuckles. The bag didn't move at all. He grab his hand as it started hurting.
"That hurt huh?" His grandpa asked, smiling.
"Yeah," Laz replied, looking at the bag.
"When you hit something like this, you have to go straight on. Straight in. There is no glancing blows. They don't do shit. You square up your shoulders, and when you punch out, it starts from your feet and flows through your entire body. Never half ass it."
He squared up his shoulders, planted his feet and punched out. The bag rocked back and forth, shaking a bit. Laz was rather amazed. His grandpa didn't look that strong but he was still able to make the bag move. Laz wasn't sure he would be able to do that.
"Laz, come over here and just do what I did."
Laz walked over and stood in front of the bag again. Bill walked over to watch, wondering if he would break his hand.
Squaring up his shoulders, he planted his feet hard into the old wooden floor, pulled back his arm, and balled up his fist. His body was on fire, it felt like the excruciating suffering from the other night. His entire body hurt, but it felt full of energy. He swung forward and struck the bag dead on, causing a blast of air to expand outward.
"That's not fucking possible," Bill muttered as the bag flew backwards, ripping off from the chains. It hit the ground and rolled until it hit the wall, coming to a stop.